14. Chapter 14 #2
Trembley hums around my fingers, his forearm moving against my thigh in a fast, tight rhythm.
Oh, shit.
Is he—Yeah, he's jerking off.
My eyes flutter. I reach for my dick because it aches so bad my legs are shaking, and if I don’t touch it—
Trembley’s hand wraps around my wrist and pins it behind my back.
Kincaid grunts. “No touching.” His gaze shifts to Trembley. “And don’t you fucking come.”
Trembley huffs, his free hand sliding over my hip and around to my ass. He squeezes hard, and I whimper around Kincaid’s cock, hips bucking into nothing.
“Stop squirming.” Kincaid adjusts the angle of my head again before picking up the pace. He swells on my tongue, his grip in my hair tightening. “Don't swallow.”
The first spurt hits the back of my throat, and I swallow before I can stop it.
Fuck.
Kincaid pulls out a little, and the second one lands on my tongue. It’s thick. Warm. Bitter.
His dick pulses again, and more pools before he finally pulls out. He drags his thumb across my bottom lip as I pant, trying to catch my breath.
But Trembley grabs my chin and turns my head. His mouth crashes into mine, and the second I gasp, his tongue pushes past my lips. He sweeps it through Kincaid’s cum and shudders against me, his fingers curling and digging into the muscles of my ass.
His mouth is warm, softer than I expected, and I press my lips harder into his, licking back like I can’t help it. His hand slides from my chin to the back of my head. I don’t know when my eyes close or when I grab the front of his sweatshirt, but I’m pulling him closer.
Trembley slides his hands to my hips, adjusts me, then pulls the front of my waistband down, hooking it under my balls. My dick springs free and slaps against my stomach.
He breaks the kiss and looks down between us. “Damn, Little Jenkins.” His tongue drags across his bottom lip. “All of that because of us? I'm flattered. Seriously. My ego needed this today.”
“Fuck you.”
He leans in, barely pressing his lips against mine. “I mean, yeah, that's kind of where this is heading.”
A shiver rips through me when his dick presses against mine, my lips parting.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get us there.” He spits into his palm, wraps his hand around both of us, and squeezes.
“Ohhh, fuuuck.” I grab his shoulders, my hips thrusting into his grip. “Oh, fuck. Fuck.”
I thrust into his fist three more times when a jolt shoots from the base of my spine through my balls and down my dick. My thighs lock, abs clenching, the first spurt of cum punching out of me in a hot rush and hitting the front of his sweatshirt.
Trembley keeps stroking until I’m shaking and panting and empty.
“Goddamn, your cum feels so good on my cock.” His grip tightens, pace picking up. “Never been so hard in my life.”
I stare at him, unblinking.
He’s grunting, thrusting hard. “Watch me. Watch me come.”
My gaze drops.
He’s pumping faster, my cum slicking every stroke. His dick is swollen, the tip dark red, veins standing out as the muscles in his forearm flex. His hips keep kicking up off the floor.
My mouth goes dry, and I swallow hard, heat flooding my groin all over again. A shaky breath slips out, and my hips jerk, even with my dick starting to soften.
“There it is. Love that sound.”
He strokes a few more times, then a guttural moan rips out of him. His thighs tense under me, his fist squeezes, and cum spills over his knuckles and onto my dick, mixing with mine in his hand, and getting on my T-shirt.
Trembley's panting is the only sound in the kitchen. No one's talking. No one's fighting. And without that noise, my brain catches up to the rest of me.
I tuck my dick back into my shorts, stand, and make my way over to the sink. I turn on the faucet, cupping water into my mouth, swishing it before spitting. I do it again.
And again.
But the taste doesn’t go away.
After turning off the faucet, I grip the edge of the counter, close my eyes, and take a few deep breaths. But it does nothing to slow how fast my heart is racing.
A guy's dick was just in my mouth. And I kissed another one with cum on my tongue. Hell, my body’s still buzzing like it wants more.
I shake my head as if trying to wake up from a dream.
Someone shifts behind me.
They need to leave. “Get out.”
No one responds.
I turn, cross my arms over my chest, and glare at them. “Get. Out.”
Kincaid glares right back, standing to his full height. “Watch that mouth.”
“Then leave.”
Trembley huffs, and I face him. But over his shoulder, I catch sight of the time.
Davis.
My little brother will be home from school any minute. They can’t be here. I cross the kitchen in three steps and shove Trembley hard in the back. “You need to leave. Now.”
“Ow. Okay, first of all, rude.”
“I didn't ask for any of this, and I don't need my little brother—”
“Atlas, let’s go.” Kincaid turns and walks out of the kitchen.
“Tootles, Little Jenkins.”
I stare at Trembley’s back as he follows Kincaid into the living room. The fuck just happened? After shaking off the momentary shock, I follow after them.
Kincaid stops by the couch. He picks up my phone from the cushion, turns, and holds it out to me. “Open it.”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
His fingers move across the screen, then he holds it up to my face.
It unlocks.
Fuck Face ID.
I go to grab it, but he spins away, tapping across the screen. My gaze lands on his left wrist, and my brows furrow.
Is that a tattoo of SpongeBob?
Kincaid tosses the phone onto the cushion, then walks through the front door without a word. Trembley gives Blue one last scratch behind the ears on his way past.
The door clicks shut behind them, and I just stand there. My shorts are full of cum. There’s more on my shirt.
My dog looks at me from his bed like I’m the one who needs to explain myself.
“You’re the one who didn’t bark when they came in. And why were you trying to make out with that dipshit? He’s the enemy.”
Blue cocks his head, ears up.
I grab my phone off the couch and check the contacts as I make my way upstairs. There are no new contacts. I open the texts. And there it is.
A text sent from my phone to an unknown number.
I delete it and walk into the bathroom. Need to clean up before searching my car to find out where the dipshits installed the GPS tracker. As I wait for the water to warm in the shower, my phone pings. I pick it up and look at the screen.
Unknown number: Don’t bother deleting my number
Me: eat shit
Unknown number: Didn’t learn your lesson about that mouth yet
Me: go stuff your friend’s mouth
Me: h e runs it just as much as me
I toss the phone onto the vanity, then step into the shower. Deleting Kincaid’s number is pointless. He has mine.
But I could block him. I should block him.
Water beats down over my skin while I stand there, the tension in my muscles unfurling under the steam as I try not to think about their hands or Trembley’s lips or the way I kissed him back.
Because it doesn’t mean shit. A mouth is a mouth. Friction is friction. Bodies react when they’re amped up.
That’s all it was.
I’m not letting it be anything else.