Chapter 10 #2
I’ve always figured I was undesirable. Not in a self-pity way, just as fact.
I’ve got the right components, but they’re assembled wrong.
All angles and planes. Hair with a mind of its own.
A default expression best described as confused owl.
But Trey, who could have anyone on this campus, is into me.
Into my body, my shy fumbling, my big eyes.
Everything I thought made me weird and off-putting, he finds hot.
The evidence is a solid nine inches rearranging my internal organs.
“You’re getting loud, Nico. Whole floor’s gonna hear how good I’m giving it to you.”
“I… don’t… care.” I really don’t. Let them hear. Let them know I’m getting railed by the jock next door.
“Yeah? You like people knowing you’re mine?”
My ass clenches around him. That word. Mine.
“Oh, you liked that.” He half-laughs, half-groans. “Me being all possessive. Not wanting to share this tight little hole with anyone.”
“Yours,” I whimper. “It’s yours.”
“Fuck yes it is.” His grip on my hips tightens, nails digging in. “Scream my name. Let everyone know.”
And I do. I scream his name as he drives into me, hitting that spot over and over, the one that sends lightning through my veins. A desperate chant. Trey, Trey, Trey. The only word my brain can form.
He answers with mine. “Nico. Nico. Oh, fuck, Nico.” I’ve never heard my name sound like that. Low and throaty, like he’s tasting it, rolling it around on his tongue. He makes it sound dirty, sacred, dangerous all at once.
My left hand stays on the easel. The right reaches back, grabbing his thigh, fingers digging into the muscle.
I need leverage to push back against him, meet each thrust. I reach further back, to where his cock slides in and out of my stretched rim, and find his balls, slick with lube.
I cup them, feel them swing forward with every slam.
“Yeah,” he groans. “Play with ‘em.”
They feel incredible in my palm. Dense and full, loaded with whatever he’s about to pump into me. The thought makes me lightheaded. I massage them gently, rolling them between my fingers, feeling the weight shift. Two warm orbs that tighten in my grip when I squeeze.
“You keep doing that, and this is gonna be over real quick,” he warns.
But I can’t stop. I love the feel of them growing tighter, the skin pulling taut against my fingers.
He leans over me, chest pressing against my back, his pace slowing. “You trying to make me bust?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
He wraps his arms around my chest and pulls me upright.
I let go of the easel, my hands flying to his forearms for balance.
My back is flush against his chest, my head falling back against his shoulder.
He’s still buried deep, and in this position I can feel his heartbeat inside me, a steady throb against my walls.
His lips find my ear. “I really think you do. I think you want me to fill you up. Pump this ass so full of me it’s dripping down your legs all night. Am I close?”
“Y-yes.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” His teeth graze my earlobe. “You want my cum inside you. Want to walk around campus with my load leaking out of you. In class. In the studio. Feeling me with every step you take.”
The words pour over me, filthy and electric. He’s right. I want that more than anything.
His hand slides down my torso and wraps around my aching cock.
I’m so wet it must be like gripping a bar of soap.
He strokes me in time with the shallow thrusts he can manage in this position.
The dual sensation brings the pressure in my groin to a peak I can barely stand.
My body doesn’t know where to focus. The fullness in my ass or the hand working me from base to tip, twisting over the head on every upstroke.
“It’s so good, Trey,” I whimper.
“I know, baby. I know.”
Nobody has ever called me that. And the way he says it, right against my ear, breath warm on my skin, it makes me feel cherished and filthy at the same time.
This guy. This fucking guy. The one I was terrified of.
The one I’ve lusted after from behind a wall, drawn and painted and jerked off to.
He’s here. Holding me. Fucking me. Stroking me. Calling me baby.
“I can’t… I can’t hold on.”
“Don’t. Let go, Nico. Let go for me.”
“But I don’t want it to end.” My voice is wrecked, two octaves higher, trembling in a way I can’t control anymore.
“It won’t end. This is just the beginning.” His lips brush my neck. “I promise you there’s so much more.”
That promise is my undoing. I give myself over to it.
To him. To the pressure coiled so tight in my gut it’s about to tear me apart.
My body convulses in his arms, hips bucking as thick ropes of cum shoot out of me.
Violent. More than I’ve ever produced. Pulse after pulse, splattering the easel, the drawing, the floor.
My ears ring. My vision whites out. I think I’m screaming his name, but I can’t be sure.
The whole world narrows to this one explosive release.
Trey holds me through it, murmuring in my ear that he’s right there with me.
And then I feel it. A deep shudder in the body pressed against my back.
Then a hot, liquid pulse in the deepest part of me.
A second. A third. He buries himself to the hilt and holds, grinding against me as he empties himself.
His groan is guttural, primal, a sound I feel as much as hear.
We’re coming together. My pleasure and his, feeding off each other, blurring into one.
There’s so much of him inside me. A warm, spreading heat.
Rope after rope. I clench around him, milking every last drop, refusing to let go.
My knees give out, and if he weren’t holding me, I’d be on the floor.
Limp, boneless, held up entirely by the man whose cock is still twitching inside my ass.
I want to stay like this forever. My head on his shoulder, his arms tight around me, our chests heaving in sync. Our fluids mingling. Our hearts slowing. The smell of sweat and cum and lube thick in the air. But my legs are shaking too hard to hold.
Trey eases out of me slowly, and I whimper at the loss, my empty hole clenching around nothing. A trickle of warmth runs down the inside of my thigh. Now that he’s not plugging me, it’s starting to leak. His cum dripping out of me, just like he said. I’m marked. Inside and out.
I lean against the easel, too wobbly to stand on my own.
“You okay?” Trey’s hand is on my back, steadying me. “You’re shaking.”
“Good shakes.” I try to catch my breath. “I’m just... wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.” He pulls me back against his chest, his softening cock settling in the crease of my ass. “Look at the mess you made, Picasso.”
That’s when I see the drawing. What started as a portrait has devolved into a furious, abstract scribble, and my cum has finished the job. Graphite running, paper warped, thick white streaks splattered across the paper like a Jackson Pollock. The oversized cock topped with a milky starburst.
Trey rests his chin on my shoulder, looking at it with me.
“That’s one way to sign your work.”
A weak laugh escapes me. “Call it a collaboration.”
“Our first,” he says, and presses his lips to the top of my head.