CHAPTER 30
Istare down at the autoclave.
“Is it even on?” I ask, looking back to where it’s plugged into the wall. I press one of the buttons, and it beeps just like it’s meant to. I open the door, but there’s not enough in there to run a cycle anyway. “What the hell, Carey?”
“Get on your knees.”
I whip my head around, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s casually glancing down as he undoes his pants.
The oversized denim falls around his ankles, and he reaches inside his underwear to pull out his dick.
Not hard yet, he starts pumping.
My mouth waters instantly, like I’m a fucking dog.
My tongue rubs against my palette.
I drag my palms down the front of my shirt.
“We can’t,” I breathe out, but who the fuck am I kidding.
With his chin still bowed, Carey lifts his eyes to me, and I fall to the floor.
He points to the ground by his feet.
My hands hit the tiles, and I crawl to him, his cock growing bigger with each stroke.
I kneel in front of him.
“Your only rule was don’t get caught,” he says, pointing again.
I shuffle closer. “I think you wanna get caught.”
When I’m right where he wants me, Carey waits for me to look up at him again, then drops his dick on my face with a dull thud.
I huff out and swallow down my moan.
My fingernails scrape at my jeans.
“I think you do, too,” he sneers, and I know I’m in trouble.
I knew today was gonna be a shit show.
It wouldn’t have mattered how many times I reassured him that she means nothing to me, I knew that having Brooklyn at my station would do this to him.
Part of me wants to say it’s the only immature thing about Carey Novak, but most of me likes it too damn much.
It’s the reason I could barely look at him out there.
He thought he was keeping himself in check, but his seething was obvious to people three towns over.
I hate attention.
I hate desperation.
But hearing Carey mutter to himself, and hammer those damn nails in every time Brooklyn tried to talk, had my dick hard twenty minutes ago.
“Why wouldn’t you look at me?”
I lick through the middle of my pressed lips, taking a facetiously sly and unapproved swipe along the underside of his shaft.
Gripping at the base, Carey slaps it straight down between my eyes.
When I still refuse to answer after a further five seconds, he does it again. Harder. When more silence follows, he fists my hair and wrenches my head to the side. He smacks his dick against my cheek, and the sting shoots straight to my balls.
“Quit ignoring me.”
“What part of this do you think I’m not enjoying?”
“Cheeky prick,” he scowls, dropping his cock to clamp around my jaw and dig his fingers into my cheeks, forcing my teeth to part. Bending forward, he looms over me, his face close. “Be a good boy now.”
I obey, willingly opening wide and sticking out my tongue.
As a reward, he spits in my mouth and I gasp in thanks.
“I wish she could see this.”
He spits again, and it splatters against my tonsils.
I start shaking.
I’m losing focus.
“You like the sound of that, don’t you..?”
I nod as best I can.
“...Then call her in. Let her see what a whore you are, drooling over my cock...”
My breath stutters out, Carey’s spit bubbling in my throat.
“...So fucking pitiful. Can’t even talk...”
He lets go of my jaw to plunge his three middle fingers into my mouth.
He digs deep, and I gag.
The feeling of his nails makes my eyes lose focus.
My head goes limp, only supported by his grip on my hair as his fingers fuck my mouth.
“...What good is this for other than fucking if you won’t use it to tell her you’re taken..?”
I gag again, saliva leaking down my chin.
I try to catch my breath but he’s relentless.
“...Or are you not ready to admit it even to yourself..?”
I cough and splatter.
I couldn’t respond to him even if I tried.
“...You fuck me every night and you’re still too chicken shit to call me your boyfriend.”
Carey leans in again, spitting right in the middle of my face.
He lets go of my hair, and hooks his thumbs into the sides of my mouth; spreading it wide.
“Tongue out,” he demands, and I do my best.
He pulls harder, my lips stretching, tightness radiating through my cheeks.
Moving his hips side to side, he teases my tongue with the tip of his cock. “You want it?”
It’s truly wretched how willingly I nod.
“Say it!” he barks, easing up slightly on my mouth.
“Please, Sir. Let me have it.”
“If you want more, you need to promise to tell her….”
My whole body tenses, and I can see the demon rising in Carey’s eyes.
He grits his teeth. “...You need to tell her you're taken or I’ll never fill your mouth again…”
A whine comes from so deep within me there’s no way Brooklyn doesn’t hear it.
“...You won’t get my cock, my fingers, or my tongue...”
I grab his legs because he’s too much.
Too mean, too hot, too powerful.
I plead with my eyes as thick drool drips off my chin.
“...Say it!”
I splutter, “I promise,” as my eyes start to water. “I’ll do it. Just please feed me.”
With a smirk I think I may love more than anything in the world, Carey takes hold of his cock in one hand, and digs the thumb of his other up into the roof of my mouth.
Pursing his lips, he drops a trail of spit onto the head of his cock then slides it over my tongue and straight to the back of my throat.
I have nowhere to go. He’s got me open for him—like a fish on a fucking hook, suspended—ready and willing to humiliate myself on his whim.
I can’t close my mouth, but he doesn’t care. All I can do is grip his thighs to ground myself as he fucks the brain cells right out of my skull.
With his cock as deep as it will go, he tugs me higher with his thumb, and wraps around my throat with his other hand. “Relax,” he says, gently stroking over my straining veins and Adam’s apple.
My neck is already jelly, but I do my best to flatten my tongue and loosen my bottom jaw.
I know what’s coming.
Still trapped in my jeans, my cock is leaking with anticipation of how it will feel.
The stress. The Sting.
How violently I’ll gag and cough.
How perfectly fucked out I’ll look as he breaks me.
Carey draws back an inch. I feel his cock twitch and the bitterness of his pre cum leak onto my tongue.
I want to lick it up and swallow it down, but I know he won’t allow it. And I’m too far gone to be a brat right now. My eyes are misty with tears, my breath is erratic, and my heart is threatening to break out of my chest. But I’ve never felt so good.
Every time he brings me here, it feels better than the last.
How far he’s willing to push me grows on par with my trust in him.
If he opened the door, I couldn’t stop him.
But if I could, would I want to? I want the whole world to know about how I feel for Carey, but I need to be forced into everything.
Living thirty-four years in a box designed by someone else is a hard thing to break free from, but the cracks are there.
The wood is splintering. I’m working from the inside, and Carey is prying it open with a crowbar.
He’s only young, but he does know what’s best for me.
He’s lived a far freer life than I have.
Trapped by my family, and my own anger, I lived every day blaming everyone else for my problems, but I was a willing participant until Carey Novak came along, slapped me across the face, and breathed life back into me.
Popping out his thumb, Carey holds the back of my head, guiding me to a better position.
His hips move, and the strain I’ve been begging for bites at my throat.
I gag, spit spraying harshly all over Carey’s stomach.
“You can clean that up when you’re done,” he tells me, and without another second to collect myself, he pushes forward until I feel his crown slip past my tonsils.
My eyes gape.
My throat contracts, but it’s not strong enough to force him out.
He bullies his way further in, his hand cupped around my neck so he can feel me stretch open as he bottoms out.
His balls are like fire against my chin.
I wish I could see clearly.
I want to know the look on his face and how perfectly ruined I am as he uses me.
“Tek? How much longer are you gonna be?”
“He’s busy,” Carey answers through his teeth because the sounds I’m making are wet and disgusting and perfect. Unrecognizable. Not a moan, more like an animal choking on a bone. And like the wretched beast I am, I squirm on the spot, trying to ease the ache between my legs.
Carey sees and tells me to; “Spread your knees.”
He slips free of my throat.
He gives me the soul of his slipper, and nothing more.
“You can touch it,” he says, and I know exactly the parameters of my permission. I wrap my hands around his ankle, holding him still as I grind up against his foot.
It’s torture, having so little room to move, so little to work with.
My cock aches inside my jeans, the backside of the zipper pressing into it uncomfortably, but it’s not a hindrance to my desperation.
I’m so worked up, so high on Carey, so degraded, so small, that I don’t need much.
New, fat, thankful tears stream down my reddened cheeks, mouth too full to do anything more than let out a feeble whimper as I come inside my underwear.
Carey drags his foot away and grabs my head with both hands.
He's relentless from the first new thrust.
My nose mashes into his blond hairs, thick with his scent.
He’s so rough that each new jab at my throat slaps more spit against his abs.
My lungs burn.
My vision is cloudy.
Then he jams deep, and holds—his cock kicking inside me.
I feel each spray as it hits my throat before dripping down to my belly. And he keeps me pinned, milking himself with tiny jerks and I swallow around him, kneeling, sticky in my own mess. But there’s no shame. I’m weightless. I’m his.
When Carey finally lets go, I collapse forward, coughing as my palms hit the tiles.
He puts himself away, and once his pants are back up he squats down in front of me to gently smooth back my hair and cup my cheek. “Are you okay?” he asks. So pure. So full of kindness.
I lean into his hand and smirk; my words coming out like gravel. "I can’t believe you were that jealous.”
He sits down against the door and holds his arms out to me. "Of course I fucking am. She's the hottest woman in Broadrock, and all she does is throw herself at you."
"But she's not my boyfriend."
"Your what?"
"I've only got room in my life to belong to one person, Carey." His lips part but I hush him before collapsing into him and letting him hug me. "You've been calling me Oppa for weeks. I know you remember what that means."
“I’m gonna want a cut of your tips now, as well, if that’s the case.”
“And why is that?” I ask smugly.
“Cause that was the deal the last secretary got when she was dating someone in the shop.”
“But you’re not a secretary.”
“That’s right… I’m better.”