Chapter Twelve #2
“Uh, yea, you could say that,” he answered. “I took karate when I was a kid. Figured I’d get back into it. This’ll make good practice, right?”
Swallowing hard, I glanced down at his hand, hoping he’d catch on to what I was too frozen to ask. He didn’t, so I had to grab his hand myself, and the contact was… intense . I caught his pupils dilating, but I clenched my jaw and focused on taping his knuckles.
“So are you trying to… defend yourself… against someone?” My eyes lifted to his. He smiled again.
“That would be wise, I’m sure…” he hummed, brilliant blue gaze falling to my mouth for a split second. “But no. I’m auditioning for a small part in a movie that’s super actiony, and I listed karate as one of my skills.”
My eyebrow cocked, and he laughed.
“I know, typical struggling actor lying on his resume. Anyway, now I have to actually pretend like I know what I’m doing…”
“Isn’t that acting?” I quipped without even thinking.
He laughed again, a softer, more rumbly one this time, teasing, “Wow… If you weren’t helping me right now, I’d storm off.”
I bit the grin off my lips. “You know, I’m actually a Tae Kwon Do instructor…
” I flinched. “Sometimes. I mean, I’ve done it before.
” If I focus on wrapping his knuckles, I won’t have to see him looking at me like the uncool loser I so clearly am.
“Just saying, if you ever need a trainer, or something…”
Despite how hard I was fighting it, my eyes rose to his, and he was just gazing at me… I didn’t want to fixate on what it meant, but I could feel myself drowning in the blue pools of possible interest.
“Thank you,” Michelangelo murmured sweetly. “That would… Yea. I mean, that would be amazing.”
I simply nodded because I didn’t know what else to do. My skin was all hot and itchy.
“You seem… really familiar.” He cocked his head. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
My heart pounded harder. Fortunately, I’d finished wrapping him up because my hands were shaking and I feared he’d feel it. The look on his face was subtle enough, but invested all the same.
There was no way I was imagining this… The flirtatious smile and the batting of his eyelashes. How damn close he was standing to me. I wasn’t crazy. He was affected, and it was blowing up my entire world.
Maybe he wasn’t afraid of being gay, or bi. Maybe that was just my own shit I was projecting onto him. Because in that moment, he didn’t seem scared to be standing so close to another man, touching him and checking him out in public.
Glancing behind him, I watched his friends he’d come in with as they messed around with some boxing gloves and laughed to themselves. Even they didn’t seem concerned about their friend flirting with a guy out in the open.
And in that moment, I imagined …
I imagined what it would be like to answer him truthfully. To say, “It’s me, baby. Your Ghost Rider.” Then cup his sharp jaw and kiss him right there, in front of barely anyone, but still somehow everyone .
I imagined how good it would feel to touch his lips with mine—we’d never done it before. I imagined him feeding one of those adorable little chuckles into my mouth, and me smiling back while we kissed deeper and hungrier because nothing else in the world mattered.
I even imagined going to his house, invited . Watching movies and having dinner, laughing and touching, and so much more kissing… Having real sex. No mask, no games. Fucking him to pieces because he was mine , then falling asleep with his head on my chest and my fingers in his soft hair.
In a matter of seconds, I imagined having a boyfriend . But not just any boyfriend… Michelangelo . The sweet, smiling optimist to my brooding, furious fighter.
But here’s an ugly secret for you… I was afraid. Petrified, in fact. The idea of doing that, of having that made my heart weightless, and that terrified me. I couldn’t do it.
Turns out, it was me all along. I was the one clinging to the shadows.
So I looked away from his face like a scared ass fucking baby, and lied, “Uh, no. Don’t think so.” Then I backed away, hastily grabbing my stuff. “But I actually… have to go. It was good meeting you.”
“Wait…” he called out after me as I reached the door. And just like that first night in his bedroom, I stopped. “I didn’t get your name. For the lessons?”
I peeked at him over my shoulder. “It’s Byron… Kang.”
His lips parted, still with the bright blue confusion and incessant want in his eyes. But I just… couldn’t . I ran off before he could get out another word.
Needless to say, I wanted to punch myself in the face after that whole… charade.
I felt like such a fool. Such a goddamn wuss. What the fuck was I so afraid of, anyway? My parents??
Who even gives a fuck about those? I mean, I know it’s ingrained in me to care what they think, and despite never amounting to a thing in their eyes, I still wanted them to love me .
But if they don’t now, then that’s never going to change.
I knew I deserved to be who I wanted to be, and I knew that blood didn’t always mean family . I wasn’t convinced that it was all about them… But I was afraid to deal with anything deeper.
My adrenaline was jacked for hours after leaving the gym. By midnight, I realized I had no hope of calming down, but more importantly, I had this gnawing need behind my ribcage I just couldn’t ignore.
I had to see him. Whether I could tell him the truth or not, it didn’t change how much he’d flipped me upside down. And after I’d thought I was gonna do it to him…
Racing into Harlem took me ten minutes, and the whole time I was chuckling to myself… Ghost Rider. What a nerd. When I got to his townhouse, I rushed up the stoop, using the spare key he’d accidentally left lying around for me after our second night together.
I’ll admit, I was being a lot less stealthy than usual.
Because this time, I wanted him to know I was there.
I jogged upstairs to his bedroom, out of breath as I stormed inside.
Not from exertion, but from… this . Whatever this manic sensation of a million crazed butterflies in my stomach was that I couldn’t ignore for one more second.
He was sitting in the big chair by the window, in his boxers, smoking a joint. I had to stop and just… stare . Because he looked like a dream, and I still couldn’t figure it out. But right then, I didn’t want to.
I only wanted one thing…
Striding over, I didn’t stop until I was wrapped around him like a vine. Straddling him on the chair, running my hands up his chest, and neck, onto his jaw. Our eyes locked, and I felt it. The mirrored yearning.
I tugged my mask out of the way. And I fucking kissed him.
Because fuck being scared.
The sound he made melted me from the inside out; this sexy little whimpering gasp, all jagged and throaty, because he was a man , and he had a deep, honey-coated voice that soothed me. My hands were in his hair, and his were on my face, our mouths moving, tongues lashing.
I had to stop to breathe, and when I did, he grinned and whispered, “I knew it was you.”
It hurts now… It’s a pain unlike any other.
Because I still have all of these memories, just as vivid as if they’d happened ten minutes ago.
I remember standing up and bringing him with me, strapped to my body, his legs around my waist. I remember the urgency in our movements as I brought him to the bed and crawled over him.
I remember him purring, “Tie me up, Byron.”
And I remember doing it, with his phone charger.
I remember pushing his legs open, just like he’d done to Rey, that night when I watched them from outside her window. Except I went into him bare, because he was mine .
I remember fucking him deep, and hard, but slow, kissing him and fisting his big, pink cock between us.
“Fuck me, baby.” His rough voice still rings in my ears, hushed and dripping with lust. “Nothing has ever felt like this… Uhhh , fuck me there.”
“Right here?” I gasped, kissing his jaw, then his neck, biting down on his pulse while I rippled my hips between his thighs. His dick throbbed in my hand, leaking everywhere. “God, gorgeous, you’re everything…”
“I fucking… love your big dick in me…”
“You love it?” I grunted, and he mewled, nodding fast. “In your sweet, greedy little rich-boy cunt?”
He nodded again, with tears tumbling down his cheeks.
“You like how I fuck what belongs to me?”
“Ohh God… oohhfuck! Fuck fuck fuck… ” He was moaning and whimpering, long arms stretched above his head.
He was clamping onto me, and I loved how I could read his body already. It made me feel so close to him. Like we were one person.
This was it. This was what I’d wanted all along. And it didn’t matter that he was a guy. The hang-ups had all but faded away…
My Michelangelo was about to come, and I wanted to come with him. I wanted to fall… With him.
Straightening, I grabbed his calves, one in each hand, holding his legs open so I could watch myself fucking the cum out of him.
That was when I heard it.
Seconds sooner and I could’ve done something. Maybe I could’ve reacted…
But I was too lost in him and his beautiful noises, his intoxicated flush and swollen, pillowy lips, and the way he was so damn beautiful right at the edge…
The thumping footsteps were drowned out by the thumping of my heart. By the time I heard them, it was too late.
“Oh my God! What the fuck?! ”
It was Antonio Russo. Michelangelo’s father …
Diving into the room, right at me, with some big guy by his side.
In the blink of an eye, it was all over. Me and him, our future, my life … All crammed back into the dark.
I was tackled to the ground by the large dude while the Governor of New York screamed and cursed at me, kicking me in the ribs and in the stomach.
For what it’s worth, Michelangelo was not silent. He was shouting at his father, explaining that we were friends, that he knew me. I was fine with him not calling me his boyfriend. We hadn’t had that conversation yet, so it made sense.