Chapter 9 #2
Tim stands outside, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His bangs wave across his forehead. And he’s trimmed his scruff. Sometimes I forget such a messy look can be as crafted as a tidier one.
His stone-cold expression leaves me wondering what he might be thinking. He sizes me up and I hope he notices the tight shirt I’ve put on to rouse his interest.
His gaze shifts to inside my apartment.
“Nice place,” he says. I’m sure he’s used to the other guys at school who have apartments that are paid for by their parents. I’ve been saving up money since I was sixteen, waiting tables so that I don’t have to rely on my parents for much.
“You don’t have to be an ass,” I say, stepping aside as he enters.
My place isn’t very big. The main area is divided by the kitchen island, which separates the kitchen and the living area. I don’t have much furniture. A couch, coffee table, and television set. Just the basics. Nothing’s decorated or fancy, but it’s all mine.
“I’m surprised your parents can’t afford something a little better for you,” he says, and I can hear the judgment in his tone.
“I pay for this myself. Everything I have, I pay for on my own.”
He scans my place before turning back to me. He looks surprised.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t they pay for you to live in a better place than this shithole?”
“They would, but I don’t need them to.”
“Obviously you have them paying for your tuition, so—”
“I’m here on scholarship, and I pay for my rent and utilities on my own.”
“You got beef with your parents?” he asks.
“I don’t need to be financially tied to them.”
“That’s impressive.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need your fucking approval either.”
Now I feel like an ass.
“Sorry,” I say. “I get a little defensive when people assume I’m like every other asshole at our school. Some of these pricks who take the easy way out and don’t have any financial worries—get everything they want and blow their parents’ money on drugs and booze.”
Tim glances at me, taking a moment to respond. Like he’s considering whether or not he should.
He’s not going to fuck me if I keep making things awkward.
“Thanks again for your help last night,” I say.
“It was nothing.”
There’s a distance between us, one that shouldn’t be there after he made me breakfast and we sat there chatting this morning. After I talked to him about my family. About my sister.
I approach the kitchen counter, turn back to him, and lean against it, stressing my physique in the tee I’m wearing.
I’ve spent a lot of time working on my body at the gym.
I have Greg to thank for that. He spent a lot of time working out, and in turn, I discovered the benefits I could get from doing the same.
He checks me over once again.
I’m being obvious. But that’s how I was that first night, and he didn’t seem to mind.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m just leaning back here.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, smirking.
“Maybe I figured you deserved a little something for the jam you got me out of last night.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Then take it because you can.”
“What if I don’t want it?”
Disappointment surges through me.
“Then you can take your clothes and go.” I’m not defensive or angry. Just matter-of-fact.
In his tight jeans, I notice his cock hardening. I gaze into his dark eyes. “I think your dick is giving away your bluff.”
“Mark, stop trying to play with fire. That’s how you get burned.”
“I think you’re going to have a hard time burning me.”
I approach him quickly and kiss him.
His scruff brushes softly across my face. I’ve missed having his body against mine.
I grip the crotch of his jeans, stroking his girth—that girth I want inside me, filling me, bringing me such pleasure. That sharp sting within that leaves me reeling with excitement.
He pushes me back into the living room, claiming control over the situation as he continues kissing me, his mouth moving from my lips, across my face, across my neck.
He nips and licks at my flesh, clearly not satisfied with just kisses. Like he needs to devour every part of my body.
He shoves me back onto the couch before removing his jacket and tossing his T-shirt off over his head, displaying that body I crave so much right now.
I remove my shirt and hurry out of my jeans. I kick my shoes off and slide my pants and briefs down. I’m frenzied in my movements. But he moves slowly, undoing his belt. He’s patient. I don’t know how he can have such patience when all I want is for him to drive his stiff cock into my ass.
“You mind if I do something?” he asks. “I won’t if you don’t want to.”
His wicked smirk makes whatever he’s about to suggest sound enticing.
“What is it?”
He steps out of his jeans, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out his phone.
And I can tell by the way he glances at it and then at me what he wants.
“You want to record it?” I ask.
An uneasy tension rises within me. I know what Mom would say. She’d be furious with me for even entertaining the idea.
I shouldn’t. That’s how everyone gets caught doing stuff like this. By having it caught on video.
What if he tried to blackmail me with this one day? Or my mother?
“We can set it up so it won’t have your face in it.”
I want to ask him what he gets out of this then, but I realize what it is as I lie here on the couch, feeling horribly guilty for even considering it.
It’s wrong. It’s deviant. It’s documented proof of the horrible thing we’re about to do.
And I’m too intrigued to resist.
“Do it,” I say.
He positions the phone on the coffee table beside the couch, using one of my textbooks to prop it up. He changes the screen so it shows what the camera’s recording—my naked body—keeping it positioned so it doesn’t capture my face.
But it’s not as exciting like that. I crawl across the couch so my face is in the frame.
Am I doing this as revenge against my mother?
It’s as though some part of me wishes that one day this would be used against me. Like I want to hurt myself and her at the same time.
Whatever the reason, now that I know Tim’s into this, I want him to fuck me as hard as he can. He can show the video to his buddies. He can make fun of me. Tell them how easy I am. How I’m this eager bottom who will do whatever the fuck he wants.
He drops one knee on the couch and crawls over me. My gaze shifts to the camera, and I watch as his ass moves into frame on the screen.
“Allows you to enjoy so much more of it, don’t you think?” he asks.
It really does. I like the idea of being able to see his ass shaking about as he’s inside me. Of seeing his entire body stiffening as he comes.
A rush of excitement even more intense than what I felt in that first encounter races through me.
He grins. He must see how aroused I am by this.
I can’t believe Keith never mentioned Tim’s kink. Perhaps he was too embarrassed. Or perhaps he just wanted to keep this special thing between the two of them.
Tim is so hard it seems as though a quick rub would have him shooting all over me.
I pull my legs back, offering myself up.
He leans down and kisses and licks my hole. His tongue flicks about, his movements scattered and yet with purpose. He slides his tongue in, and before I know it, he’s sticking his forefinger in me.
I watch it on the camera, enjoying the sensation as his touch pleasures my nerves. His elbow shifts about as he moves his finger in and out of me. Then he adds another.