Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Trav
Being away this time was different than all the other times. All I could think about was the man who’s currently molded into the back of me. I’ve already texted my son to see where he and the rest of their gang ended up tonight. The summary is: no one’s at the restaurant.
I’m buzzing with a low and dangerous hum, a predator’s calm before I put Dirk in his fucking place.
He’s mine. The thought of him out with some stranger drove me to climb on my bike and follow his ass.
Dirk’s not even the target of my rage; the asshole that had his hands on him is—yep, even Hunter’s hearty bread wasn’t enough to make me forget.
I know Dirk only wanted his brother off his back, but instincts aren’t rational.
They don’t care that it was a fake date or that he was cornered.
They only know that someone touched what doesn’t belong to them.
I should be tracking fuckface down, instead, I’m going to take Dirk apart, piece by piece, until he understands how much he belongs to me in a way he couldn’t with anyone else.
I pull him inside, and make sure to lock the doors this time—we’re not so good at that. I’m on a mission. Tossing the helmet on a table, I shove my leather jacket off him.
Fuck, I’m having a hard time deciding if I want to kiss him or scold him.
I know young people are used to that fucking dating app, but it’s dangerous.
I told Dash he wasn’t to use it. If he wanted to date, he’d have to do it the old-fashioned way.
I suppose he could be using it behind my back, but I like to think he heeded my decree. I don’t make too many with him.
I hold Dirk’s gaze with my dark one. “Never again, Dirk.”
He shakes his head. “Never.”
Spinning him, I slap his jean-clad ass cheek.
“Get your ass upstairs.” I don’t wait, though, pinning an arm behind him, frog-marching him through the kitchen, and toward my apartment.
Inside, I slam him against the wall, cactusing his arms, threading my fingers through his. He’s soft and pliant for me, waiting to see what I’ll do. His bottom lip quivers. Is he scared that I will or scared that I won’t?
“Please,” he breathes. “I can’t take the wanting anymore, Trav.”
Neither can I.
I cover his mouth with mine. Travis, the nice man who saves tired honeybees, ceases to exist. I’m all animal, all desire.
He never should have fucking tempted me with that mouth, with his pleas.
And oh my fucking god. His taste. It’s better than I imagined, and I imagined it a lot.
I’m instantly addicted, and I need more, more. Mmmmm.
Shoving my tongue into his mouth isn’t nice, it’s my way of saying, “I own the place, and you’d better fucking know it”. He pants, only just able to get a scant bit of oxygen.
“That’s right, pretty boy. This is what it’s like to be owned by me. You get the air I let you have.”
I twist his face away, exposing his neck, scraping my teeth over the pulsing veins. His skin. Salty and clean. Fucking delectable.
“T-Trav,” he moans.
My name on his lips like that. It’s hot lightning over my skin.
Licking the flat side of my tongue up his neck, I make my way back to his mouth again. “Take a breath, baby.”
He’s almost not quick enough, but youth and athleticism are on his side. At least he’s a fast learner. He knows what’s coming.
This time, my kiss is deep and sensual. I slide a hand over the bulge in his crotch, pulling a moan straight into my mouth. I refuse to let him go yet.
When I let him up for air this time, he’s gasping, sucking, wheezing. “Slow,” I instruct. “There you go. Good boy.”
“Th-That’s a rush,” he says, finally having found enough breath to speak. “How the fuck are you able to do that?”
“Swimming. Maybe you should join me at the pool, eh?” I don’t know if that’s gonna be a possibility for us, but it’s a nice fantasy. I’m no Michael Phelps, but I like to use it to keep in shape. Some people jog five kilometers, I swim.
“I could be persuaded, or you could just keep making me drown.”
“Sounds good to me.” I take him under a few more times, until he’s screaming in my mouth and clawing at me for air, until he’s a tad light-headed, and I have to steady him.
He sags against me. “D-Don’t know why you thought your age was gonna be a factor. I might be the one struggling to keep up with you.”
Not gonna happen. I have both eyes on him.
Always. There’s nowhere safer than under my watch.
Time to get him somewhere comfortable. I lead him to my couch, and it’s the first time I wish I had a nicer one.
It’s a sturdy, well-built brown leather sofa, soft but masculine.
I paid a mint for it, but I’ve had it so long it’s worn and faded.
His heavy limbs hang, and a lazy smile spreads across his face as I push him down.
“Thought you said you were gonna punish me?”
“Is that a dare, pretty boy? You don’t need to dare me to do that.” I go for the button of his jeans. His eyes pop wide and his brows climb his forehead. “Lift.”
I make him lift his hips so I can tug his jeans down, but I leave his boxers as they are. There’s a nice wet spot forming in front.
“Look how hard you are for me, pretty boy.”
He flushes again. I’ll never get tired of that.
“I ache, Trav. Please. Touch me. Do something. I’m willing to sell my soul right now.”
I give him what he wants, running a hand over the hard cock beneath the cotton. He exhales long and slow as if breathing too hard will scare me away. But it’s too late for him now. I’ve tasted him, and no other flavor will satisfy me.
I knew it would be that way. It’s why I kept my distance.
“I’m gonna make you cry, Dirk.”
“Sure, Trav.”
“Cocky little shit.”
Any mercy I was gonna give him, just went up in smoke. I make myself comfortable between his legs, on my knees, on the floor.
“Rules,” I say. “First, hands where I can see ‘em. On top of the sofa.”
He complies, waggling his brows. “Kinky.”
Dirk doesn’t know the half of it. “If you move them, I stop. If you come before I say you can, the next time I make you come will mark the beginning of a new Jurassic period.”
“This is gonna be sweet torture, isn’t it?”
“If I do it right.” And I will. Bet my eyes are twinkling.
“Sadistic fucking bastard,” he says on the breathiest exhale.
I raise a sharp brow. “Say that again. I dare you.”
Dirk fumbles for the words that might get him out of trouble, and I see it play out on his face as he slowly realizes there are none.
His mouth works uselessly, his chest giving him away, rising too fast, every breath sharp and ragged.
It’s best he says nothing, so I help him out, dragging my tongue slowly along the wet patch on his boxers.
A startled, broken whimper falls from his lips.
I press my nose against his length, inhaling him.
Mine.
“You ready for my mouth, pretty boy?” I murmur against the fabric. “I don’t think you are. I think you’re too used to fast and dirty. No one’s made you wait. No one’s made you earn it.”
He makes a strangled sound. “Please.”
I don’t even like thinking about him with anyone else, but I do like the thought that I’m the best he’ll ever have.
“I know, baby.” I tug the waistband down, letting his cock spring free, flush and leaking. And is that … yeah. It’s a tattoo on his right hipbone. I’ll have to investigate later, the rest of him’s too distracting. “Look at you. You’re desperate. All that bravado, and now you’re trembling for me.”
“F-Fuck, Trav—”
I lick him once—just once—and he lets loose a cry that echoes off the walls. I slap his thigh hard enough to leave a paw print.
“Quiet.” He bites his lip, clawing the back of the couch, obeying my order not to move his hands. “Good boy.”
I take him in my mouth, slow, deep, until he bucks up. I pull off. He growls in frustration, head slamming back.
“Behave,” I warn. “You wanna come? You beg for it.”
Dirk’s chest heaves. His eyes are wet. Tears already? I’m gonna taste those tears when there are more of them.
“Please, I’ll b-be good, I swear. I’ll … fuck. I’ll do anything.”
Pressing my tongue to the head of his cock, I taste the salt there, dragging it slowly down the shaft like I’ve got all fucking night. His fingers clamp down harder, struggling to stay where I put them. He won’t last—I’ll make sure of it.
I suck him in again, working to bring him to the edge. His thighs tremble, shuddering with unspent arousal.
“Please, please, please,” he begs.
“Please, what?”
“Please don’t stop again,” he whispers. But then his voice gets louder, more broken. “Please, Trav, please. I’m losing my mind. I need to come. I need you to make me come.”
A low rumble burns in my chest. Oh. I like that. Him needing me to make him come.
But he already knows how this is gonna go.
I pop off his cock just as he’s hit that sweet edge.
His back arches as he works to get his breathy pants under control, more tears streaming down his red face.
I don’t give him much of a break, swallowing him again.
His breaths come in sobbing little gasps—I could get off to those alone.
I pull away again.
“No—!” He breaks so sweetly. “I can’t take it anymore. I’ll die, Trav. I’ll fucking die.”
“Hmm, don’t think anyone’s died from a little edging before,” I muse out loud.
“They have. I’m sure of it. Look it up. Oh god, oh god, oh god,” he chants when I take him in my mouth again. His body trembles, his voice a shredded mess.
“I can’t … please,” he sobs.
I rise from between his spread legs and mop up the tear trail under his left eye with the pad of my thumb, then push it into his mouth, so he can taste what I do to him, too.
“Suck,” I murmur.
Dirk swirls his tongue around my thumb, sucking his tears away. I pull my thumb away—my turn—and straddle him, leaning down to lick the tear traces away from under his other eye. I tug at his lower lip with my teeth and kiss him roughly.
“That’s it, pretty boy. Give yourself to me.”