Chapter 1 #2
Normally, I’d shrug it off as someone who looks like him. But not this time. For the first time in forever, it’s actually him. And he’s looking right at me. He tilts his head as he studies me, his full lips wrapped around his drink straw in a very sensual way.
The breath leaves my lungs, and my heart pounds like something wonderful is about to happen.
Or terrible.
Could be either.
He nods subtly for me to follow him.
I stand abruptly, no idea what I’m doing or what I expect. I just know I need to go. Now. “Water,” I grunt. “I’m getting water.”
No one questions me as I push out of the booth, my feet heavy as I stumble after him.
Does he recognize me? There’s no way.
He glides between groups of patrons while I trail behind him with the grace of a bull until he stops at the top of the stairs, waiting for me to. . .
To what? Have a chat?
No, his sultry smirk suggests he has something else in mind. Something much more adult.
Why the fuck am I doing this?
My thoughts hit a wall when I reach him.
He glances back at me and grabs my hand, a jolt of awareness zipping up my arm at the contact.
Peter leads me down the stairs, and I stare at where our fingers are twisted together, his long and dainty compared to mine.
His nails are tipped a sparkly silver color.
Something flutters in my stomach. My dick twitches for the second time tonight.
How can I even entertain the idea of him—
I know what this is. I’m drunk. Lonely. Recently single. This place is sexy. And he’s really pretty by anyone’s standards. All of this confusion is just misplaced energy.
So why am I still holding his hand?
Peter turns down one of the dark hallways and yanks me around a corner.
We’re next to an exit door, the light from the sign barely illuminating the small space.
The air is heavy with heat, and the music is muted, like I’m listening to it underwater.
Peter stops and spins around, pushing my body against the wall.
I’m not sure why I let him. He’s a whole head shorter than me and has a much smaller build, though his cropped T-shirt, reveals alabaster skin stretched over smooth, toned muscle.
He steps even closer, his body melting against mine, and when I look down at him, our lips are inches apart, breaths mingling.
His ocean eyes are edged with dark, smudged liner, and rainbow glitter mingles with the freckles dusting his nose.
He looks like some sort of sexy fairy. Or Edward Cullen sunbathing. Definitely not a real person.
Is this real? Am I dreaming?
Not that I’ve been dreaming about Peter Parker. And even if I have thought about his flawless skin and high cheekbones and his slender fingers brushing my skin, it’s not like I have any control over my unconscious thoughts.
“You look like you need to relax, big guy.” His husky voice makes my balls tingle.
Tris calls me that nickname, but it never lands like this. Like I’ve lost control of my body. My heart is racing painfully fast.
What. The. Fuck.
“Is that what you need?” Peter purrs, and his hand drops to my crotch, grinding his palm into my already hardening cock.
My eyes widen, and I take a shaky breath, swallowing an embarrassing whimper.
I should stop this. Anyone could see us and get the wrong idea. But, fuck, it feels really good. When I don’t answer, he raises a delicate eyebrow. He glances at my hands, which are pressed firmly to the wall behind me, my fingertips digging into the plaster.
“Listen,” he says, his eyes softening as they catch my gaze. “I really want to suck your cock, and I thought we had a pretty good connection back there, but you seem nervous, so I’m gonna need some consent before we do this. Do you want me to suck your cock, big guy?”
No. “Y—yes,” I croak.
Wait, what?
Peter’s eyes light up right before he sinks to his knees. He reaches for my waistband and pops the button on my jeans, then shimmies them down my thighs. Peter licks his lips and gives me a sultry look.
“You are all man,” he murmurs, his fingers skimming over my dark leg hair. His touch is electric, and I shudder as goosebumps sheet my skin. Then he reaches into my boxers and fists my cock, and I buck into his face.
Peter chuckles. “Someone likes to be touched.”
Yes, I like to be touched.
When was the last time I was really touched like this? The last time anyone made me feel this raw?
He squeezes harder and another embarrassing whimper slips past my lips. When he slides my boxers to my knees, I feel his hot breath coast over my balls, his nose grazing my pubic hair.
Maybe I can just close my eyes and picture Ash.
But I know I can’t because she never made me feral like this.
God, I’m so horny. Fuck, just enjoy it, Marcus.
I shut off my intrusive thoughts and groan loudly when Peter takes my dick into his hot mouth, sliding it all the way to the back of his throat.
Pleasure pings through my thighs and up my spine.
“Fuck!” I shout, and then slap a hand over my mouth, biting into one of my fingers to prevent another outburst.
This time when Peter laughs, it vibrates against my skin.
Sweat beads at my temples and slides down my face. I have the sudden urge to take a handful of his soft-looking hair and tug it in my fist, but I don’t because I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t want to freak him out.
Peter starts to bob his head, the flat of his tongue teasing the sensitive underside of my cock.
My balls feel heavy and achy. His mouth is wet and warm, and the sensations are overstimulating in the best fucking way.
It’s different from other blowjobs—so much more intense.
His enthusiasm and expertise are unmatched.
“Oh shit,” I gasp as my orgasm sneaks up on me. My head falls back against the wall with a dull thunk. “Oh my God.”
I fuck his face, my hips moving of their own volition. The pleasure is too much too fast, and I can’t control my animalistic reaction to it. I squeeze my eyes shut as the euphoria ripples through my body, leaving my knees weak and my head spinning.
Peter gags and chokes, and I continue thrusting my dick between his lips, unloading an ungodly amount of cum.
I crack an eye open and watch as he swallows everything I give him, before he pulls off my cock with a pop, then swipes some cum from his chin and sucks his fingers clean with a satisfied hum.
His lashes are wet with tears, but he doesn’t look distressed.
I stare at him, dumbfounded, while my brain tries to come back online after one of the most intense orgasms of my life.
He pulls up my boxers, tucking me carefully inside, and then starts on my jeans. I watch the careful way he zips me up, like he’s taking care of me.
And that’s when burning shame floods my stomach.
God, what would my father think?
My breath catches, and I slap his hands away, fumbling with the button on my jeans as I turn and take off down the passageway. The floor seems to move beneath my feet, and I trip, cursing Tris and his stupid fruity drinks.
Why did I do that? What the fuck is wrong with me?
The scene that was so freeing and erotic before now feels suffocating. And somewhere in the back of my head, I feel guilty. Guilty for running. Guilty for leaving Peter on his knees in a dark, dirty hallway. Guilty that I used him so violently for my own pleasure.
I only let him do that because I was drunk and horny.
Yes.
Yes.
He’d offered himself freely, and I took him up on it because I needed the release. Not because I’m into guys, but because I was following the energy of the crowd.
Because I want more from my life.
Because I want to actually live.
And for a moment, with Peter Parker, I felt like I was.