17. Kieran
KIERAN
“Okay?” He repeats it like it’s a question because he clearly doesn’t believe I actually said it.
I don’t know what possessed me to say that, either.
Maybe it’s because I want to finally be the one with the power, want to watch his confidence crack, watch his denial about being attracted to me slip away until he gives in.
Olivia said I’m all he talks about. Maybe it’s time to see how true that is—to see just how deep this obsession of his really runs.
Jace’s jaw is clenched so tight, I can see his muscles flexing beneath his skin, but no matter what his face conveys, he can’t hide his obvious erection in his superhero costume. And that alone has me considering something I’d never imagined doing with him.
He makes my life hell at school, mocks how I look, and I hate him for it. But god, I’m also eighteen, inexperienced, and so sick of wanting something I’ve never had.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, even to myself, I’m attracted to Jace in a way that I’ve never been with anyone else. I wanted passion and connection, and if nothing else, I’m certainly passionate about how much I hate him.
He’s always held the power between us. But right now, his shocked expression makes it clear I’m the one in control as I call his bluff and agree to his suggestion.
I want to do this. Badly. I just can’t tell if I want to do more for me…
or to prove something to myself about him.
“Yeah,” I say, still taunting him. “You wanna shut me up, right? Then do it.”
I’m not convinced he’ll actually go through with it, but the panic warring in his eyes gives me a sick sense of satisfaction.
Mr. Popular Star Athlete isn’t so confident now, and it’s all because of me.
I might be the one offering to drop to my knees, but knowing him, he’ll be the one begging for more.
He finally pulls his arms from my hold, I assume to storm off, but then he lifts them to grip my shoulders and shoves me down to my knees. Anticipation is building in my chest—a mix of nerves and excitement about the possibility of hooking up with someone, even if it is him.
His hands remain on my shoulders, and he squeezes tighter. His chest is rising and falling quickly. He looks pissed and terrified and way too turned on for someone who supposedly hates me.
“You want my mouth on you? Take it out, Jace,” I goad, looking up at him through my dark lashes, his big hands still gripping my shoulders.
He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like “fuck it” and reaches for the waistband of his costume, yanking it down just enough to free his straining cock.
My mouth waters at the sight of his dick inches from my face.
I’ve pictured doing this a million times.
Tried to imagine how sucking a dick would feel and taste.
If I’d like it. I’m not sure if it’s my position on the floor, how close I am, or if Jace just has a huge cock, but it’s bigger than I imagined.
There’s a prominent vein drawing my attention, and I want to lick it, trace it with my tongue until I can suck on his dark swollen tip.
But he doesn’t move forward, so neither do I. I want him to make this decision. He needs to be the one to shove his dick into my mouth while I’m willing and waiting on my knees.
“You’ve been obsessing over me for months,” I sneer. “And now you finally get to use me the way you’ve wanted to. Go on. Be the big man. Shut me up the way you said you would, hotshot.”
That finally does it. His hand leaves my shoulder to grip my jaw, and I drop it open for him.
Tongue out, eager for a taste. His hips press forward, nudging the tip into my mouth, and I close my lips around him.
I hollow my cheeks and breathe through my nose, just like the internet articles said to do, and he pushes deeper.
And holy fuck, it’s a lot. He’s huge, hot and heavy on my tongue. I try not to gag when he advances, more than half of his dick in my mouth now, but I can’t help it. My eyes water a little, but I keep going, determined to make this good.
He hisses through his teeth and lets out a little groan when I swirl my tongue and suck a little harder. Which definitely means I’m doing it right. Or so I tell myself.
“Fuck,” he mutters, barely audible. “Fuck, fuck—”
The sounds of him losing it over me encourage me to keep going. To keep swirling my tongue around his tip as I bob my head up and down, trying to take him even deeper.
I want him to lose control.
Want him to always think of this moment when he thinks of me.
I sloppily suck as much of him into my mouth as I can, and he swears again, louder this time. For a guy who claims he’s not into me, he sure seems to be enjoying having his cock in my mouth.
Tears are running down my cheeks, and I gag again, pausing to look up at him until he meets my gaze.
If this is a first for him, if he’s struggling with being attracted to men like I suspect, I don’t want him to be able to excuse it as any mouth on his dick.
I want him to remember I was the one who made his knees weak if he tries to pretend this didn’t happen.
I want him to look at me while I do this so he can’t pretend I’m someone else.
It’s me he shoved down to suck his cock—the glitter-wearing, makeup-loving freak he’s spent the last year trying to humiliate.
He’s trying to restrain his moans, probably thinking if I can’t hear him, if I don’t know how much he’s enjoying it, then it doesn’t count.
But I hear him, and I want him to know.
I pull back slightly. “Still think I’m disgusting?”
He chokes on a breath at my taunt. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls, grabbing my hair and pushing his cock back into my mouth.
Sucking and swirling my tongue, I feel his thighs start to shake, and next thing I know, I’m met with hot bursts of cum. I choke, given the lack of warning, and attempt to swallow the saltiness down, but some of it spills out of my mouth. I pop off, wiping it with the back of my arm.
Before I can catch my breath or look up, he shoves me.
Hard.
Like a fucking asshole.
I fall back onto the tile, arm scraping against the edge of the cabinet as I catch myself. “Ow, fuck,” I mutter, blinking up at him from the floor.
He hurriedly tucks himself back into his costume, refusing to look at me.
“What the hell is your problem, Jace? Refuse to believe you just came down my throat? A guy’s throat?” I spit as I stand up to get in front of him and the door, rubbing my arm.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” he grits out. “That didn’t happen.” Then he’s shoving me out of his way again before he’s out the door and slamming it shut behind him, leaving me in the bathroom.
Alone.
I turn to the mirror to look at myself. My own cock is still hard from the encounter.
What the fuck is wrong with me? After how he just treated me, how could my body still be so turned on?
I brace my hands on the edge of the vanity, trying to breathe. My lips are red, spit-slicked, and my makeup is smeared. I should’ve known what to expect: he’s Jace-fucking-Ryan after all.
But as much as I hate to admit it, there was some tiny part of me that hoped it wouldn’t end that way.
That, maybe, he’d have some big moment of realization, and he’d confide in me.
And the most fucked-up thing is, even though I knew he’d probably freak out and deny everything, I still wanted it.
I asked for it. I got on my knees and opened my mouth for a guy who’s spent every possible moment of the last year calling me names.
And I don’t regret it.
Because I sucked my first dick tonight. And I think I loved it.
It felt like, for once, I was the one making him unravel, not the other way around. I can still taste him on my tongue, still hear the sound he made right before he came. I did that. I made him feel that way.
Still riding that high, I take a moment to compose myself, then walk back out into the party.