Chapter 11 Niko #3
I drop the phone back onto the table.
“Will you fuck me when I need it?” he asks in a broken whisper.
The request sends a ripple through my body and my cock throbs inside him.
“I might.”
“Liar,” he says, his tone darker than before. “You’ll do it. You can’t fucking resist me begging for you.”
“Cute when you think you’re in control.”
“I kind of am, Niko.”
I shove my cock into him hard for the first time.
It feels so good I moan and collapse over his body, bringing my torso down over the back of him.
I pound into him harder, in a steady rhythm. As I rock the bed I hear a clatter and look to see that my phone fell onto the ground.
“Camera fell down,” he utters.
“Don’t fucking care. You’re too mouthy,” I tell him.
And when I lean back again I reach over to my dresser drawer to the side, and I pull out one of my hoodies.
I bring the fabric into one line, take each arm and wrap the garment around his face, right at his lips.
And then I tie the arms together behind his head.
“Can’t whine at me anymore about being in control when I tie you up.”
I can still hear him moan for me, though.
And that’s the best fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
“You’re mine now, Oliver. And I’m going to act like it. I want to fill you with my cum and watch you downstairs for the rest of the night knowing part of me is still inside you.”
I’m dimly aware that Oliver could reach up and tug the fabric off his lips if he wanted to.
But he doesn’t.
He likes the idea of restraint.
And he loves doing what I say.
My cock pulses at that thought.
“I love that I’m the first person to take your tight ass. And I’m going to have this ass whenever I want it.”
He’s starting to buck his hips backward against me.
He’s asking for more.
And that only brings me closer to the edge.
“I love every time you finally bend and break for me,” I utter, my words coming out breathless between each thrust and smack of my legs against his ass. “Take my cum. Then stay hard all night for me until you come when I want you to.”
I exhale as I let go inside him. I feel like I’m firing a goddamn slingshot inside him, coming so hard it takes me by surprise.
Mine.
Fucking mine.
I stay inside him for a moment.
And then another.
Watching the cleft of his ass, and that perfect line that goes up the center of his back.
Good Lord.
I am fucking addicted.
And I like this person a little too much.
I finally catch my breath as I slide out.
I grab tissues and help him clean up. I pull the knot from my hoodie and it falls away from him, and when he looks back at me, something thuds in my chest.
Looking at his eyes does something to me. And it almost feels more intimate than the actual sex we just had.
“You’re still going to edge me all night, aren’t you?” he asks.
God, I even fucking respond to his voice, now.
“Yes,” I tell him, disregarding his gorgeous, hard cock between his legs. “I’m edging you. Let’s go downstairs.”
I charge ahead of him because I can’t look in his eyes without feeling a little insane.
I want to ignore whatever this feeling is.
A feeling that urges me to give in.
I can’t give in.
I can’t trust anyone.
This thing between us is a transaction, and Oliver’s been looking for someone he can use to get rid of his pesky virginity for years.
I’m that person.
That’s all I am, to him.
I stay ahead of him as we both head back down the stairs.
The party is even rowdier now.
Oliver charges back into the living room like he’s pissed off at me, and I look at the back of his hair as he walks off, the golden waves still a little fucked up from what we just did.
He walks over to a wall where Weston’s standing next to Hunter and Rayne, and the three of them get caught up talking about their plans for the winter formal for a while.
He purposely doesn’t look at me.
I lean against the wall beside Oliver.
And when the other guys get distracted, moving a few feet over toward a new group of people who just walked in, he finally turns toward me.
Still mad, judging by the look on his face.
“You want to make it official tomorrow?” I ask him. “Post a photo of us holding hands, or some cheesy shit like that?”
“Don’t give a damn. Do whatever you want.”
“Are you always this pissed off if your jerk-off sessions are interrupted?”
“It’s not just that, Niko.”
“Then what is it?”
He gives me a calculated stare before looking away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He’s trying to give me the same treatment I gave him earlier, when I didn’t want to talk about my day.
Grasping for power, in whatever way he can.
And there’s something about it I don’t like.
“Ollie.”
“I’m stupid for ever asking you to do this with me,” he mutters. “Complete goddamned mistake.”
Heat flashes through my chest.
Yeah.
Something about this I really don’t like.
I bring a hand up to his chin, tilting his face back toward mine. He regards me with a dead-eyed stare.
And white-hot possessiveness suddenly claims me, stronger than it ever has before.
“Look at me,” I tell him when his gaze rips away from mine again, but instead of being teasing or commanding, my tone feels like it’s something closer to desperation. “Will you look at me?”
“Always doing what you say,” he murmurs, finally turning his head back toward me.
I feel like I’m flailing.
Out of nowhere.
Like the delicate balance of control I was holding over this situation is more like a tower made of cards, ready to topple at any moment.
Don’t pull away from me.
The thought rips through my mind, unbidden, unwanted, out of nowhere.
Don’t fucking pull away from me, Oliver.
“Tell me you didn’t enjoy that, upstairs.”
“I enjoyed it. Obviously.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I don’t know what you want from me. You’ll fuck me, but you won’t talk to me, sometimes. You give me so much, then suddenly go cold and give me nothing.”
That hot desperation stokes a fitful rage inside me, much different than the one I felt earlier.
This time it’s dire.
This time I’m actually going to do something I shouldn’t.
“Oliver,” I say in a low tone.
The music changes, and suddenly a low, thrumming beat fills the room, vibrating through me.
When he meets my gaze and I see that glimmer of helplessness in his eyes, everything shifts.
Like delicate glass shattering inside me.
I need to stop him from feeling whatever he’s feeling right now. I can’t stand seeing him like this. Dejected. Detached. Like I’ve caused him to pull away.
I can’t stand that feeling. Don’t pull away from me.
It’s like a wall of smoke suddenly clears inside me, and I’m seeing him in a way I haven’t before.
And I act on instinct alone.
That beast, breaking out of its cage.
And bad things are going to happen.
I bring my hand to his jaw again and gently cup the side of his face, moving in close.
And I press my lips to his, claiming his soft mouth.
And it’s just as fucking tempting as I feared.
He startles as I kiss him, but his surprise quickly melts into something else.
He parts his lips for me. He kisses me back, slow and warm and wet, and I’m lost in him.
Kissing him because I fucking need him to feel this, too. Focusing the possessive urge inside me onto exactly one very bad idea.
I wasn’t planning on this. I don’t kiss people unless I’m actually dating them, and that’s not what the two of us are doing. Not even close.
But I needed his mouth.
Like oxygen.
Like a drug.
Like I’m not in control at all.