38. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I don’t have much, but being able to show Jesse something new makes me happier than I’d be if I found out my father was mauled to death by a bear—or trampled by a moose. I haven’t decided which I’d prefer.
Jesse told me that this was the best meal of his life, but it’s not his words that I believe. It’s the way he looked at me when he said it. The smile that’s been permanently painted on his lips since trying the first gyoza. The way his nose crinkles whenever I say something he deems cute. And how, since the moment we sat down, it’s felt more like a movie than real life.
Almost in slow motion, each laugh and micro twitch of his face has me captivated, and when he pinches my forearm, I’m startled out of my devoted trance of staring at how his pretty freckles have darkened slightly from the heat of the hotplate. And when our eyes meet, my brain buffers, and any words I might have been able to grab and spit out, are lost when he has the audacity to flash me a cocky smirk.
I think this is what the word ‘perfect’ means. Easy, and seamless, and nervous, and fun. But the longer the perfection drags on, the more my nervousness pushes the ease aside. We’ve talked about the dumbest shit for the past hour, and I’d be willing to carry on for hours more if I could shut up the voice that keeps asking; what’s wrong with him? How hasn’t he figured out that you’re not good enough?!
Jesse deserves the world and I can’t offer him anything other than the broken shell of a man who can suck a mean dick…
“No, no, no.” I shake my hands as Tanaka-San approaches. “No more, please.”
“Hush.” She ignores me, placing a small box in front of each of us, then uses her freehand to cup Jesse’s cheek. She smiles at me, then down at him before patting him on the chest. “Take these with you. It’s almost Cherry Blossom season back home and these are my gift to you—Sakura flavored mochi—so you both come back and see me soon.” After sliding the check between us, she steps back as far as the small space will allow, and bows deeply.
Trying to show her the respect of waiting until she’s finished before moving, I see Jesse reaching for the check. Darting my hand to snatch it, I widen my eyes at him. I don’t care if he’s a Lord. Truth be told, I don’t care how much money he has, because here, we both earn the same amount and that’s as equal as we’re ever going to get. So, it pisses me off that he even thinks of paying, considering I’m the one who invited him. It's like he’s trying to rub it in my face just how poor I am.
“Where to now?” Jesse asks as I put a hundred-dollar bill on the small tray. It’s more than enough, and more tip than required, but Tanaka-San and her husband work their asses off and show the same unconditional kindness to everyone who walks through the door.
“Nothing planned,” I tell him, trying my hardest not to let my emotions show on my face because he shouldn’t have to deal with my insecurities. Especially when he did nothing wrong. So I stand, put the tray on the bar, and return to retrieve my mochi. “Let’s just walk.”
Swiveling in his chair, Jesse cocks his head just enough to look up at me. He stares and smiles, and I wish I knew what he’s trying to tell me. I wish I could read his thoughts. Know his secrets. Understand his intentions…
Down the stairs, I take a step ahead to make my way back through the narrow passageway to the main street, but Jesse reaches out to grab my hand and follows so closely behind that I can feel his chest against the back of my arm. His fingertips press into my hand and I run my tongue over the roof of my mouth—dying to taste them. It feels like a decade since I had a cigarette and my constant compulsion to suck on Jesse’s fingers is becoming an issue.
With the sun completely set, the Christmas illuminations mix with the millions of stars and flicker against the pitch black sky. The band is still playing, many more people are huddled around the stage, and the food stalls have deep lines of customers.
I know Jesse had apprehensions about being too close when we first arrived, but there’s no tension now as we lazily walk with nowhere to be and nothing to see outside of just being a part of the night.
As we continue, the crowd thins and the music of the band is replaced by the sounds of The Donegal and an upmarket cocktail bar and restaurant.
Jesse stops to look at something in a store window, and I obsess over how good we look together in our reflection… On the surface… Here, in Canada, with Jesse holding tight to a secret and no one who matters has any idea who he is. He could take me to Royal Ascot. I’d look great in a top hat and tails, but the second I opened my mouth, everyone in earshot would know I didn’t belong.
“Fags.”
I sigh with so much contempt that I growl. And I know they heard me, because, how dare they—whoever the fuck they are—force Jesse to endure this bullshit.
Being taunted in an Eastern European accent isn’t something I had on my bingo card. And had the town not been jam-packed with families, I may have just punched the prick right off the bat. But not this time. Because that’s not what acquaintances of Lord’s would do.
Squeezing the shit out of Jesse’s hand, I drop my shoulders and calmly turn around. “I’m sorry, but was that slur meant to insult me and my boyfriend?”
“You and your boyfriend can fuck off.”
“Oh, such harsh words from a guy with a Cold War haircut. Does Mother Russia know you’ve defected?”
“Don’t get smart with me, gay boy!”
With all the purpose in the world, I look to Jesse, to my other side, down at myself, then back to smugly meet the stare of a man whose voice does not match his stature. He might go to the gym and work on his muscles, but that doesn’t stop him from being five-six tops.
“Gay? Are you gay?” I point to the stranger. “Sorry, no gay boys here.”
“You queers were just holding hands—”
“I fucking knew it.” A new, much more Southern Hemisphere and nauseatingly familiar accent joins the conversation. Tyler, the same douchebag that Saxon picked a fight with last week, towers over our first antagonist.
“Nice eye,” I smirk, referring to the black eye Saxon gifted him as part of the introduction of his fist to his face.
“Why the fuck would you be with him when you had Mavis?” he questions Jesse, his Australian drawl thicker than it was at our first meeting.
“Seem’s someone is still a little too butt-sore at being rejected.” Jesse stops to snicker. “Sorry, mate. Bad pun.”
“I’m not your mate.” He takes a step forward.
Quite obviously acquainted with each other, the Eastern-Block small fry wrings his hands together and steps beside Tyler.
Both with equally infuriating expressions of utter nonchalance, Jesse and I hold firm.
Why move?
This shit doesn’t scare me.
This is only the start of their night. They aren’t really looking for a fight. The midget is far too homophobic to try anything unsavory. And Tyler is simply seeking retribution. Nothing about him screams homophobe, he’s just a big dumb alpha male who stupid girls like. And the one who was smart enough to not want him, had already been ‘claimed’ by someone he sees as less than him. Though it’s only true, physically, these types only ever see bulk and body size. Which is priceless, because he’s forgetting that all his muscles counted for naught when Saxon laid him out flat with a single punch.
“I’m so sorry to disappoint the both of you. But if you were hoping for an easy target for your ritual Saturday night gay bashing, then you’re in for a rude awakening.”
Giggles from the right pull our attention, and Jesse and I spot two girls moving from behind the men. One leans sideways against the shopfront as the other ‘whispers’ something unscrupulous and altogether scathing in her friend’s ear.
“I think your lady friends are no longer impressed by your theatrics,” Jesse points out.
Both women are cute, obviously townies, and both are out of Shorty’s league, which points strongly to them both vying for Tyler’s attention. And I see a future where one of them will be sleeping alone instead of accepting the consolation prize.
“Oh, we are not their friends.” Her tongue is sharper than a surgeon’s scalpel.
“Not anymore, anyway,” the other adds.
With my hand still gripping Jesse’s, I covertly tug it towards the girls, squeeze it extra tight, then let go. “I think they’re ready for an upgrade.”
“The fuck did you say?”
“Ladies. Would you like to join us for a drink?” Jesse asks, stepping out from between the dick-heads and the window. And I can’t stop the smile spreading on my face as he fingers the dark blond streak in his hair.
“Anything’s gotta be better than them,” I say, putting my back to Tyler and the shorty to create a barrier between them and the girls. All the while keeping an eye on their reflection in the window.
Jesse holds his hand out to the girl closest, and with a toss of her fake curls, she takes it and turns to walk away with him.
“Don’t walk away from me, you coward.”
“So chivalry is cowardice now? Dumb cunt,” I mutter at Tyler and hold out my arm for the other girl to link hers with.
“Did you just call me a cunt?”
“I’d never call you a cunt. That’d be an insult to cunts,” I lie flippantly over my shoulder.
“Get the fuck back here!”
Letting her go, I spin away from the townie and narrow my eyes. “Language, boys. There are children around.”
“You think I care?”
“Immigration might.”
In a last ditch effort to save face, Tyler lowers his chin and walks toward me. Meeting him, I push my chest against his and stare straight into his eyes. “I’m sure you haven’t missed that there are police here tonight. And families. Lots of families. And I assume you don’t feel like being arrested, because I sure as hell don’t. Though I’m certain the experience would be a lot more enjoyable for me. Whereas foreign citizens with a piece of shit work visa?” I stop to scoff in his face. “They’ll ship you back off to your colony in a heartbeat.”
Jesse rubs his pinkie against the back of my hand as the bartender at The Donegal slides two cocktails in front of us. “How far are we gonna take this?”
“Take what?” I ask, picking up one glass and playing dumb.
“You’re the worst.”
“Just say it, Jess.” I shoot him another dastardly grin.
“You know those girls are only staying to see if we are a couple?”
“Yes, Jesse. I have been here the whole time.”
“So I’m asking, how far is it okay to lead them on before it starts to be cruel?”
I stop midway between the bar and where the girls are seated, and as I turn to Jesse, I feel like my past is reaching inside my body, trying to rip and tear and remind me that happiness and I don’t get to exist together. That I’m not a good person. That I fuck with people's emotions because I want them to be as miserable as me. That I’m sullied, and poor, and good-for-nothing, and no matter how hard I wish it to be, people like me don’t get a happy ending. Not when people like him exist. Perfect and untouchable. Everything from his longhair to his designer boots is so far above what I deserve that I’m terrified he’ll look at me one day and realize it for himself. I want to tell him that the deeper our relationship gets, the more insecure I get in a way I’ve never known. Or that I’m scared shitless he’ll leave me for a woman because I know he still thinks about them. And how I know it’s unfair to expect him to take on a role he doesn’t want because I’m so fucking damaged that just the thought of his dick anywhere near my ass makes me wanna die. But I don’t. I push it all down as deep as I can and plaster on a smug expression. “Who said we’re leading them on?”
“I’m just—”
“I watched you look at her, Jess. She’s short, curvy, feminine… All the things I’m not. And—” I hold my hand up to stop him before he starts “—Her friend’s the same. But it’s just like with Yuki. I don’t give a fuck what she’s talking about.”
“Surely that’s mean?” he says, watching my lips move like he can’t believe the words that are coming out of my mouth.
“And was it not mean for them to ditch Tyler for us?”
He shakes his head slowly.
“They don’t seem like the type to care too much.”
“But…”His voice shakes. “What if you don’t like seeing it?” he asks, already knowing how to answer the proposition I haven’t put forward yet.
“Pretty Boy,” I croon, inching closer, trying to be as strong as I can because, right now, testing him seems more important than anything else. And I know it’s self-sabotage. Just like I know it’s greed, possessiveness, stupidity, and self-indulgence all percolating up from the shit pile I just forced down that’s insisting I need to know if I alone can ever be enough for him. “No woman is a threat to me. But if I ever see another man touch you, I’ll kill them.” Leaning in, I whisper into the shell of his ear. “No one’s gonna take that hole away from me.”
Acting as cocksure as I can, I float back to the table, knowing that if my idiocy destroys us, I’ll never forgive myself. But also, that I don’t know how to stop myself, either.
“Where the hell are your drinks?” Cammie asks when I’m in earshot.
Scooting a stool closer to her, I pat my stomach. “We’ve had our fill for the night. Gotta remain responsible gentlemen, and all that.”
“Did you want a sip at least?” She takes the martini glass by the stem and holds it out to me.
Leaning in, I pluck the toothpick out of her cocktail and slide the olive off of it with my teeth before tossing the toothpick back in. “Thanks, Doll,” I wink, rolling the olive around on my tongue and then pushing it into the side of my mouth before biting it.
With a sultry pout, Cammie watches me, takes a sip, and leans forward on the table. She’s slimmer and taller than her friend, and almost obnoxiously girly in the kind of way where you know she’s a ravenous slut of the best possible kind, but likes to pretend she’s virtuous in a turtleneck with a ribbon in her high ponytail. She’s the type of girl who’s fun for one night. The kind that says, I don’t usually do this kind of thing, right before dropping to her knees and sucking you off like there’s no tomorrow.
After taking another sip from her martini, Cammie's fingers remain on the stem, and she circles the glass over the wet patch it’s created on the table like she’s plucking up the courage to ask the question Jesse and I have been waiting for since we stole them away.
“Right. So… before this goes any further, I need you pair to set a few things straight.”
Here we go. She found her balls.
“What could possibly be confusing you, Doll?” I hum, smoothing her long hair back over her shoulder and praying Jesse is fixated on my every move.
“Well, that, for starters.” She points to my hand but leans into my touch as I drag it down her arm. “I know I saw you two holding hands.”
“Yeah,” Daisy, the other townie, pips up. Stepping down from her seat, she stands on the footrest of both her stool and Jesse’s to get the height she needs to rest her elbow on his shoulder. “And you called Jesse your boyfriend, but you don’t act like you’re gay.”
“That’s cause we aren’t. We already said that.” Jesse rolls his eyes and looks straight at me. His expression sours just enough for me to notice, then he wraps his arm around Daisy’s tiny waist, rubs his temple against her curls, and taunts me.
This was meant to be my test.
“So the ‘boyfriend’ remark was just to fuck with them?”
Nibbling the tip of my tongue, I shoot Jesse the sly gaze I know drives him crazy, and hold my hand out to Cammie. Accepting it, she hops off her stool and allows me to lead her behind my back and to my other side—closer to Jesse. Spreading my legs, I guide her between them, and, with her back to me, I press my fingers into her hips then slide them down into the front pockets of her jeans. Finally, I lean into her ear. “No, Cammie. Jesse is my boyfriend.”
Her head falls back against my chest and Daisy’s curls fly as her head whips towards Jesse. Her glossed lips open, but he presses his thumb against them.
Just like he does to me.
But they aren’t as pretty as mine.
They wouldn’t look as good sucking on the thick head of his cock.
Sliding forward on my stool, and act like I’m pushing my dick against Cammie’s ass. Tugging down on her collar, I expose her neck and press kisses into her skin while I focus on Jesse. “Just look at him. Isn’t that the prettiest face you’ve ever seen?” Cammie hums and rocks her hips against me. “How could I say no to that?”
“So you still like girls?” Daisy asks hopefully, vying with me for Jesse’s attention.
“We love girls,” he answers, staring at me. Never taking his eyes off me. Not even when he lifts her onto his lap and wraps his hands around her waist. “Always have… And I guess, sometimes it’s too hard to resist temptation.”
Jesse’s eyes bore through me.
It’s a look I’ve never seen.
Stubbornness on an extraterrestrial level.
He’s calling my bluff, and now we’re partaking in a loop of, I know you want this, and, I will make you see how stupid this is.
When I don’t respond, Jesse pushes further and sweeps back Daisy’s hair to nuzzle his nose beneath her ear.
When her breath hitches, he kisses her neck.
She turns to face him, her tiny hands grabbing at his biceps. “That’s so hot.”
Of course, it is.
But why the fuck are you touching him?
“I’d love to see you guys in action,” Cammie gulps, craning her neck to look back at me.
“Will you be returning the favor?” I ask.
Cammie looks at Daisy, but all she gets is the back of her head and Jesse groping her ass.
That…That part’s fine, but it’s the way she’s clinging to his chest and kissing his neck that has my dick pulsing with bitter hatred.
“Doesn’t seem very fair if you don’t,” Jesse says, and even though it may seem like he’s addressing Cammie, I know otherwise.
But do I say anything, though?
No.
Pinching Daisy’s chin, Jesse raises it and licks his lips. Pausing, he gives me a chance to admit my mistake.
To call off my bullshit.
To confess that this is all because I’m falling in love with him. And that means I’m losing my wits, my control, and my, I hate the fucking world and everything in it, attitude that kept me wrapped up and safe for so long. But most of all, that I’m fucking terrified of what I’ll do if he ever leaves me.
But I’m headstrong. And far too resolute in my own stubbornness.
If he doesn’t want to do it, then Jesse needs to make the call for himself.
If he truly believes that me, and only me, a man—who he can’t fuck—will be enough to satisfy him. Then he has to be the one to pull the plug on this charade.
The seconds tick on.
Shaking his head, Jesse blinks, and for the first time, he looks away from me.
My jaw clenches as his lips meet Daisy’s, and my fingers dig into Cammie’s thighs.
Cammie reaches up to rub my arms, but I shake her off. I don’t need her touch.
The only hands I need on me are Jesse’s.
I don’t care that they’re bigger. Stronger.
I don’t care that the only other dick he’s touched is his own.
He can grab Daisy’s ass—no drama. But why is he being so casual about her hands grappling at him like he’s a goddamn mountain she’s trying to climb?
Cammie swipes her cheek across my jaw. “Kiss me,” she purrs.
I pull my head back. “Don’t touch me.”
“Why?”
“I only kiss Jesse.”
His eyes are back on me, and seeing the look on my face—the one he’s been waiting for—he takes Daisy by the wrists and removes her from his lap. “Get your ass back to the van.” His voice is deep, and daddy, and I know I’m in trouble.
My head knows, my heart knows, and god dammit, my dick knows too.
Ripping my hands from Cammie’s pockets, the stool scratches along the floorboards as I slide it backward. Once my coat’s on, I stick my hands in the pockets to hide my hard-on, and give Jesse a stare that says, you better hurry the fuck up, before I spin to leave.
“I haven’t finished my drink,” Cammie calls out to me and I backtrack until I’m close enough I don’t have to yell.
“I couldn’t give a fuck. You’re not coming.”
She might have called me an asshole—perhaps something even worse, but the amount of fucks I give is apparent by how quickly I’m out of the pub and across the other side of the street.
I hear someone jogging behind me. I know it’s Jesse by the sound of his boots. And it’s the only noise I need to hear.
“Slow the fuck down!” Jesse’s voice is one hundred percent annoyed by the time the van is in sight.
“You hurry up,” I growl back at him.
“I hope you’re happy with yourself.”
Hand on Jesse’s chest, I grab a fistful of his stupid sexy floral shirt and throw him against the side of the van. “What the fuck was that?” I bark, pushing my dick against his.
He scoffs—fucking scoffs—at me and has the balls to try to push me back. “I was only doing what I was told.”
“I never told you to do that.”
“I thought women weren’t a threat.”
“They’re not.”
“So what’s all this toxic masculinity about then, Kai?”
I grind against him with envious determination, and his fingers bully their way into the belt loops of my cords.
“ You can touch them .”
“Kai—”
“The things I don’t have.” Defeated, I accept my jealousy and lean my forehead against his, yanking his body closer still. “I’ve got hands, Jesse. I’ve got lips… And a mouth…”
He nudges my nose with his. “A sexy mouth.”
I inhale so sharply that it stings my nostrils and aches in my chest.
One of Jesse’s hands leaves my pants, scrapes its nails up my neck, and drags its fingertips across my lips. And like a ravenous animal on the brink of death, my life depends on them. Darting out my tongue, I seek them and coax them inside my mouth.
The relief I feel is instantaneous. Calm and soothing. The second the pads of his fingers glide across my tongue, I’m satiated. All the envy I felt seeing Daisy’s hands on him, and all the self-loathing and destructive tendencies that threatened to ruin everything, evaporate like smoke on the water.
For several moments, Jesse allows me to pacify myself. I wrap my tongue around his fingers and suck. Long and hard. It’s better than any cigarette or drug, and when my breathing has calmed, he explores. He pinches at my tongue and scrapes his nails along the top. Beneath. The roof of my mouth. He makes a show of stabbing at the insides of my cheeks—stretching them out and watching the skin bulge under the pressure. Then, just as my knees start to buckle, he drags them out, spears the strings of spit down my chin, and squeezes my neck. “You’re a liar, you know that?”
My breath catches in my throat as my head tilts back.
“You said you like to be rough. But you don’t, do you? Not with me.”
My dumb and staccato blinks are my reply.
Pushing me off of him with only the hand around my throat, Jesse turns and slams me back against the van door.
“You thought you had to be strong because you only ever fucked weak women. They didn’t know how to handle you. They couldn’t see what you wanted. What you needed…. Open your mouth.”
It’s embarrassing how eager I am to obey him.
To be used.
He needs to rise on his toes to do it, but Jesse hurls a wad of spit into my mouth and I moan as it hits the back of my tongue. It’s hot and intrusive, and if my cock wasn’t leaking before, it sure as hell is now. I go to swallow it, but he jerks my head down. “I’m not finished.” Again, he spits into my gaping mouth, this time hitting deeper, and a euphoric gasp gurgles out around it. “Such a dirty whore.” He throws my head to the side. “Keys… And don’t you dare swallow.”
With Jesse’s saliva coating my mouth, I struggle to find the right key.
“Just open the fucking door,” he demands—gripping my arm and spinning me towards the handle.
The trademark scrape of the door makes me shudder as it slides open, and Jesse pries my head back with a hand in my hair. “Push the middle seats back, then get on your knees.”
Crawling in, I flick the lever down on the far side of the first row of seats and push it back until it clicks into place. Turning ninety degrees, I lean back on my heels, rest my hands above my knees, and wait.
Jesse is all broad shoulders and power as he shrugs off his coat and tosses it on the pushed-back seats. Moving into the van, he stops on the first step and throws the door closed behind him with a bang.
“Here.” He points to the floor in front of him, and I shuffle forward until my knees are as far as they can go before falling off the step.
Hand above his head, Jesse searches the roof before flicking on the internal light. My eyes blink, but I hold steady.
“Open wide.”
Craning my neck, I open my mouth as far as I can.
“So pretty, this face,” he coos—stroking my cheek. “But I’m gonna fuck it so hard you won’t recognize yourself.”
My lust and desire to serve him is so heavy my whole body quivers at the thought of how I’ll look, and to exactly what lengths he’s going to go to in order to get me there.
Unbuttoning the top of his shirt, Jesse pulls the fabric over his head and throws it on top of his coat. Nimble fingers make quick work of his belt and he peels his Wranglers down to just below the bulge of his cock. Then he grips it hard enough through his underwear I can see its strong outline—strained and stretching the material like it’s about to break.
“Do you trust me?”
I nod eagerly and paw at his thighs.
Nails jab into the skin of my cheeks as I’m forced to focus on Jesse’s green irises.
“I’m serious, Kai… Do you trust me?”
Slithering my tongue back into my mouth, I gather our combined saliva into my cheek and answer as best I can. “Yeth.”
“Get that tongue back out,” he growls—tossing kind and caring Jesse in the gutter as he pulls down the band of his underwear.
I’m so close his cock head hits my chin on the way up and smacks down on the tip of my tongue.
My eyes roll back and my eyelids dance at his scent is as it coats my nostrils.
With a firm grip on the base of his shaft, Jesse slaps the underside of his dick against my tongue—splashing our spit all over my face and his stomach.
“You’re gonna be such a fucking mess when I’m done,” he speaks down to me.
My eyes widen in shock when his thickness slaps me in the face.
With a snicker, he does it again before moving to the other cheek.
“Uh-uh, tongue out,” he scolds, rubbing his slick slit against my lips.
Lapping at his tip, I boldly trace his crown before draping my tongue back over my bottom lip.
“Such a good boy,” he smiles, rocking himself back and forth along the flat of my tongue—pushing deeper with each pass until the head of his dick is sliding past my teeth and forcing streams of drool to cascade out the sides of my mouth and flow down my chin to my neck.
“So warm.” He runs his free hand from my forehead, through my hair, and to the base of my skull. “Take a deep breath.”
No sooner have I sucked in as much air as I can past his thickness, does Jesse thrust forward. Holding my head rigid, he rams against the back of my throat. There’s no time to get used to it like when I was in control, and the invasion has me gagging around him. Pulling out just long enough for me to cough, Jesse forces his way back in and coaxes my throat to open for him with brute force, more than anything.
The strain on my jaw is so intense I’ll no doubt be sore tomorrow.
I try to keep focus on the lewd faces he’s making, though he soon grows too blurry because what was originally only a few tears is now welling so deep in my lids that it spills over onto my cheeks, mingling with the spit he’s still forcing out of me.
With my neck bulging under his pressure, I groan out in warning before my chest convulses and my throat wretches him out.
Swallowing quickly, I try to gulp down some air, but Jesse forces his balls into my mouth and slaps his cock against my forehead.
With a vast spiderweb of thick saliva coating my cheeks and eyelashes, I suck them down against my tongue and curiously lap at their fuzzy surface.
With a salacious grunt, I feel Jesse quiver and fall back against the van door as he slips from my mouth.
“God, that’s pretty,” he pants, and I believe him.
My lips are numb, and my mouth is swollen. My throat hurts. I’m crying. Spit is dripping from my nose and chin to the floor of the van. And my eyelashes are stuck together—all for him. Only for him. Because I need it just as much as he does.
Swiping his hand down my face, Jesse wipes the spit off in my hair, then grips me with both hands.
“I better not see you spill a drop,” he warns, easing the bulge of his cockhead past my lips.
Gentle for the first time, he lets his head fall back as he drags me back and forth along his length. Tongue pressed to the bloated veins along its underside, I hollow out my cheeks and exist as nothing more than his fuck toy. His chosen hole.
My respite doesn’t last for long though, because his hips are soon driving forward to meet me. His balls smack against my chin, and the short blond hairs at the base of his shaft scratch and tickle my top lip and nose without the protection of his hand to stop it.
And still, I feel more purpose in this moment than from anything else I’ve done in the twenty-five years before meeting Jesse. It’s pathetic, and I don’t care. Being his whore makes me happy. And if I’m lucky enough, I’ll be able to mold him into mine as well.
“Damn, Kai, this pretty fucking mouth of yours is too good.”
Jesse ceases the movement of his hips but wrings his fingers tighter around my hair as he continues to use me.
The pace is dizzying, though it could just as easily be the lack of oxygen sending me into a heady daze.
“God…Fuck, yes!... So… good !”
More and more broken groans and whines tumble from his mouth between curses. Then he falters—his hips stuttering in a filthy grind as strands of hot cum shoot against my tonsils and bitterness coats my mouth.
Weak at the knees, Jesse eases his hold on my hair. As his hands slip free, the pause for a split second on my jaw in admiration before my mouth is empty, and he’s falling back against the door.
Huffing deeply—the windows around us drenched in condensation—Jesse watches me swallow, then present him with my empty mouth.
“Goddamn,” he exhales, gathering the loose strands of hair stuck to his sweaty brow and tucking them behind his ear. “Get on the seat.”
“Do you want the keys?” I ask, wiping my face with my forearm.
Jesse tucks himself back inside his jeans. “I said, get on the fucking seat.”
Foot up, he rubs the toe of his boot against my hard-on. “Your turn.”
“Jess, it’s okay—”
His palm slaps against my Adam’s apple and his nails push so deep into my skin I’ll be surprised if I’m not covered in little crescent-shaped bruises. “Get on the fucking seat, Kai.” His voice is so primal and animalistic. And even though my mind is still foggy, I need no more convincing.
My hands fall to the rough carpet on the bed of the van, and I creep backward until I feel the middle seat. Pushing Jesse’s coat aside, I’m only halfway through pulling myself up on it when bullying fingers have my pants undone. With my hips raised, he tugs my cords and underwear to my knees.
Reclining against the outdated maroon velveteen bench seat, I wipe my eyes and stare down at the man who swore till he was blue in the face that he’d never be in this position.
With a determined handhold on the base of my shaft, Jesse rises until his forearms are resting on my thighs for support. Then, without warning, his head bows, and he wraps his lips around me, dry. There’s no expertise in his movements, but his mouth is warm and eager, and mine.
Soon enough, there’s an adequate buildup of spit, and when it seeps out and over his fingers, he starts twisting his grip.
The way he holds me so roughly, mixed with the insatiable slurping of his tongue, is so raw. So intimate. So much like the first blow job I ever had.
The beat of my heart grows more and more unfamiliar the longer I watch him, almost like it stops for several seconds, then pounds like crazy to catch up.
I know the reason Jesse is trying to take as much of me into his gorgeous mouth as possible has just as much to do with him as it does me. He’s trying to prove a point. To show he’s willing to keep pushing his boundaries one inch at a time until every part of me is fully merged with every part of him.
His cheeks are dark pink, and his freckles are shouting at me—each one a different reason why this is it for me. I don’t need anyone else.
It only takes the slightest bit of pressure against the back of his throat for Jesse to splutter around me. It’s brief, but the strain is electric, and his fist tightens as part of the reflex.
His green eyes blink and they gaze up at me adoringly. They’re tinged pink and beginning to water, and I can see in them how terrified he is that he’s not doing a good enough job.
“My pretty boy is doing so well,” I croak out, trying my best to hang on. But it’s hard to stay strong for him. I’m not dominant when it comes to Jesse Kendrick. I’m nothing more than a sloppy mess of dopamine and testosterone. And with the way he skull fucked me to within an inch of consciousness, I was never going to last long.
“Keep going. I’m so close,” I assure him—clawing at the upholstery so I don’t grab his head and buck up into him. “You’re… So good… Fuck, Jesse… I… I…” I want to say it. Every cell in my body has its volume turned up to eleven and is screaming at me to just say the next two words and finish the sentence. But I’ve never said it before… To anyone. Not even a friend. Because my life was destined to be a solo mission.
Until him.
Until he walked around the barricade from customs at Calgary International Airport and shot me in the heart with a single half smile…
“Jess, stop.”
He hums against me defiantly.
“Jesse, please. I’m gonna come.”
Jesse sucks harder and gives three more long deep passes up before releasing me with a pop and relaxing back onto his feet.
I take hold of my cock and pump furiously—never taking my eyes off him.
“Fuck!” I curse, my grip high and ragged as cum shoots in creamy ropes over my fist and sweater. “It wasn’t easy to hold on to that.” I grin down at Jesse as he hands me his Burberry scarf. “That was almost gonna be a spit or swallow decision for you, you stubborn bastard… Isn’t this thing worth more than we make in a week?”
He pushes the material into my hand. “It’s fine. It’s not a favorite, anyway.”
Great. So he just has thousand-dollar designer woolen scarves in such excess that it doesn’t matter if one gets covered in cum. “So you give me your rejects to wear?”
“Don’t be daft,” he sighs, taking my wrist and moving my hand for me. “What I’m trying to say is, you’re worth more to me than a piece of fabric.”
I pinch the hem of my cheap H&M acrylic knit. “I could have just rubbed it in and soaked it when we got back.”
“Now you can do that with the scarf. And keep it. Wear it to work every day, so you never forget who you belong to.”