Chapter 15 #2
“You want my cum, pastelito?” he murmurs, scratching my scalp. The gentle touch, combined with that term of endearment, sends a shiver from the top of my head straight to my dick. My very rapidly swelling dick.
Nodding, I nearly whimper, but catch myself last minute.
Christian smiles. “Say please.”
My mouth shuts instantly. “Fuck no.”
“In your mouth or on your face, baby. You choose.”
Fuckin… oh, my god.
A bead of precum bursts from my cock at the sound of his soft, raspy voice. What the hell is happening right now? Why do I like this?
“Please,” I whisper, licking my dry lips before sticking out my tongue again. “Give me your cum, hot shot.”
Growling low, Christian picks up his pace. I'm practically fucking the mattress by the time he comes with a throaty moan.
“Don't swallow,” he bites out, coating my tongue in thick, salty layers. “Hold it there for me.”
Whether a whine of protest slips out of me or not, I'll never tell, but I do what he says because holy fuck—who knew having their hair stroked like that would feel so good? Why is it doing ungodly things to my dick?
Once he's finished, he releases his length with one last groan before hauling me up on top of him. The minute our bodies touch, I writhe against his stomach, needing to release the pressure in my jeans.
Christian palms my face as his hazel eyes study the cum on my tongue. When his own flicks out tentatively to lick mine, I nearly blow from that sensation alone. He seems to clock it too, because the asshole smirks before doing it again. And again.
It’s barely even a kiss, but it’s close enough to hurtle me over the edge. He’s just… lapping at his own release softly, the tenderest of caresses from his tongue to mine. Our gazes never waver.
It's weird, and different, and so damn intimate that before I even know what hit me, I'm fucking coming untouched.
Sticky warmth floods my jeans, and I grab onto Christian as a moan rips through me.
Shuddering, I finally swallow what's left of his cum and bury my face in his neck.
Air floods my lungs, along with his scent, so fucking intoxicating that I have to physically stop myself from nuzzling into him when the orgasm ends.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. It's quiet in the apartment, no sounds coming from Logan or Owen either. Part of me wonders if they heard us as much as we heard them.
When a few more seconds of silence pass, Christian eventually clears his throat. “Did you, uh… come from just kissing?”
I lift my head with a sneer, cheeks heating. “That wasn't a kiss.” It was so much more. “And it's been a while since I had any action. I'm sensitive.”
His eyes narrow. “How long's a while?”
Tilting my head, I try to remember the last time I got laid, but quickly shut that thought down when all I can remember is some stranger in Arnie’s motel hovering over me—violating me. Cheap, plastic stars watching me.
I suppose it was consensual. I mean, I agreed to it after all, but I sure as hell didn't want it. The money from that night didn't even go into my pockets—it paid off my debt. And it was all for nothing, anyway, because I ended up right back in the same spot. Just like I always do.
Choosing not to answer, I gaze down at my crotch instead. “I'm going to need another pair of jeans. And probably some underwear.”
Christian just studies me before realizing that I'm still on his lap. “Get the fuck off. And get out. I'm tired.”
“Wow,” I scoff, sliding off the bed even though I really liked where I was. “No post-coital snuggle sesh?”
“Why the fuck would we do that?” Flopping onto his back, he throws the blanket over his face. “You offered your mouth, and we both got off. Just a mutual transaction between… acquaintances.”
Okay, now that fucking stings. “Acquaintances? Seriously?”
“Well, we sure as shit ain't friends. We're not even roomies because you don't even live here. You owe me five grand. That's it.”
That's it. That's all I'm good for—kept around until I fulfill my usefulness.
A dry laugh leaves my throat, tasting like battery acid. “Right. Got it. Strictly business.”
“Yep.”
“Cool,” I say, bending down to grab his jacket off the floor. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
Christian doesn’t have an answer for that.
I tug his jacket on and wince when my tender, oversensitive cock brushes my zipper. “So, I’m guessing this doesn’t come off the money I owe you?”
“Fuck no.”
“Damn. Thought my mouth was at least worth fifty bucks.”
Still, nothing. He just lays there with the blanket over his head, like maybe I'll disappear if he can't see me. I stand there awkwardly, my skin still buzzing from where his hands grabbed my face. His taste is still on my tongue. Fuck, I really don't want to go.
“Door’s that way,” he mutters after a moment.
I stare at him, hoping that he’ll take it back. But he doesn't, so I turn to leave. My hand hovers on the doorknob, shaking just a little. Before I can open it, he scoffs from under the blanket. “Don’t read too much into this, motherfucker.”
My fingers tighten on the handle. “Read into what?”
“You know what. Don’t make it a thing. Don’t get weird.”
Weird. Right.
“Trust me,” I mutter as I open the door. “I don’t mean anything to you. I’m very aware.”
Silence. Just the sound of my heart in my ears and the rush of traffic outside. Then a harsh exhale from under the covers. “Lock the door on your way out.”
Those words hit me in the chest, and I physically flinch before stepping out into the hall. “Goodnight, hot shot,” I murmur into the dark.
He doesn’t answer.
And as I shut the door before making my way to the bathroom, I'm reminded of why I always hated staying sober before.
Sometimes, feeling nothing is better than feeling anything at all.