Gabe
Islowly walk to the trailer after having been on a hot bus for way too long. All I want is to lie on my bed and relax.
But he might be there.
When I reach the trailer, the door is closed, which gives me a little hope.
Maybe he went out?
It’s hot as hell, and there’s no AC, so the door would definitely be open. It’ll at least give me a minute to collect myself before he gets home.
I step through the front door to find all of the lights out. It smells like cigarettes and beer, but I don’t see him.
Thank god.
I take a seat to relax for a second and nearly jump out of my skin when Jason comes crashing through the front door.
“Fuckin’ door…” he slurs, like it wasn’t supposed to be there or something.
Is he drunk again?
I rise and make a beeline to the bedroom when a hand pulls me back and throws me onto the sofa. “Oh no,” Jason says, pointing his finger at me. “You’re not hiding from me.” He can barely walk as he stumbles to the kitchen and grabs the drawing I left for him.
“This.” He holds it up like it’s the evidence of a crime. “Is this supposed to be cute? Funny?”
I brought this on myself.
I drew the picture because I needed to, but I wrote the message to make a point.
All I can do is shrug.
“Oh, that’s right. He won’t talk.” He takes a step closer. “Unless it’s to tell me how much he fucking hates me.” Jason’s gaze is fixed on me.
His eyes trail up and down my body.
I almost gasp.
Jason lowers himself, kneeling in front of me, and asks, “What will get you to talk to me?”
The air in the room shifts, and the tension is like a physical force.
He’s kneeling in front of me, his chest heaving as he stares into my eyes.
His mouth is slightly parted, and I can’t stop myself. My gaze travels to his lips and then—
He bites his lower lip.
I should push him away.
Because that…that move. That devilish nibble on his lower lip…
It’ll be the end of me.
His eyes scan my form, drinking in every inch of me.
My stomach tingles as my body relaxes, softening and melting against the couch.
He’s drunk and bigger than me.
I can see the veins in his forearms.
All I want to do is surrender and let him take over.
He comes closer, and I feel his hot breath on my face. He smells like cheap beer and cigarettes. His hair is a mess, and his ripped-up jeans and tank top scream trailer trash in a way that shouldn’t make my cock swell.
“Talk to me,” he whispers, only centimeters away from my mouth.
I don’t want to talk—I’m not ready to, but my mouth aches to taste his.
My head moves forward, desperate to lock lips with him, but he moves back.
“No. Talk first, then you get a reward.”
His words hit me square in the chest.
Talk first, then get a reward?
His lips curl in a cocky grin before he pulls his shirt over his head to reveal his strong chest and abs.
Bastard.
It’s a game. He’s drunk and wants to see how far he can push me. He thinks I’m desperate enough to do something I refuse to do just to touch him?
Well, fuck that.
I open my mouth to speak, then slap a hand over my mouth. Excitement blazes in his eyes.
My mouth opens again, and I release a little whimper.
“There, you go. Talk to me.”
My hand covers my mouth again, and I make a show of slowly lowering it.
Then I curl my finger in an inviting beckon, and he leans in.
We’re close. So close.
I release more little sounds—showing that I’m trying to speak.
Jason’s face is next to mine, trying to hear what I’m about to say.
Joke’s on you, asshole.
I bite the fucker’s bottom lip.
“AHHHHHHHHHHH! YOU FUCKER!”
Jason dives on top of me, but I punch him in the gut, and he falls backward.
He’s a fighter—stronger than me.
But I know his cheap tricks.
I spent my whole childhood watching him fight people.
I leap to my feet, but he’s up in a flash, the two of us squaring up for yet another fucking fight.
“You piece of shit,” he screams at me. His hand makes contact with his lip, and he looks down to see the blood. “I’m fucking bleeding!”
I make an “Aw, poor baby” face, and that sets him off.
Jason lunges forward, sending me crashing onto the ground.
He hits my side, knocking the wind out of me, but I latch my teeth onto his neck and chomp down hard.
He howls in pain, then maneuvers his head and starts biting my neck.
We’re writhing on the floor, biting each other’s necks like vampires.
And I can taste him.
The salt of his skin. The taste of his sweat. His musky smell.
And there’s something else I notice.
I like the pain.
His teeth against my neck.
His grip on my hair.
I like it.
Good judgment leaves me like the building’s on fire, and I stop biting and start sucking.
My body rubs against his while I suck on his neck, giving him a massive hickey, but Jason isn’t struggling. He’s not even cursing or yelling.
He’s moaning—pressing my head against him, locking me against his neck.
And that’s when I feel it.
He’s hard.
And so am I.
His tongue trails along my neck, then up to my ear, before nibbling on the lobe, sending full-body shivers racing through me.
I moan, low and loud.
He leans back and coos, “Yeah, you like that? You like it when I use my tongue on you?”
I’m whimpering, but it’s not a show this time. I’m really doing it. Just mewling like a slut while Jason looks at me like I’m a piece of meat.
Then the son of a bitch lifts his arm, exposing his pit, and I just fuckin’ dive in.
“That’s it…dirty fucking boy. Lick it, you pig.”
Humiliation wafts through me in waves, but I like it.
Love it.
I lick his pit, relishing the smell of him. Jason’s musk isn’t ripe. It’s intoxicating. When he’s sweaty, he smells like pine needles and rubbing alcohol.
It’s perfect.
My eyes trail up to his face. He’s still got a black eye and a lascivious sneer that makes me hungry. But then I freeze—
His face shifts. It’s soft. Sweet. His eyes look kind.
It’s Jason.
I can’t help myself. I scramble toward his lips, desperate for a kiss, but he grabs me by the throat, stopping my lips from making contact.
“Talk. To. Me.”
And then it ends. He snaps me out of my lust, and all of the desire and hunger I had for him vanishes.
I latch both of my hands onto his wrist and knee him right in the nuts.
He lands on his side, cursing me while he cries out.
There are so many things I want to say—dying to say.
But he doesn’t deserve that. If he wants me to speak, then he—
The idea comes, and I don’t waste a moment. I grab a paper and pen, and write, “If you want me to talk. Earn it.”
Then I toss it at his face and leave the trailer.