Chapter 16 – Braxton #2
I raise my thumb. "You're good at many things." I raise my pointer finger too. "You're not going to let him ruin a good thing."
A silence falls between us before he whispers, "Us?"
His inquiry stuns me into silence. It takes me a good few seconds to collect my bearings.
"The job, the show." I've been thinking about the usof it all since the other night, but thinking about it is a world apart from talking about it.
"It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Don't let a piece of shit like Cameron win.
Guys like him, they get everything they want.
You want to hurt him back? Beat him at his own game. "
"That sounds wonderful in theory, but you don't know him like I do.
" Pookie approaches the sink, approaches me.
He places a hand on my thigh like he's trying to comfort me.
And it's like, look, pal, I'm not the one who needs comforting here.
"There's this inner rage I'm not even sure he understands.
It's like he's two different people. He can be sweet and charming—"
"Say less." I grit my teeth. "He's an abusive prick."
He draws a finger to his mouth and chews on the nail. "I never wanted to see that man again, but now I have to face a past I'm not sure I'm strong enough to face."
"You are..." I force a smile. "Strong enough."
He tries to smile back, but it's weighed down by shadows. "But you're right. I can't run from it. I tried that already. It's here, and I have to face it, but I'm telling you I can't do that right now. Not yet."
I lean forward and meet him where he stands, my head hovering just above his. "When that moment comes, I need you to know I'll be by your side. I hope you know that."
He cocks his head to the side, laughing quietly. "I think I got a good idea of that today."
"Good." I straighten myself out. "You're my best friend, Pookster."
He turns his gaze back to me. Those damn puppy-dog eyes. Looks straight up at me and places a hand on my chest. "You're my best friend, too."
But best friends don't do what we've done. And when one best friend places his hand on the other best friend's chest, said best friend doesn't usually get a boner in his pants. I attempt to be as coy as possible as I reach down to adjust myself, pushing my cock to the side.
Caught.
Pookie glances down, and then his eyes peel upward to find a grimace on my face.
I swallow a dry lump in my throat. "I'm really going to regret saying this."
"Saying what?" he asks, his voice hoarse.
"I'm horny," I croak out.
His eyes widen. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
I raise my hands in protest and sing the same familiar song, "I'm not gay."
"You keep saying that, but I'm not sure you know what any of those three words mean."
I raise one brow. Immediately back on my bullshit, I spit out the first thing that crosses my mind. "Can I fuck you?"
He scoffs sideways. "Is there a gas leak in this bathroom?"
"Just one last time." I place a hand on his cheek and gently guide him back to me. "Like Ariana sings, 'One Last Time,' and then I promise I won't do it again."
"When you say it like that, it kind of sounds like a threat."
"Please..." I beg, pouting my lips. "You know it's going to be round two with Gunnar tonight. I can't walk back out there with blue balls and a rock-hard cock. What happens if he punches me down there?"
"We are at work!" he scoffs again, clearly looking for any excuse not to do this.
Maybe it's because it's bad timing. Maybe it's because deep down, I repulse him.
No, that's not it. Maybe he's afraid we'll ruin a good thing.
Finding a good roommate is like hitting a multi-state lottery.
So, I would totally understand that reasoning, which is why this is the final last time.
For real, for real.
Then he says something somewhat unexpected, "Why don't we revisit this when we get home tonight?"
I break out my best Lloyd Christmas impression. "So you're saying there's a chance?"
"I'm saying I don't want to get caught with my pants down at my place of work."
"Do you know how many times the guys have gotten some ass right here where you're sitting?"
"I'm standing—"
I solve that problem by grabbing him by the waist, picking him up off the ground, spinning him around, and sitting his ass on the pink sink. He doesn't even try to pretend to put up a fight. As expected, he's as horny as I am.
There's something about fighting earlier that's gotten me aroused.
Yeah, that has to be the reason. It totally has nothing to do with the boy with his thighs around my hips.
Has nothing to do with the way he looks at me like I'm his favorite toy.
Absolutely fucking nothing to do with the way the shadows lift from his eyes when I smile at him like this—crazily, stupidly, hungrily.
"You got torn the hell up." Pookie brushes a thumb under my right cheek. "It's kind of sexy."
Straight boy psychology 101: A guy can kiss you, suck your dick, let you fuck him, but the moment he calls you anything along the lines of sexy, well... that's just gay.
"If we're going to do this, we have to do it fast," I say, teasing the hem of his shirt with both hands. My fingertips brush against his bare skin and he shudders under my touch. I bow my head against his, pleading, "I'm so fucking horny."
He peels his gaze upward with the slightest bit of hesitation, and then a daring smirk passes over his lips.
He doesn't break eye contact as he reaches forward, fingers clumsily undoing my belt buckle.
I push my jeans and jock down past my knees as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the sink behind him.
My throbbing cock curves just slightly upward, drumming against the marble sink.
Pookie slinks backward against the mirror, hands folded to his sides.
He watches as I pop the button on his jeans, slowly pull down the zipper, and pry the jeans down his legs where they bunch up at the top of pink cowboy boots.
I hold one leg up to rip one boot off and then do the same with the other before ripping the denim from his body and disposing of them on the floor.
He cocks his head sideways, a curious glint in his eyes, as I shove his feet back into the boots. "What are you doing?"
"It's a kink," I say with a sly wink. "I love the feeling of boots on my shoulders."
A soft breath hitches in his throat as he begins to paw his erection over the pink fabric of his underwear, daring me to come hither.
Which I do without further coaxing. I meet him at the edge of the sink, draping my forehead against his.
Grab him by the chin and tilt his head up so I can easily caress his lips with my own.
A soft kiss. Quick. Then, my hands are on his thighs, fingers dancing beneath the lining of his pink briefs. Another quick kiss.
I tangle the fabric of his undies in my fingers and pull them down his legs, letting his cock slip free with a slap against his muscled and hairless stomach.
He chews into the bottom of his lip as I raise one leg up at a time to finish removing the briefs.
Then, I rip him towards me, his ass in the perfect position for a good pounding.
I palm the length of my dick and press it against his hole, lower my mouth to his, and let out a stifled moan as I press forward against his opening.
He slaps a hand against my bare chest and holds me there. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
I look to the side, trying to determine if I missed a step.
It comes to me rather quickly. "Right." I give him a playful nod and drop to my knees to rip open the cabinet beneath the sink.
"The boys keep this bad boy fully stocked.
" I search through cleaning supplies and extra rolls of toilet paper to find a purple bottle of lube.
"See, I told you you aren't the only one to get fucked in here.
" I peek up at him to find his brows arched inward, and as I'm grinning, I come face to face with his hole.
It forces me to pause as I study it as if I'm a National Geographic journalist—in its natural habitat, the hole winks in tandem with the subject's breathing, the prey practically begging for a predator to mount him.
The air is ripped from the back of my throat, leaving behind an emptiness that I can't quite swallow.
My infatuation with the hole continues. I've never seen one up close like this.
I mean, I've already crossed the line of fucking one, but it's astonishing just how tiny it is and how a cock can fit inside without tearing it open.
I paw a finger at the rim, forcing a cock-maddening moan from Pookie's lips.
The hole is so tender and pink. I rustle forward on my knees to get a better look while lubing up my fingers with a light dollop of lube.
I circle the rim with a slicked finger, and by the way his hole trembles, I can't tell who's enjoying this anatomical study more.
But I get it now. This is why men pay top dollar when I drop to my knees and offer a wink of my ass.
It's absolutely fucking mesmerizing. I'm surprised no man has tried to stick a finger inside.
There was that one guy who licked it once.
I should fucking lick it.
I inch closer, holding a hand on each side of his crack to spread him as wide as possible.
It stretches his hole just enough to open him up.
I tap my tongue against it, and he shivers.
And then I brush my tongue over it, and to my surprise, it doesn't have a bad taste.
Quite the opposite. Salty and warm, with a faint echo of manly sweat.
Intoxicating like the most potent drugs.