Chapter 2 #2
I shrugged, eyeing the pies. Curiosity was a hell of a thing. Yes, I knew it killed a cat or something, but with nothing but two delicious pies to be worried about, I figured I’d be safe.
I flicked my gaze at Dylan, who was staring at me warily, his gaze traveling between me and the tray. “But they’re here now.”
“God, give me strength.” He shook his head at me. “Just because they are doesn’t mean you have to follow through. Just eat the damn thing and let’s watch more sketchy DVDs my folks thought were wholesome and savory.”
“Yeah, but….” I so wanted to do this.
“Fucking hell, Cass. Fine.” He sighed in defeat. “Just not in front of me.”
I grinned, swiped up the chocolate pie, and headed toward my small en suite my folks had fitted for me last year, ’cause apparently, they couldn’t cope with my teenage grossness. No idea what they were talking about.
I dropped the pie quickly on the closed laundry basket. The foil was a little hot, but that made sense. Heat always stuck to metal stuff, right? Lingered a little.
It meant the pie would be deliciously warm.
Fucking perfect.
I tugged out my cock, already half hard. It didn’t take much for my sixteen-year-old horniness to kick up a gear. Any thought of fucking usually did the trick.
Figuring I needed to go in at some sort of angle to get the full experience, I bent my knees and held the end of the foil with my fingertips. I gripped my cock and scooted forward. With my dick eager and throbbing, I grinned.
Fucking showtime.
I slid in, and delicious heat surrounded me as the smooth chocolate molded around the first few inches of my dick… and fuck.
Fuck.
“Fuck!” A strangled scream escaped me. I jerked away, my dick hurting like it had been scorched. I dropped the pie, eyes wide in horror as I looked down. Chocolate covered me, looking so much like shit, I gagged. But holy fuck, the pain.
“Fuck. Dylan. Fuck!”
I grabbed a towel, trying to wipe the chocolate off. Stinging agony made me go cross-eyed, and I whimpered. Or hell, I could have wailed.
The bathroom door flew open. Dylan’s pale skin turned ashen, his lips parting as his gaze dropped to my chocolate-covered dick.
“It fucking burns. I’ve burned my fucking dick.” A sob caught in my throat.
Then Dylan was moving, and thank Christ he was, since my feet were frozen as tears spilled down my cheeks.
He tugged open the shower door, turned the cold faucet on, and shoved me into the small cubicle. Right beside me all the way, he dropped to his knees, an action I would have given him shit for any other time. He tugged down my loose sweats before lifting his hand.
“Pass me the showerhead.”
I ignored the tremble in his voice, just relieved he was doing something, anything that would stop the burn and prevent my dick from falling off.
I groped for the head, passing it to him with shaky hands.
I didn’t know whether my tears had stopped, the shower water having soaked me. But with the cool water on my dick, I exhaled. The sound was gasping and a little desperate.
When he tentatively held my dick, all I could think was I hoped it didn’t come off in his hand.
He gently washed away the chocolate. I winced the whole time, my lip trembling while I tried like hell to keep it together.
“Jesus, Cass.”
“Fuck.” I sniffed. “Is it bad?”
I didn’t want to look. Fear holding me captive, I stared instead at Dylan’s worried expression.
When he darted a glance my way, he tried to school his reaction, but it was too late.
“I think we need to go to the hospital.”
I blanched, the blood draining from my face. “No fucking way.”
Emotion shifted in his eyes, a resolved look that I knew all too well. Sure, I could be a fuckhead and a loudmouth, but Dylan could be a bossy shit. I shuddered at the thought of shit, the chocolate on my dick having looked far too much like it for me to ever be the same again.
I swallowed, trying to cling back to my thoughts.
Dylan. Bossy. At times stubborn.
And Dylan who was soaking wet, my dick in his hand and genuine worry in his eyes.
“You’ve scalded yourself. There’s a few blisters here already.”
“Fuck.” The word punched out of me. “I can’t go to the fucking ER.” I shook my head. “Can’t we just get some cream or lotion or something?”
I could see he wanted to argue, even as he glanced once more at my sore cock, his gaze roaming it clinically.
“Please, Dyl.”
Maybe it was the clear desperation in my voice or just plain old sympathy, but he nodded, passing me the showerhead.
“Okay. Just keep the water cool and flowing gently. I’ll head to the pharmacy.”
I nodded solemnly, knowing he’d have to drive all the way to Rochester, as they were the closest town with a late-night pharmacy. Our small town of three thousand didn’t have much open after 5:00 p.m.
“You know where my keys are.”
He stood and nodded. My folks had put him on my car’s insurance—something they’d done without even asking when they’d bought me the car. Dylan was absolutely a part of our family, and I didn’t think it would have been possible to appreciate that any more than in this moment.
“You’re going to be okay.”
I latched on to his quiet certainty and accepted his hug gratefully.
When he stepped back, his lips twitched. “Don’t let your dick freeze off.”
And hell if I didn’t appreciate him even more for being a funny asshole.