Chapter Eleven
AJ
The moment I kiss Nate, I know I’m a dead man.
I don’t make a habit of kissing my subs, because kissing makes things personal. Scenes are simple. Sex is simple. Kissing leads to feelings and feelings are anything but simple, at least for me. But kissing Nate?
Kissing Nate makes me feel things I’ve never felt before, even though he isn’t my sub.
His back hits my truck with a loud thump, and I press my body against his to trap him beneath me so he can’t get away.
He groans, thrusting his hardness against mine, a wordless confirmation that both excites me and makes me nervous.
You can fake a lot of things, but you can’t fake what turns you on.
And feeling Nate’s stiff cock against my own only makes me think about last night, when he was in my bed, stroking himself. His hand finds my neck and he rests his palm there, and my hand settles on his hip as he deepens our kiss, probing his tongue into my mouth.
It’s a strangely dominant gesture, and shouldn’t make my cock bloom with precum, but…
It does.
Which is equal parts terrifying as it is intriguing.
I’ve never gotten hard from a kiss, not even when I was a teenager who’d just discovered his cock and what pleasure could come from it.
But I can’t deny that the moment Nate opens his mouth and forces his tongue against mine, I am hard as a damn rock.
And he knows it.
He thrusts himself against my cock as he moans into my mouth. Nate rubs his hardness against mine, and I know if he keeps it up, I’m going to come.
Fuck!
Nate grinds against me, moaning as our tongues collide.
“If you don’t stop that, Nate, I’m going to come,” I bite, my voice dark and bitter even to my own ears. I need him to understand, but the words that are usually so easy to say aren’t coming as easily as they usually do.
Coming… isn’t something I just… do. It takes a lot to get me off, even when I’m doing it myself.
I like to enjoy every part of that process leading up to the moment I allow myself to have what I want, and even it takes time to prepare myself physically and mentally, and I don’t give in unless I know my sub can handle it.
Even when I am doing a scene, I rarely let myself come because I know if I don’t, if I edge myself for a few days, it’ll be so much better.
Never in my life has anyone made me want to come this fast.
Especially clothed.
Nate groans, his voice petulant and bratty as fuck, which doesn’t help matters.
“Then come,” he says, his voice taking on a dark edge that is strangely confident and irritating; almost dominant itself.
I growl in response, trying to think unsexy thoughts and regain control of my body, but my hips snap of their own accord as his dick twitches against mine and then his hand replaces his erection and I have to grit my teeth.
A deep growl escapes me as his mouth finds my jaw, then my neck.
I’m dizzy from how tight my pants are getting, and I try to push his hand away, but I somehow end up grasping it, trying to slow his pace to make him understand I’m not ready.
I don’t want to come, not now, here, like this, but… I do.
Or more specifically, I want Nate to force the orgasm out of me. I want him to take it from me.
And that is probably the most terrifying truth of all because I am usually the one wrenching forced orgasms out my subs past their limits.
Another growl escapes me as I shake my head, my body tensing as I fight like hell not to give in.
It shouldn’t be this hard, really, it shouldn’t. I have more control than this!
“No,” I grit out. “I don’t—”
I can barely breathe. I’m so hard it hurts.
“Want to come… in… my… pants,” I force out. But I won’t lie, the thought of coming in my pants like this makes me want to come in my fucking pants so fucking bad.
What the hell is wrong with me? This is not what I do, it’s not—
I feel his thumb flick the zipper on my jeans, but he doesn’t unzip me.
He slowly strokes me over my jeans, his mouth finding mine once more.
His touch isn’t curious or sweet, or even innocent like I am used to.
It’s… torturous. Tempting. Nate touches me like he knows what I want, what I need, even though that’s impossible because I’ve never felt like this with anyone before.
“Yes,” I admit, even though I am ashamed as hell by how close I actually am, because of him, at how difficult it is to resist the urge to come.
Nate’s free hand finds mine and he presses my palm over his hardness, and I know I’m not going to be able to hold off much longer. What if someone catches us? What if Lacey sees us? Oh my God…
I groan as precum blooms at my cockhead and my balls draw tight. I hiss because the pain is unlike anything I’ve felt in years, but it’s also a different sort of pain than I’ve ever felt, period.
“Nate—” My breath catches and starts to come in rapidly. My head is a mess because it’s too much. His cock throbbing in my hand, his hand stroking me slowly over my jeans, his hot breath on my skin, his heavy panting.
“Fuck,” I whine, unable to control the orgasm that hits me.
And it hits me hard. My entire body wants to collapse as warm, sticky ropes of cum fill my tight briefs like a tidal wave. I can’t stop.
Oh my God, I can’t stop…
“Oh, fuck…” I whine again, breathing heavily against Nate’s shoulder, the wetness spreading along the inside of my thighs.
I can’t stop coming. It’s too much. But I don’t want to stop either because it feels so good.
But there’s also a sense of ache because I can only imagine filling Nate’s hole with this much cum.
The thought makes another rush explode out of my still-hard, pulsing cock, and I feel equal parts ashamed and aroused by that image—Nate on his hands and knees, hole pulsing and clenching me as I fuck every drop of cum back inside him and fill him some more.
Fuck!
“AJ…” Nate’s voice shakes ,and I feel the moment he detonates against me, my palm getting wet and warm.
Holy fuck.
Holy fucking fuck!
Shame and guilt ransack me along with the most blissful feeling I’ve ever felt in my life. I groan against him, closing my eyes as I try to ground myself.
Deep breaths, AJ. Deep breaths….
I take a deep breath and count to four. Let it out, count to six.
Nate’s body relaxes beneath mine, and his voice softens.
“AJ?”
I can’t breathe.
I can’t fucking breathe, I—
I grab Nate by the hips, my fingernails digging into his skin, and then I feel his hand on my neck, his fingers sliding into my hair. It’s like the world stops. I relax almost instantly as he runs his fingers through my hair.
“Are you okay?”
No.
I’m not okay.
I’m a fucking goner.
It takes everything I have to steel my shattering resolve and steady my voice. I feel like I might break into a million pieces right now.
A million, beautiful, fractured pieces.
“Fine,” I say, clearing my throat as I move off of him and back away as quickly as I can so he can’t see me break, or the mess he’s made of me.
I don’t miss the look of concern on his face, or flushed cheeks, and I shouldn’t look down at his crotch, but apparently I don’t have any self control left, if I had any at all, because I do look.
And when I do, I feel a strange sense of pride, knowing that the wet spot on his jeans is because of me.
Because I made him lose control, too, and something about that feels hotter than anything I’ve ever done.
But there’s also a sense of concern and preservation as I realize I can not let him walk around like this, especially at this hour.
I hold one hand up, my dom voice solidifying once more.
“Don’t fucking move.”
Nate blinks, his pupils dilated again, his lips kiss-swollen from mine, and I half expect him to disobey me, but he doesn’t move.
I grab my firehouse hoodie from the backseat, and when I return to Nate, he’s still standing where I left him, looking like he’s seen a ghost.
I offer him the hoodie.
“What—”
“Take it,” I say, nodding to his evident pleasure.
Nate carefully takes it from my hand, his fingers brushing mine.
“Thanks,” he says, his voice careful.
I nod, swallowing hard.
There’s a million and one things I could say, starting with I’m sorry.
I should not have kissed him.
Fuck, I should not have even gotten out of this fucking car, I—
He’s probably going to think I’m an asshole for sure, now.
Bossing him around, forcing him up against the side of my truck and…
“See you around, Bright Eyes,” I grunt, forcing myself to look anywhere but at his face. I can’t look at him, knowing the truth.
I lost control with Nate Barrett, and it can never happen again.
“See ya,” he says, his voice fading into the shadows as he pulls my jacket on.
I hate that he looks so fucking good in it. But I also love how fucking good he looks in it, and how the sight makes my heart skip a beat.
Which is why I have to stay as far away from Nate Barrett as possible.