17. CHAPTER 17 #3
Carey’s hand leaves my shaft and wraps around my wrist. He squeezes, prying my hand off then tossing it away. “You don’t get to touch me there,” he growls with a dominion that makes my dick bounce. “It’s none of your business what I’ve done before now.”
He’s right, but this is why I held back. When I want something, I’m greedy, possessive, and unpredictable.
Without taking his eyes off me, he grips my shaft again and squeezes. Maybe as hard as he just did to my wrist.
I fall forward, my forearms bracing against the wall to keep from collapsing.
“You’re definitely not the first man to look down at me.” He smirks, running the tip of his tongue along the length of my dick. “But you are the only one who’s ever looked like they wanted to eat me alive.”
Without warning, he wraps his lips around my cock head and starts sucking.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” I stammer out, and I can feel him smiling around me.
He hums, satisfied at my undoing.
I can feel his tongue stroking my underside.
I can see him bottoming out.
He pulls back and rests the tip on his bottom lip. “How does it feel to have your cock in another man’s mouth?”
I don’t have words, not even filthy ones. All I can do is stare at his lips—soft pink and lewd as fuck—stretched around my cock while he looks up at me.
“Is this what you want, Oppa?” he whispers. “Do you want to see me choke on you?” His voice is low, and gravelly, and even if I could find the right words, he doesn’t give me a chance to use them because he slides me so deep into his mouth I can feel the squeeze of his throat.
He gags, then does it again.
There's a wet slurp and he drags back.
His tongue flicks under my head.
His other hand sneaks beneath my shirt where his nails dig into my stomach then scratch a path up to my chest with a possessive grip that makes me want to devote my whole fucking life to him.
But I can’t.
I need him to stop.
I need him to never fucking let me go.
His rhythm is unrelenting.
He lets me grind forward, fucking into his mouth, my whole body shuddering each time I slam against his throat.
His gaze never wavers. He wants me to see who’s in charge. Who’s letting this happen.
He wants it burned into my memory.
He needs me to remember his diligent tongue—rolling, flattening, swirling, pushing me against his palate as he bobs his head; each pass rougher than the one before. Spit leaking from the corners of his mouth.
My whole body is locked in a vise, and there isn’t a single muscle that isn’t twitching with the urge to fuck into his throat raw.
But I’d never dare.
Not unless he told me to.
Not unless he gave me permission.
This is everything I’ve ever wanted and exactly what I’ve spent the last thirteen years denying myself of, and it’s happening in a filthy alley with the kid I swore I’d never touch.
“Holy fuck! Carey, fuck—”
He moans, deep in his throat, and I almost lose my vision.
He wants it, wants me, wants everything I have to give.
I should be terrified right now, but the only thing that matters, in this moment, is that I let him take it. Take all of me.
“I’m so close,” I choke out.
With spit smeared across his fist and chin, he pulls back just enough to say, “I wanna taste you, Oppa. I want your cum in my belly so at least I’ll have something when you’re pretending like this never happened.”
The words detonate something in my chest.
I want to argue, to tell him that I’d never do that. But with the way he’s working me, and how my body is winding tighter and tighter, there’s no room for anything else right now.
He lets go of my shaft and holds onto my thighs, allowing me to use him.
It’s only short, but it’s fucking everything.
I buck forward until my cock head slips past his tonsils and I’m rutting against his face.
I’m raw, and feral.
My mind isn’t straight.
I grip his hair with both hands and hold him still.
I thrust one more time, and I‘m done.
I feel my cock swelling in his throat.
I feel Carey swallow each time I pulse inside him.
He pulls back, and I watch him lap at the corners of his mouth, his mismatched eyes so full of pride.
“Tekie! Carey! Are you guys back here?”
Carey’s mouth is still open, spit and cum glistening on his lips.
The voice—Anaise’s—is coming from the edge of the alley.
It’s close enough that I feel my life teetering on the edge.
“Wootek?!”
I whip around so fast I barely get my jeans zipped up.
Anaise’s outline is visible with the alley light illuminating her from behind.
I squint my eyes until my pupils adjust, but before I get a chance to answer her, Carey is pushing past me, his shoulder colliding with mine like he’s already punishing me for my future behavior.
From behind, I see him swipe the back of his hand across his mouth, then glance back at me as he zips up his jacket.
“Why are you back here?” Anaise slurs out.
“He wanted his keys and I wasn’t willing to give them over,” he says like it’s nothing. And the cackle that explodes from within Anaise’s tiny body as she links arms with Carey, is the permission I needed to exhale.
We didn’t get caught.
No one saw us.
No one knows, and that's how it needs to stay.