Chapter 29 Vale #2
Screwing my eyes shut, I grip the railing tighter, fighting like hell to ignore the throbbing in my shorts.
Even our earlier conversation did very little to thwart my raging hard-on.
If anything, the wrath I felt when imagining those fuckers holding him down, touching him, ignited my arousal.
The equivalent of a lit match kissing kerosene.
“Vale,” he breathes.
At the rate I’m going, my teeth are going to be ground into stubs before this call even ends.
“Are you hard?”
“No,” I lie.
He snickers, telling me he doesn’t buy it for a second. Of course he doesn’t. He’s the only one who’s never been afraid to push my buttons. Hell, he’ll step all over me if I let him.
“Mine is,” he murmurs into a low moan, and I thrust against the railing. “It’s missed you.”
Fuck.
“Are you touching yourself? I am. My dick is so hard for you, little brother.”
“Don’t fucking call me that,” I spit, grabbing my cock through my shorts.
“Call you what?” he says innocently, panting quietly.
“You know what,” I grit out. “Didn’t you learn your lesson last time?”
He hums contentedly. “Do you wish I did?” If I’m not mistaken I can hear a slick sort of fleshy sound coming through the phone.
“Are you on speaker?”
“Maybe…”
Whirling around, I storm back inside my room, sealing the door shut behind me so hard I’m surprised the glass doesn’t shatter. Pacing the length of my room, I grip my hair, tugging on it.
Hang up.
Hang up now.
I’ve held out for days—avoided him, resisted texting him, resisted chasing fate in the third floor bathroom…
“Didn’t you learn your lesson last time?”
“Do you wish I did?”
“Did you like my little gift?” he says abruptly, pulling me from my thoughts.
I freeze. “What?”
He moans again, and it takes everything in me not to punch a hole through the wall. “I left you something. In return for the note.”
“What note?”
But he doesn’t seem to hear me. “In your car. On the dash,” he adds stiltedly, breaths growing faster and choppier. “M-made me think of you.” His voice cuts out with a long, wounded-like whine that has me throbbing in my shorts.
Gripping the edge of my dresser, I give a little thrust at the air before I can help myself. “You fucked with my car?” I barely manage to squeeze out. Slamming the phone face-up on my dresser, I jab a finger on the speaker icon.
“Nonono. Just left you something, that’s all,” Aston says with a cry that fills my room. Thankfully, Quentin’s room is on the other side of the house. “V-Vale, please. I’m-I’m so close.”
“Please what?” I growl, shoving my free hand down my shorts, at the same time I bow my forehead to the dresser.
I circle myself at the base, gripping viciously so as to get myself under control.
“T-tell me what you’re gonna do to me. Next time. I —”
My lip curls. “There won’t be a next time.”
A raspy chuckle fills my ear. “Liar. You lie.” He pants heavily, and I can hear just how wet he is.
Is he using lube?
Spit?
Or is he weeping so much pre-cum he doesn’t need anything but my voice and his hand?
Eyes squeezed shut, I turn my head, burying my mouth into my fist.
“S’okay. I get it now. It’ll be our little secret.” He moans, then, “Y-you can keep hurting me, you know? I like it.”
Nothing but a growled snarl escapes me.
“Like it when I ache for you. I crave it so bad. Vale. Vale.”
I don’t even know when I start jerking myself. One second, I’ve got my dick in an iron-clad hold, holding myself at bay, and the next, I’m fucking my fist like I could find Aston’s tight, sweltering hole on the other side.
“Make me forget, Vale. M-ake me, make me, make—”
Chills scatter across my neck, spreading like a wildfire over my shoulders, down my arms…
Aston’s blubbering gibberish in between moaning my name. And with my eyes screwed shut, I can picture it—picture all the ways I can destroy him as my name spills from his lips.
I’ll split him in half. Fuck him so hard he bleeds for me.
Fuck him so hard, I erase all the others who came before me. Hurt him before me.
Because he’s mine to break.
“You don’t deserve to feel good,” I hear myself say, my voice so deep it’s barely recognizable.
“I know, baby, I know, I know,” Aston chants into the phone.
“Do you though?” I swipe my thumb over my head, spreading the moisture all around my crown. Not enough. I need more. Lifting my hand, I spit loudly into my cupped palm.
Aston must hear it, if the high-pitched keening from his throat is anything to go by. It’s nothing short of what a weak helpless little creature sounds like when it knows it’s about to die.
“If I had my way with you, there’d be nothing left for anyone else.”
“P-please.” I picture him lying on his bed, head thrown back in ecstasy, his lithe body arching as he tugs at that pretty cock of his. It was so hard for me at the party. So flushed and sticky.
Not pretty. Disgusting. There’s nothing pretty about him.
But fuck if my denial doesn’t just conjure up more tantalizing images of him to prove me wrong.
Those full lips I’ve tried so hard not to imagine sucking and biting on.
Those long, thick lashes I can picture so viscerally—fluttering as I thrust deeply inside him.
That thick caramel hair that would weave like silk through my fingers and look so good when I strangled in my fists, using it for leverage as I fuck him without restraint.
“You want that, sugar?” I grunt out.
“I want you. I only ever wanted you. Wanted to keep you. Mine.”
My nostrils flare as I feel all the blood rush to my nuts. I growl from deep within my throat. Then, “Well, too fucking bad. I’ll never be yours. You’ll never have me again.”
And with that, I hang the fuck up. Jabbing my finger so hard at the screen, I send my phone flying to the floor.
All it takes is two more tugs of my cock, and I’m spilling into my waiting palm with a grunt and clenched thrust to the air.
My toes go numb from how tightly I curl them into the carpet.
Panting, heart thundering in my ears, I stroke myself with my cum-covered hand, imagining it’s Aston’s blood.
After a quick scalding hot shower, I make my way downstairs and let myself into the attached garage. Flipping on the overhead lights, I approach the passenger side door, throwing it open.
There’s probably nothing even here. He’s probably just fucking with me. I would have noticed it if there was something here.
Except…
Clearly, I didn’t.
“The fuck…” I whisper, squinting as I reach across the dash.
A Blow Pop wrapper. Smoothed out and folded into a square. Tucked in the vent.
I debate just crumpling the thing and disposing of it, but curiosity gets the best of me, as it always seems to do when it comes to him. There’s no way he left a wrapper and nothing else.
A note maybe?
I’m not sure what I was expecting to find—probably some cryptic, creepy message.
What I find instead has me equal parts confused…
And something more foreign: disturbed. Bordering on panicked.
“It made me think of you.” That’s what he said over the phone.
I fumble to catch what falls out and watch as my finger comes up to trace the tip of a light blue petrified wing.
I snap my head up, looking aimlessly around the garage like he might be there, hiding in the shadows, watching me. Holding onto answers that are probably better left unsaid.
Inevitably, my gaze returns to my cupped hand.
I tilt my head, my throat thickening with some unnamable emotion as awareness prickles along my spine. Awareness I can’t quite grasp.
Or rather…
I’m not sure that I want to
Did he kill it, or did he find it? I find myself wondering of all things.
My free hand finds my chest, fingers massaging hard into my sternum. There’s a tightness there, not unlike that time I strained a muscle in practice.
What does this mean?
Does he…does he remember?
A butterfly.
He gifted me a butterfly.
A dead butterfly.