Chapter 18 Reed
REED
Hank has ghosted me, scared me, stalked me, and now he’s bullying me by taking I’m-not-touching-you to a whole new level.
Who knew that not being touched could be even more erotic than being touched?
I feel his huge, hot hands hovering centimeters away from my throbbing cock. A light breeze swipes around and down my shaft, mirroring a tug or a pump. My sensitive skin yearns for his grip again.
Overcome with temptation, I buck my hips up, hoping to hit a moving, unseen target. The snarl that escapes from Hank’s mouth is enough admonishment to make me behave. I am powerless to him and to my own traitorous dick. How have I gotten myself into this situation?
Minutes ago, he held a knife to my throat and told Erin he would end my life if he didn’t get the code to Wendell Blitz’s safe. Now, he’s denying me any sort of last relief. He’s edging me to the brink of losing my mind, which is a fate worse than death.
Maybe I should’ve looked harder into what he was booked in Rawlins for.
Maybe he is a supervillain after all.
A fabric ball fills my mouth, working open my overused rubber-band lips. The cotton gag must be his worn briefs because my mouth is flooded with the unmistakable salty taste of dried cum. I can’t even pretend to be disgusted. The flavor only sends more blood sailing to my already rigid dick.
Warm liquid slides down my pole. One hand finally pumps my length while the other circles over my tip. Callouses scrape across my wet slit, adding special friction. The dueling sensations send shivers down my spine.
He takes me in his mouth. He creates a vice-like grip as if he’s a predator swallowing his prey whole. There’s enthusiasm, and then there’s this. He goes to town working me over. I only wish I could see him in the act. Maybe he’s not so sadistic after all.
My pelvis becomes an active volcano. I’m seconds away from unloading. I practically scream against the gag.
“Did I say you could come, boy?” he asks in that voice that digs up more memories.
Did I tell you to get on your knees, Nova?
The parallel is further proof that the man making a meal of my cock is none other than Hank, with his slow drawl and his novelty kitchen apron.
“Don’t you dare,” Hank spits, obviously noticing how high my balls are rising.
But it’s too late. I can’t hold back. Ropes of cum fly out of my cock. I feel my seed as it splatters my torso. Some even lands on my chin. My muscles quake from the needed eruption.
Clearly upset that I’ve disobeyed, Hank continues to milk me long after I’ve run dry. My hypersensitive dick begs to be released. It’s too much. Bodily overload. The exact same way Hank did me that first night in my dorm.
My muscles tighten again. My legs tremble, and I wonder if I’m browning out from overstimulation or if I’m going to have another orgasm. Seconds later, I get my answer when my dick swells and twitches. A tiny bit of seed comes out, and a torrent of hormones races through my brain.
“This’ll teach you to go against my wishes,” Hank says.
The cotton gag scrapes out from between my teeth. Next thing I know, his cock is plunging back between my widened lips. His hand finds purchase on the crown of my head, hauling me in and in and in. My tonsils are punching bags for his enlarged tip.
Not even a moment passes before he’s howling and gushing into my stomach.
“Don’t waste a drop,” he demands between ragged breaths.
I try to take every ounce of his hot, salty cum, but a little leaks out. He gives my cheek a light smack before scooping up the runoff with his fingers and feeding it to me. His taste twirls over my tongue, sinks in, and embeds forever in my memory.
Then Hank surprises me by pressing his lips to mine.
A kiss?
This stalker, this robber, this manipulator, this ghoster, this Dom Daddy, this monster, this villain presses his lips to mine.
And that one percent of uncertainty I had about his identity earlier crumbles.
Try as I might, I can’t pretend to not like it. Because it’s not some aftercare kiss. For the first time, he isn’t seeking reassurance that I’m okay after our scene, if you could even call what just happened a kink scene. He doesn’t clean me up or ask in a gentle voice what I need.
His kiss grows in intensity, and I know he’s claiming me with his mouth.
Because he can.
Because he’s ruined me.
Ruined my plans for uniting with my dad, ruined my life by derailing this housesitting gig, and ruined me for other men by unlocking the Pandora’s box of desires from deep within me.