14. Chapter 14
Cody
I yawn, arms stretching above my head, back arching off the couch.
Fuck, I needed that nap. Barely slept last night since Doyle had some girl over.
They were so loud I couldn’t even hear myself think.
Expected her to be gone when I got back from morning classes, but there she was, still hanging around.
Just glad my parents live close to campus because no way in hell was I spending my afternoon in the common area.
The fabric of my boxers shifts, and my dick drags against something cool and wet. “Goddammit. Not again.”
“Again? Damn, Little Jenkins, how many shows have I missed? And it was quite a show. All that hip action, the little moans. Were you dreaming about me? Actually, you know what, it doesn't matter. I'm claiming you were.”
I jerk upright so fast the room tilts, pulse hammering in my throat.
I'm home. On my couch. In my living room.
So why the fuck is Atlas Trembley sitting on the floor with my dog in his lap?
“How did you—why are you—You broke into my house!”
“Technically, I didn’t break into anything. Hunter, on the other hand, well, he’s the one who picked the lock. I was just the lookout.”
I glance over my shoulder and find Kincaid standing by the window next to Blue's bed, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, tattoos showing like he's trying to look intimidating in my living room.
My molars grind, my fingers digging into the couch cushions. I turn back to Trembley. “That’s a felony! What is wrong with you!”
Trembley’s arms tighten around my dog when he squirms. “Stop yelling, you’re scaring Mr. Smooshy.”
“Seriously, what planet are you from?” I spring to my feet, glaring at the jerk. “Put my fucking dog down!”
“He's comfortable.” Trembley nuzzles the top of Blue's head.
Blue—the absolute traitor—licks his face, tail whipping incessantly against Trembley’s leg.
I crack my knuckles, barely restraining myself from tackling Atlas and smashing in his stupid face. Except, wait . . . “How did you assholes even know where to find me?”
Atlas rolls his lips between his teeth, biting down like that's going to stop me from seeing the smile he's trying to hide.
“Motherfucker, tell me!”
“Well, that guy,” Atlas points Blue’s paw at Hunter, “put a GPS tracker on your Range Rover.”
“Fuck this. I’m calling the cops.”
“You’re not.” Kincaid’s voice rumbles, deep and low.
I point toward the front door. “Then get out of my house.”
He stands there, arms crossed over his chest, staring down at me. He doesn't move, doesn't even blink.
“ Hello ! I said get out.”
Trembley snorts. He’s got Blue's paw pinched between two fingers, lifting it up and extending the middle toe at me.
My fists clench until my fingernails bite into my palms. “Put him down.”
“Nuh, uh.”
“You know what, fuck you both. I’m done.” I head for the kitchen because if I stand in front of him for one more second, I'm going to punch his face in, and my knuckles are still bruised from last time. I yank the fridge open, grab the milk, and drink straight from the carton.
This is rock bottom. This has to be rock bottom.
I put the milk back, slam the fridge, then rest my forehead against the cool metal of the door. “You two dipshits leaving yet?”
“Everyone says I talk too much. But you might actually have me beat,” Trembley says as he comes up behind me.
I whip around, and he grabs my throat, shoving me against the fridge. The back of my head thumps against the door, and I grunt, then reach up with both hands and claw at his wrists. “At least everything I say is worth hearing.”
“Mm, I don't know.” His thumb shifts against the side of my neck. A shiver runs down my spine. “But I kinda like your little squeaks. Make some for me.”
“Not a chance in hell. But you can, asshole.” I reach down, wrap my fingers around his balls, and squeeze—hard.
His grip on my throat loosens, and I duck sideways, backing away from the fridge to put distance between us. Until I hit something solid.
Or someone.
Shit.
Kincaid’s hand is in my hair, his grip tight enough my scalp stings. “No running this time.”
I reach up, trying to pry his hand off me. “Why would I? This is my house, asshole. You’re the one trespassing.”
“Keep talking, and I will shut you up.”
I angle my head back the best I can, eyes narrowed. “I’d like to see you try, dipshit.”
He leans in closer, his warm breath fanning over my face. “Think you can take all of me in that cocky mouth?”
“That's not—I didn't mean—”
Kincaid releases me, and I stagger away from him. My gaze bounces between him and Trembley, who has one hand pressed against the fridge, the other rubbing his balls.
My face and neck are on fire.
Why’s it so hot in here?
Trembley’s eyes drift down my body, his lips curling into a lopsided smirk. I swallow hard, following his line of sight.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I swear to god I’m not sure who I want to kill—them or my own damn body. Because, of course, my shorts are tented.
A grunt catches my attention. I turn to look at Kincaid. He’s staring at my shorts, head cocked, stroking himself over his black jeans.
My dick twitches, my gaze trailing up, locking with Kincaid’s. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, and the temperature in the room turns up a thousand degrees.
Or at least it feels like it does.
“If you're not gonna get on your knees for him, I call dibs. My dick’s prettier too. And more fun. It’s got a nice curve to it,” Trembley says.
My nose scrunches and my upper lip curls. “Just how delusional are you? You really think I’d let that ratchet thing anywhere near my mouth?”
“That's fine. Honestly, I'm not picky. You know who else is gorgeous? Your mom. That picture on the mantel? The one with the blue sundress?” Trembley whistles low, his stupid brown eyes twinkling. “Those legs go on for days, dude. When's she getting home? Think she'd be into it?”
“You deranged fucking Sasquatch.” I launch myself at him, driving my shoulder into his lower body. When we hit the hardwood floor, I scramble on top of him, knees on either side of his chest. My palm cracks across his face. “Stop talking about my mom.”
He breaks into a fit of laughter. “Jenkins’s mom has got it going on.”
I slap him again. “You’re the one who needs his fucking mouth stuffed.”
“You gonna stuff it, Little Jenkins?”
This fucking shithead.
“Choke on this, bitch.” I shove three fingers into his mouth, far enough that he gags.
His teeth clamp down on my fingers. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough that I hiss through my teeth. And then his tongue slides between them. Slow. Wet. Curling around my middle finger, dragging up to the tip, and back down.
My dick throbs. Fuck, I can't look away.
Pull your hand out. Pull it out right now.
I don't.
Fingers twist into my hair. Kincaid stands over me, his free hand popping his belt, then button, then zipper. He steps to the side, reaches into his jeans, and then pulls his cock out.
Holy shit.
It’s so thick—big—and it’s not even fully hard. How is that—That’s not fucking normal.
“Open.”
I look up.
He’s staring, jaw clenched, pupils wide. Waiting.
My gaze drops back down.
The head of his dick is swollen, red, and a bead of precum wells on the tip. I swallow hard, eyes raking back up his toned body. My lips part. Heartbeat thrumming so fast I feel it throughout my entire body.
“Not wide enough.” His thumb hooks over my bottom teeth, then he pulls down and pushes in.
My jaw stretches so wide the corners of my mouth burn. The weight of his cock lands on my tongue, all salt and skin. The bitter slick of precum smears everywhere. My free hand flies to his thigh, and he snaps his hips forward hard enough that the head hits the back of my throat.
I gag. Saliva floods out around him and my eyes water and I can’t—
“Stop fighting it.”
He pulls back and drives in again. Deeper. I cough as saliva slips from the corners of my mouth and runs down my chin, my fingers clawing into his jeans.
Can’t breathe.
“Not even halfway.”
The fuck does he mean, not even halfway?
He grabs my head with both hands and thrusts until I’m flush against his pelvis, the trimmed hair tickling my nose and his balls slapping against my chin.
I retch, smacking his thigh.
“You can take it.”
But I can’t.
My vision blurs, darkness crowding the edges. I’m going to puke all over his dick if he doesn’t pull out.
I start to remove my fingers from Trembley’s mouth.
“Keep them in his fucking mouth.” Kincaid holds the back of my skull as my throat spasms around him. “So fucking good.”
This time, I punch his leg.
Kincaid grunts, finally pulling back until just the tip rests on my tongue.
I gasp, choking and sucking in a breath while drooling all over myself.
“Such a fucking mess.”
My dick throbs against my shorts. Why? Why is my dick doing that right now?
He pushes in again. Slower. The stretch burns all the way up into my temples as every ridge, every vein, drags along my tongue. This time, when he’s so deep that his balls brush my chin, my throat doesn't close all the way.
I suck in air through my nose because my mouth is full. It’s the only option I have.
Trembley drags my fingers deeper into his mouth, his tongue curling around the tips before sliding back down.
Fuck. Fuck. That felt—Fuck.
I moan around Kincaid so hard it vibrates through my chest.
Kincaid tilts my head back. The next thrust slides past where everything kept catching, and my throat opens fully.
The burn is different. Fuller. Wider.
“Time to really fuck this mouth.” His pace changes, faster now. Harder. Brutal. “Fuck, your throat is tight. Should’ve done this the first night.”
I swallow without meaning to, and he groans. It’s low, rough, barely human. My dick pulses, the tip becoming slicker and more sensitive every time I shift.
“Knew you could take my cock. That’s it. Swallow again.” Kincaid thrusts deeper. “Again. Fuck. Look at me.”
I peer up at him, tears streaking down my cheeks. His pupils are blown, the vein in his temple protruding, teeth sunk into his bottom lip.