23. Colton #3
I hum helplessly, and his groan rumbles down to my bones. My own cock strains against my sticky shorts, desperate for relief again as he fucks my mouth from above, slow and controlled, the metal of his piercing making every stroke unforgettable.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he pants. “Take it all, Colton. God, I could watch you like this all night.”
His grip tightens in my hair, holding me in place as he drags his pierced cock across my tongue, slow enough to make me whimper.
Every pass of that barbell is electric, a jolt straight to the ache in my shorts.
I can barely breathe around him, barely think, but I don’t want to. I just want to give in.
“God, I should flip you over,” he growls, hips stuttering as he pushes deeper. “Bury myself in that tight ass of yours and fuck you till you forget your own damn name.”
A strangled sound escapes me, muffled around him, my entire body thrumming with need.
“Yeah, I bet you’d like that,” he says, voice rough. “But you didn’t come prepared, did you? No lube, no condom. Just showed up like a needy little slut, hoping I’d wreck your mouth instead.”
I groan around him, and he laughs low and dark. We both know neither of us expected this.
“That’s right. Tonight, you’re just my toy.” He rocks his hips, letting me feel the piercing drag along my tongue before sliding almost to the back of my throat. “And you’re gonna take every fucking inch I give you.”
Tears sting my eyes from the stretch and the angle, but I can’t stop the hum of need vibrating out of me.
Micah’s breathing grows heavier, his abs flexing as he fucks into my mouth in measured, hungry thrusts.
My hips move restlessly against nothing, my cock throbbing again, dripping in my ruined shorts .
“Fuck, Colton,” he rasps, the sound feral. “You look so good like this—my ex-best friend, my screw-up quarterback, flat on his back, choking on my cock. God, I should’ve done this years ago.”
I whimper, throat tightening around him as he pushes deep enough to make me swallow around the piercing. His groan fills the room, filthy and victorious.
“Mm, yeah. That’s it. Take me. Let me fuck that pretty mouth till you can’t talk your way out of anything ever again.”
He doesn’t let up. Every thrust is a reminder, every drag of metal over my tongue a claim he never made before, but I wanted all along. My whole body shudders, tension coiling hot and unbearable.
Micah’s pace turns relentless, his hips snapping forward in rough, hungry thrusts that make the mattress creak under my back.
Every push forces his pierced cock deeper over my tongue, the metal barbell sending sparks through my nerves.
My eyes are watering, spit pooling at the corners of my mouth, but I can’t stop the needy hum vibrating in my chest.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he grits out, voice a rasp of need and triumph. “Look at you—fuck—taking me so fucking good. I could keep you like this all night, you know that?”
I groan around him, hips bucking helplessly against the air. The wet sound of him using my mouth is obscene, filling the room along with his ragged breaths. I want to touch myself, want to grind against him, but he doesn’t give me the chance.
“No,” Micah growls, his palm reaching back and pressing hard against my sternum to keep me flat. “You don’t get to do anything until I’m done with you. You earned this.”
The words hit as hard as his thrusts—shame and desire twisti ng together until I can barely see straight.
He shifts his weight, angling my head just the way he wants, and drives in deep enough to make me swallow around the piercing.
My throat convulses, and his answering groan is filthy, unrestrained.
“God, yes—fuck—your mouth was made for me.” He’s panting now, hips stuttering with the edge of release. “Gonna finish in that pretty mouth, Colton. You’re gonna swallow all of it like the good little bottom I always knew you were.”
I moan around him, eyes squeezing shut as he pushes past my last shred of control. His hand fists tighter in my hair, holding me down as his whole body goes rigid.
“Fuck—fuck, take it—swallow it all?—”
Hot, salty spurts hit the back of my throat, and I choke down every drop, tears spilling over as my cock throbs helplessly in my soaked shorts. Micah doesn’t let me move until he’s wrung out every last tremor, his groans filling the room like victory.
When he finally pulls back, slick and glistening, I gasp for air, my chest heaving. My lips are swollen, my face flushed, and I can feel my own release smeared against the inside of my shorts.
Micah leans over me, his palm cupping my jaw with possessive heat, his thumb swiping at the corner of my mouth where a single drop escaped. He brings it to my lips, making me lick it clean, and my whole body shudders.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, dark and satisfied. “Next time, you come prepared. Because next time…I’m taking that ass.”
I can only nod, needy and wanting, sprawled on the bed I’m not leaving tonight.
I’m flat on my back, still trying to catch my breath , the mattress damp with sweat, and my shorts with my own mess. My lips are tingling, throat raw, and my cock—God—my cock is throbbing all over again as if I didn’t just disgrace myself completely.
Micah’s still above me, propped on one arm, smirking like a devil who got exactly what he wanted. His golden skin glows under the cheap hotel light, his abs flexing as he drags his hand through his hair.
His gaze drops to my shorts.
“Seriously?” His voice is a low, amused rasp. “You’re hard again?”
Heat floods my face, humiliation curling hot in my stomach. I try to turn away, but he grips my jaw, forcing my eyes back to his.
“Aw, look at you,” he says, mock sympathy dripping from every word. “Can’t even look at me without that thing begging for attention. You already made a mess all over yourself, and now you’re aching again? That’s really pathetic.”
I groan and cover my face with one arm, wishing the mattress would swallow me.
He chuckles darkly, leaning down so close his breath skims my ear.
“You came just from rubbing on me the same way some desperate little thing would before I even got your mouth on me. And now…” He flicks his gaze to the straining outline in my shorts, then back to my eyes.
“You’re still aching. Is that what being under me does to you?
Gets you stupid and needy? How are you going to hide this from the world, Colt? ”
I swallow hard, but my hips twitch against the mattress. I can’t help it. He notices—of course he notices—and his grin sharpens.
“God, you’re easy,” he says, all cruel amusement. “Two years pretending you’re too good for me, and now I know all I have to do is let you hump my thigh and you’ll lose your mind. Maybe I should make you sleep like this. Hard. Aching. Remembering exactly who you belong to now.”
I whimper, humiliated by how much the words get to me. How hot they make me feel. Fuck. I have a fucking degradation kink, obviously.
Micah laughs low in his throat, shaking his head as he finally rolls off me, leaving me a wreck on the bed. “Better figure out how to deal with that, Golden Boy,” he says, grabbing his phone. “I’m not touching you again tonight. Not even if you beg.”
The room is too quiet except for my ragged breathing. My shorts are soaked—sticky, wet, humiliating—and the heat radiating off Micah makes it worse. I can’t move at first. My muscles are locked, my chest tight with the mix of shame and leftover need thrumming through me.
“Jesus, Colt,” he drawls. “You really made a mess, didn’t you?”
I jolt, fumbling to sit up, but that only makes me more aware of how damp my shorts are, how they cling to my skin. My face burns hotter than it ever has in my life.
“I—uh—bathroom,” I stammer, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
He hums, low and knowing, as I grab my duffel and retreat across the room.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands after you take care of yourself, golden boy,” he calls, voice laced with amusement.
The jab hits like a slap. I don’t answer.
I snag a new pair of shorts before I duck into the tiny hotel bathroom and slam the door, bracing both hands on the sink. My reflection stares back at me: flushed face, blown pupils, sweaty hair sticking to my forehead, and my lips puffy. I look…ravaged.
I peel my shorts down, grimacing at the sticky mess in the fabric. My boxers are no better. I rinse them in the sink with water that’s just this side of freezing, trying to calm my body and my brain all at once.
From the other side of the door, Micah’s voice carries—mocking and smooth.
“You’re lucky I didn’t make you walk through the hall like that. Bet the guys would love to see their golden boy like this.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the cold water bite at my hands.
He’s cruel because he can be. Because he knows I’ll take it. Because part of me…enjoys it.
When I finally step back into the room, damp shorts bundled in my hand, Micah’s sprawled across the queen bed, scrolling his phone as if nothing happened. He doesn’t even look up when he says, “Hope you didn’t leave any for the housekeeping staff to clean.”
My ears burn. I throw the wet shorts over my duffel and crawl under the covers on my side of the bed, facing the wall. But sleep doesn’t come easy—not with Micah’s heat against my back, his soft huff of laughter letting me know he’s still very, very aware of me.