Chapter 14 – Pookie
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
POOKIE
The first time was a game, a dare neither of us was ready to back down from.
The second time was during a drug-fueled episode of lust. I'm not exactly sure either of us was really in control.
The third time... Well, a birthday kiss is one thing. Everything that happened after is another thing entirely.
By the time I push open the front door of our apartment, I'm breathless and spent.
My suit is undone, and there's a curious smidge of something white smeared into the expensive fabric of my new jacket.
Braxton is shaking as he rips the keys from the door and tosses them onto the counter.
He slams the door closed, and then he's at my throat, chewing, biting.
Hungry for something he's apparently stuffed down for so long that, like a genie, it's impossible to put back in the bottle.
I know from experience that no good comes from hooking up with a straight guy.
Things get weird after. Braxton forces his hands beneath my suit jacket and pushes it from my shoulders, letting gravity take it to the floor.
Then, he's brushing his face against mine, the stubble of his chin scratching against me.
My eyes roll to the back of my head when he takes hold of me by the back of the neck and licks a trail along my jaw.
This stupid boy has become my safe place, my safe person, and I'm terrified I'm going to lose that.
Terrified he's going to wake up tomorrow, stuff it all back down, and pretend it never happened. Pretend—
"Fuck," I moan at the pleasure of his teeth nipping at my earlobe.
He shifts the weight of his body against me, pinning me to the counter with one knee between my thighs, pushing against my strained erection. I give in to him, tangling a fist in the blonde curls of his hair.
He's actually going to fuck me.
But let me back up real quick. Picture it: the scenic view of New Jersey in my periphery as Braxton clawed at the back of my head, desperately trying to find something to ground himself to as his lips melted into mine.
Tender at first, and then all-consuming.
Teeth tugging on flesh. Tongue lapping tongue.
And then breathless restraint as we both took a breather, and the heat of his passion continued to marinate on the flesh of my tender lips.
Okay, fine. I'm making it sound more romantic than it was. Truth be told, it was feral and messy. And then it kind of just stopped, our mouths tearing apart—not with an explosion but with a quiet whimper.
I dropped my head and chuckled nervously. "If you keep doing things like that, I might start getting the wrong idea."
He pushed away my very good point with a playful scoff and laid back on the pier, stretching his arms over his head. "You wished for it."
"Yeah..."
His gaze found mine again, narrow and focused, bright, shiny, unwavering. "It'll make a lot more sense if you think of me like a genie. I grant wishes."
A hamster wheel squawked and turned in my brain.
And like a rodent, I tried not to get my tail caught in the spokes, trying to bite my tongue before I said anything that could scare him away.
I glided onto my back and lay beside him, staring up at galaxies of stars hiding behind the pollution of light.
I clicked my tongue once, twice, and then wondered out loud, "What if I had wished for more?"
My gaze twisted sideways to watch as he pondered my ridiculous question, but still, I couldn't read him. He sighed, quiet but also something else... conflicted?
And then he smiled, the corner of his lip cracking, and said, "I'd tell you I'm not gay—"
"But?" I turned to my side, resting the weight of my body on the crux of my elbow. I desperately searched his eyes for an answer, a hint of the words to come—words that were taking entirely too long to form on the precipice of a trembling lip.
Finally, he cocked his head to the side. Lips parted, eyes lost somewhere in the space between us. "But maybe I'm finding myself a little more flexible these days."
I'm not a go-getter. I tend to allow things to fall into my lap, so I don't know what the hell came over me, but I reached across the inches that separated us and placed a gentle hand on his chest. It was warm to the touch, which was no surprise on a night where the scorch of day lingered long after the sun had set.
I took measure of his heart that raced out of control.
It was the first time I'd ever seen him like that.
Always so cool and carefree, and yet his entire body seemed to tremble at once.
Was it nerves? Something worse, maybe fear? Confusion?
His palm grazed over the back of my hand, holding me still as his heart continued to pound.
A wet sound dribbled at the back of his throat, but he said nothing.
Instead, he tightened his grip on my hand and maneuvered me down his stomach, over the bump of his leather belt, and to the heat of an erection that was no longer possible to hide.
It thumped through his slacks, beating in tandem with his heart I'd left only a moment prior.
In the darkness at the edge of the pier, I squinted to get a better view of him.
To get a better view of his eyes, I waited patiently for consent he couldn't quite give.
Not verbally. He nodded slightly, his chin just barely bobbing.
If that wasn't enough, he pressed his hand harder against mine, massaging my hand against his restrained cock.
I'm not a thinker, and yet I think too much.
This contradiction is, in part, fueled by the anxiety that has haunted me for as long as I can remember—anxiety that has only worsened over the years.
Anxiety that fills me with dread to touch Braxton like this, even as he's practically begging for me to do so.
The first boy I had a real, tangible crush on was straight until one night he wasn't quite so.
I sucked him off in my bedroom at the back of the trailer, and then I never saw him again.
I don't want this to be the last time I see Braxton.
But, I suppose that's a silly thought. We live together and work together. He can't just vanish.
I took control and moved my hand over his hard cock, feeling the girth beneath the fabric of his trousers.
I squeezed gently, studying the way his breath hitched as his cock came to life.
He removed his hand from mine and undid his belt in a frenzy, tearing the leather straps to either side of him.
He clumsily popped the top button of his trousers and pushed the zipper down, revealing a mound of crumpled plaid cotton peeking through the opening.
I studied him for a moment longer, a feeling of paranoia swarming my gut. Was I being pranked? Was there a drone flying above us capturing footage for the show?
"Pook," he begged, breathy, raspy, scratchy, whining. The side of his mouth curled as he desperately tried to stifle the sounds of arousal trembling somewhere along the back of his throat. "I wa..." he stammered. "I want..."
I reached into the hole in his boxers and took him by the cock, eliciting a maddening gasp from him that shattered my understanding of who he was. He dipped his head backward, muttering nonsense into the summer air as I began to palm over his flesh.
Silky smooth skin with rigid, angry veins.
A seeping wetness slicked his length, making it easy enough to palm over him, and still not enough.
I pulled his thick hardness through the opening and admired it under the soft yellow glow of the endless city.
A thick mushroom for a crown, a just barely curved length, and a brick vein pulsing on the underside.
I massaged the crown with my palm, spreading the natural lube over the head.
He drew a hand over his chest, drawing circles over his pecs. Arched his head back further, offering an exposed view of the way his throat tensed with every motion of my hand, the way his Adam's apple bobbed with every nervous gulp.
I stroked with intention, taunting and teasing him. Reveled in every measured inhale and every stuttered exhale. He'd find his control, rope it in, and lose it again, and I was the lasso constantly undoing him. To maneuver into a better position, I had to release him from my grip.
He peeled upward, resting on his elbows as he watched me climb between his legs, and he widened his stance to accommodate my body. When I took his cock back in my hand, he flattened the back of his head on the pier again.
I'm not a control guy. Never have been. Have never been in control. Have never had someone let me be in control. Cameron—
Fuck that piece of shit.
I couldn't think about him.
I wouldn't.
I stared down Braxton's cock like I was staring down the barrel of a gun.
The bullet was cocked, the piston greased, and I was ready to blow my brains out—figuratively.
I squeezed the middle of his shaft, wanting so desperately to taste him, to devour him.
Something stopped me, though. That same nagging feeling in the back of my head that this changes everything or it changes nothing, and there was no way of knowing which until the deed was done.
Friendship wasn't something that came easily to me. Braxton was easy. As a friend, that is. This safe place in an unsafe world. Was the forbidden fruit worth losing that?
"Pookster," he begged, eyes welded shut. "Please..."
Yeah, I wasn't strong enough.
I took the head of his cock into my mouth, and the holy sounds that barreled from the back of his throat changed me. Hyperbolic? Probably. In the moment, though? Take me to the church of straight boy cock. He tasted of Old Spice, salt, and a sweet, delicious forbidden apple.
"Fuck," he moaned, his thighs widening further. "Oh my fucking... God."
I thought back to watching him get his cock sucked by that girl—whose name I've completely forgotten. I don't remember him losing control like this, but I was high so... Whatever. It didn't matter.