2. Ryann
Ryann
H e’s a fidgety little thing.
As the elevator slowly crawls up forty-one stories, the boy messes with his hoodie strings, sneaking glances at me from under long lashes. His purple hair keeps falling into his bright blue eyes, and he’s standing way too close, practically pressed into my side. I shift away, needing some space.
He’s cute, if I was into the whole shy guy thing—which I’m not. Especially not tonight. My patience is hanging by a thread, and I’m halfway drunk. All I want is to bury myself in a pretty twink, ride out this buzz, and pass the hell out.
Tossing him a sideways glance, I take in his smooth, porcelain skin and delicate features as he stares at his shoes. Definitely pretty, like a little doll with those soft pink lips. He seems younger than what I usually go for, but he has to be over twenty-one if he’s driving for Uber. Old enough to drink, at least. And judging from the feel of his rock-hard dick under those sweats, he’s definitely down for some action.
Perfect for a night of fucking away my frustrations. The bar had been a bust—no one caught my eye—so this couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.
The elevator dings as we reach the penthouse, and the doors slide open to reveal the opulent entryway spilling into the dining room. Tossing my keys onto the console table, I glance over my shoulder to see him blinking up at the crystal chandelier like a deer in headlights. Still too close.
“Wow, this is your place? Are you rich or somethin’?”
I scoff. Somethin’ is right.
“Wait,” he continues, squinting up at me with one eye in a way that might be adorable if I could actually feel anything. “You’re not like… a drug dealer, are you?”
“Do you want a drink?” Ignoring his question, I head for the bar in the corner of the living room, leaving him to scurry after me.
“Y-yeah. Sure.”
He sounds overly nervous, like he’s trying too hard, and I roll my eyes as I pour a finger of bourbon. When I was younger, that coy innocence might’ve been intriguing, but at thirty-seven, it just pisses me off.
We’re both adults here. We know what we want.
The way he eye-fucked me when I got into the car earlier tells me he definitely knows what he wants, so he can drop the act. I’m not in the mood.
“What do you want? Scotch, bourbon, vodka?”
“Uh, yeah, sounds good,” he answers distractedly, clearly not listening.
With a frown, I glance over to find him standing near a display case by the balcony, his attention fixed on the medals and trophies from my college basketball days at UDub. All that wasted success, before my father hit me with cold, hard reality.
Coming up behind him, I take a slow sip of my drink. “You follow college ball at all?”
He jumps, startled, as those blue eyes meet mine briefly. “My dad does. Do you play?”
“I used to.”
Humming softly, he studies me sidelong like he’s waiting for more, but I didn’t bring him up here for story-time. He’s here to fuck. Nothing else.
And I’m getting impatient.
“Come here, doll face.” Draining the rest of my drink, I set the tumbler down before wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him flush against my chest.
He squeaks, his palms landing on my pecs as his wide eyes dart up to mine. We stay like that for a moment, his quick breaths brushing my skin, before I weave my fingers into his hair and crush my mouth to his.
The boy goes rigid, stiff as a board, and I lick at those pretty lips until they part for me. The second our tongues touch, he melts, his body softening as his hands slide up to cup the back of my neck. That hard cock grinds against mine when he rolls his hips, and I groan as I reach down to squeeze his perky ass cheeks.
Kissing isn’t something I normally do when hooking up, but damn, he tastes so sweet.
“How do you want it?” I murmur, backing us up toward my leather sectional. “Rough? Soft? I can go either way.”
Rough is preferable, but I’m not a complete jackass. I always consider what my sexual partner wants, even if it’s just for one night. Usually, there’s a conversation beforehand to set expectations, but I’ve no patience tonight. The Uber driver will have to do.
A small voice in the back of my mind tells me I should at least ask his name, but I shove it aside. I really don’t give a fuck.
“Uh.” He breaks the kiss, pupils blown wide in desire as he ducks his head. “What—whatever’s clever.”
... Whatever’s clever?
What the fuck?
Immediately, alarms blast in my head, telling me to slow down, halt, cease and desist. Bad idea. But then he sinks his teeth into his swollen lip as he peeks up at me from under silky waves, and I completely forget all thoughts other than getting this sexy piece of ass onto his hands and knees.
Fuck, I thought I was over the whole innocent role-play, but apparently not. It works for him. He’s probably trapped plenty of victims with that look alone.
Keeping my gaze locked on his, I remove my suit jacket before slowly unbuttoning my shirt. “Take off your clothes.”
He watches, enraptured, as I toe off my shoes and reach for my belt, his eyes widening at the apparent bulge in my crotch. A pretty blush spreads across his skin, turning it a deep red. His gaze snags briefly on the burn scar covering the side of my left thigh, and he inhales sharply, like he’s about to comment. They always do.
But the second I slide my slacks down, leaving myself in nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein’s, his focus shifts. The scar is forgotten, replaced by nervous energy as he pulls off his hoodie. He hesitates, bunching the hem of his t-shirt in his fists, his gaze darting around the room.
“Can I keep my shirt on?” he asks, his voice so small and uncertain that I once again pump the brakes.
That feeling in my gut intensifies, screaming at me to stop because something about this isn’t right. I open my mouth to tell him that we shouldn’t do this, but then the little vixen drops his sweats to the floor, no underwear, and I’m rendered speechless when his hard length springs free.
“Damn, doll.” Little guy has a gorgeous cock.
Reaching for him, I slide off my underwear and wrap a hand around our shafts. The most musical sound leaves his throat, a breathy whimper that I swallow with a kiss, stroking us together while he thrusts into my palm.
His mouth is sloppy against mine, too much tongue, teeth clacking together. It’s clear he needs some practice, but the eager way he’s fucking my fist and digging his nails into my shoulders more than makes up for the lack of experience.
I’m about to push him down onto the couch when a sticky warmth floods my hand. Our lips part with a smack as I look down to see his cock erupting like a geyser, shooting onto his shirt while he moans. His eyes roll back, and I continue to jerk him through the orgasm until he sags in my arms once I’ve milked him dry.
It’s a fucking beautiful sight, watching him fall apart, and my mind conjures up other ways of making him come before I shove those thoughts behind a steel door. This is only happening once, and only for tonight. As soon as I get off, he’s gone.
Huffing a small laugh, I give in for just a second, resting my cheek on his hair. “That was, uh...fast.”
“That’s so embarrassing,” he groans, still panting as he buries his face in my chest. The sudden urge to wrap myself around him is overwhelming, to hold him close, but I quickly take a step back instead.
I don’t cuddle. Ever.
“It’s fine.” Spinning him around, I nudge the backs of his knees until he crawls onto the couch. “Bend over.”
With a hand between his shoulder blades, I gently push him down, trailing my palm down the knobs of his spine until I get to his crease. As he white knuckles the cushions, I spread his bouncy cheeks, getting a delicious view of his little pink hole puckered just for me.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” I murmur, rubbing a cum-covered finger around the rim.
“Whoa, that...what are you doing?” He chokes, thrusting slightly, and I snort at the cutesy act he’s still playing—like he didn’t know exactly what would happen when he followed me up here tonight.
“Just relax for me.” Using his release as lube, I press a finger past that tight ring of muscle, groaning at the velvet heat that envelops me, my cock heavy and aching for a turn. His head drops forward, hair damp at the base of his neck from sweat, and I lean forward to lick the salt from his skin.
He shivers, crying out, his dick leaving a sticky trail of arousal on the leather of my couch as I palm his throat and fuck my finger into his ass.
“God, you’re tight.” Too tight. Like it’s been a while since he’s taken cock. Gritting my teeth, I suck on his earlobe, irritated at the extra time I’ll have to spend stretching him. “You’re going to need to loosen up if you want me inside you, doll face.”
Another soft whimper spills from his lips as I spit down his crease before leaning over to dig inside the end table for a condom and lube. Most guys I take home are prepped and ready to go, all that’s left to do is slide right in and come. I know it’s not his fault—he was working and probably had no intention of getting fucked tonight. But still.
After the shit-show that was work, followed by a bullshit family dinner, I just want to take my pleasure and then go to sleep.
Using the lube, I insert a second finger, scissoring him open before searching for his prostate. When I nudge it, he yelps again, back muscles tightening as he falls forward, mumbling under his breath.
“Frickin’...gawd, what the hell...”
“That’s it, baby,” I chuckle as he rocks back on my fingers, a third one joining them. “I can’t wait to pound this ass.”
With my teeth, I rip open the condom packet and roll it onto my thick length while I continue to stretch him. There’s still some resistance, and he could probably use more prep time, but the night is growing late. I have an early morning meeting, so I line myself up with his hole and grab onto his hips.
“Breathe out,” is all the warning I give before pushing forward, barely breaching him with my crown when he gasps and digs his nails into my thighs to get me to stop.
“Ow, Jesus, that burns ,” he whines through clenched teeth, tensing up, and I glare down at the sight of his hole stretched to max capacity around me. Fuck, I’m not going to fit. He’s too tight, too small for my size.
If we had the time, he’d probably need a few days to be ready for me, but all we have is tonight.
“Turn around,” I growl in frustration, backing up to pull off the condom. “Open your mouth.”
He obeys, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as I quickly jerk off against his tongue.
When the orgasm hits me, it’s shallow and empty. There’s only a few piddly spurts of cum that land on his lips, which he wipes away without meeting my gaze.
“Well, that was extremely unsatisfying,” I mutter, stepping away to pull on my underwear. “Thanks for nothing, I guess.”
A slight, choked noise leaves his throat, face brighter than a tomato. Clearly embarrassed.
Tough shit. If he’s wanting sweet words, he came to the wrong place.
Tossing him his clothes, I turn my back and head for my bathroom to get ready for bed.
“The elevator will take you back down,” is all I say before I shut the door behind me, pissed off that I have no time to text any of my hookups if I want enough sleep for tomorrow.
My father’s criticisms from dinner echo in my ears as I step into the shower, harsh and berating, drowning out any wave of pleasure I might have been riding. The weight of my life crashes down on me without the high of sex, pulling me down until my knees hit the floor, and I let the scalding water burn away his voice until it’s nothing but an echo rattling around my skull.
Briefly, the Uber driver’s face flashes before me—pretty skin and silky purple waves, a smile that would have lit me up if it could.
God, I wish I could feel something.