Chapter 6 #2
I fly backwards until I hit my own door.
He gives me a stern look for just a second, pinning me in place, before softening again.
He removes his boots from my chest and places one on the dash, while hooking the other between the two seats to dangle into the back.
He shuffles until he’s in the most obscene position I could imagine, bites his bottom lip at me ostentatiously, and then goes back to fisting himself.
“If you want me to beat you black and blue, you could have just asked, little rabbit. I’ll beat you any time you want. No need to break the rules.”
“Fuck your rules,” I growl, but there’s no heat behind it. If I really didn’t care, I’d be fighting him right now, not watching him with my chest heaving and my own erection pressing uncomfortably hard against my zipper.
“No, I fuck your rules. Just like I fuck you. And you fucking love it, so it’s time to stop pretending you don’t.”
His words hit a little harder than I’d like.
“You don’t fuck me,” I say, but my voice is weak and we both know it’s a technicality.
“Shh, rabbit.”
He throws his head back and closes his eyes, rubbing that hand up and down himself with a kind of indulgence I don’t think I’ve ever experienced.
Like he’s savoring every moment. He stops every once in a while to roll the head in his hand, before switching to a featherlight touch of just his fingertips working his shaft.
“Are you hard, Colm?” he asks, the emphasis on my name sounding more disdainful than I can fathom.
I pause before I answer. I need to stop this cycle of letting him have all the control, but I can’t seem to find the willpower.
“You know I am,” I say, and I swear my voice nearly cracks.
He hums.
“I do. I can practically see it with my eyes closed, reaching out to me like that.” He doesn’t stop working himself. “Do you wish it was your hand on my cock?”
“Yes.” What’s the point in lying now?
“Do you wish it was your mouth on my cock?”
“Yes.”
“Good rabbit.”
He reaches down to gently roll his balls in his other hand and finally opens his eyes to stare at me.
“What are you going to do about it?”
I freeze. This is absurd. I can’t take him fucking anywhere. He makes everything sexual, he acts like he has some sort of power over me, and he doesn’t give two shits about the consequences I would suffer if I was caught fucking a man.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “And if it helps, I don’t really consider myself a man. More of a divine manifestation of sex and violence. I don’t think someone like me could possibly be constrained by gender. Not that there’s anyone else like me, of course.”
I snort, because he’s so ridiculous, but I do see what he means.
“It doesn’t matter what you are, to the rest of the world you’re a man.
Which means fucking you makes me gay. In their eyes.
The people I’m worried about don’t give a fuck about nuance.
You think someone like Lucky knows what a binary is?
Let alone wrap his little pea brain around something outside of it. ”
“True,” he says, before pausing to grind his hips up a little and let out a faint groan. “Maybe I want to get you caught. Maybe that’s what I’m getting off on. Getting you in trouble.”
I shake my head, unconsciously leaning a little closer to him.
“If that were true, you would have done it already.”
His hand stops, releasing himself as abruptly as he started. His swollen cock is sticking straight up, his posture still slumped so far back in the seat he’s basically horizontal, and once his arms are cast to the side, it looks every inch like an invitation.
Without thinking it through, I keep leaning forward. Right in front of me, his cock is glistening at the tip and absolutely delicious looking. For just a second, I decide to say fuck the consequences. I want to taste him. Even if he murders me for it.
I get closer and closer, his eyes on me the whole time, waiting for him to snap and kick me again. But he doesn’t.
Even when I reach out my tongue to lick his tip. The taste of him explodes on my tongue, and I have to seek out more. If he’s going to kill me, I might as well accomplish something first.
There are worse ways to go.
I hold his gaze with mine as I suck the head of his cock into my mouth.
The skin is velvet-soft and even hotter than I would have imagined.
I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve had a dick in my mouth, and it was generally when I was a lot younger under much more sloppy, surreptitious circumstances.
This is different. This feels luxurious.
I don’t touch him anywhere except my mouth on his cock. I’m able to find places on the seat to brace myself, even though my muscles are already straining at the effort of holding me in a sort of half-crouch/half-plank position over his sprawled body.
“Fuck, rabbit,” he groans, sounding like he’s coming undone, and it only spurs me on.
With more enthusiasm than skill I try to fit as much of him in my mouth as I can, bobbing my head up and down as his hips arch up into me.
“Christ almighty,” he says, his voice quiet, then I feel one of his hands on my head, holding me in place. “That’s it. Open up. You’re sloppy, and I can work with that. Just open wide for me and relax.”
I’ve been on the other side of this enough to know what I’m about to experience, but it’s too late to back out now.
Especially not with this intimate smell of him surrounding me, feeling like I suddenly have an all-access pass to something that’s off-limits to everyone else in the world.
The adrenaline and lust coursing through me is enough to make me bold.
So, I keep my mouth open and try to figure out how to relax my throat, just in time for him to fuck his hips up into my face.
He hisses as soon as he hits the back of my throat and it spasms around him. I’m breathing through my nose, focusing on suppressing the urge to puke, ignoring the way saliva floods my mouth and drips down his shaft.
“God, look at the state of you. You’re such a mess. Such a wet, eager mess.”
I groan. I can’t help it, I actually groan. My erection is throbbing, but I don’t care right now. The feeling of him in me—around me—is too much to think about anything else.
He shifts until he’s sitting up a little more, getting the leverage he needs to bring his other hand to my head as well. If I had longer hair, I’m sure he’d be pulling at it right now. Instead, he settles for gripping me tight and beginning to fuck my mouth in earnest.
I choke and splutter while my throat seizes and grips at his cockhead every time he punches into me. Saliva is coming out of my mouth in fucking rivers. Everything is wet, and the sounds coming out of me sound like torture porn.
It’s fucking ecstasy, though. This is the sound of heaven.
Fallow is grunting now, sounding more undone than I’ve ever experienced before.
“That’s it. Yes. Fuck. What a slutty mouth. Christ…”
He gets rougher and rougher, fucking me raw until he finally releases with a moan. His cum pours so deep into my throat that I don’t taste it, but the sensation is raw and animal, curling in my stomach like a warm meal.
He holds me down hard until he finishes, not caring that I can’t breathe. I don’t care either. Only that my nose is pressed into his hairless, taut stomach and his cock is still filling my throat.
“Are you going to come in your pants for me again?” he says as soon as his orgasm tapers off. His voice is still low and seductive, but now I can just about see the heady way he’s looking at me at the periphery of my vision. “Go on. Show me how needy you are and hump my leg.”
There’s a flicker of annoyance filtering through me, but not enough to beat back the tide of raw arousal. I am needy for him, right now.
I don’t move any part of myself except my hips. I’m sure he’d still beat me senseless if I tried to touch him with my hands. But my cock needs attention more ferociously than it ever has, so it’s not hard to bend my hips and curl myself up until I’m basically riding his leg.
It’s humiliating. Childish and desperate, but I don’t stop. As soon as I can feel the pressure on my cock through my pants, I’m chasing more of it. I hump my hips and work myself up and down, holding his softening cock in my mouth, making wet grunts around it and continuing to drool down his shaft.
“That’s it, little rabbit. Mess yourself all over again for me.”
That’s all it takes, and before I know it, I’m stuttering my hips, filling my boxers with more cum only a few hours after he dry-humped me to oblivion back in my bedroom.
Somehow this has managed to be even more humiliating, but something about it also hit me somewhere deep inside, because I’m convinced I’ve never come harder in my life.
I’m left gasping around his cock, my cock still twitching and my movements unsteady as I pull myself away from him a little at a time, careful not to touch him.
He watches me, silent and unmoving the entire time. I can’t tell if he wants to fuck me again or eat my flesh.
It’s minutes until I’ve arranged myself back in my seat, and he’s quietly slithered back to his.
He fished out tissues from somewhere in the car and used it to clean up, although there’s no amount of tissue that could clean all the fucking drool I deposited on his crotch.
I wince with embarrassment, but I’m still too dazed for it to fully set in.
Instead, I focus on wiping the mess from my own face.
The situation in my pants is not one I’m going to be able to fix, even though I dip a hand in there and try to scoop the worst of it out with the Kleenex.
At this point, I am grateful I came already not that long ago. At least it’s less mess to deal with.
The fact that he’s convinced me to go soft and wanton for him twice in one day, after we only just met—and fucked—this morning is a bigger problem than I’m able to address right now.
I’m tired, I’m pissed, and I’m fucking dehydrated. I need to go home and sleep for a week, but I have to resolve this business at the strip club first.
Then I’ll tell him to fuck off. Politely, of course, so Murphy—who I guess really is his father, or something like it—doesn’t flay me alive.
As soon as we’re done with the strip club, I’ll tell him. That was the last time. We’re not ever doing this again.