KNIGHT
Chapter Twelve
Sullivan is a hundred percent right. Feelings don’t have anything to do with what he’s offering.
Whether he likes me or I like him doesn’t matter.
Even if he were available, it’s not like we can ever be together.
And even if we were together, it’s not like it would be good.
We have chemistry, I guess, and he’s easy enough to talk to in that difficult way he has about him, but it’s not like I’d even have time for a relationship once we get back to school, and he’s right about something else, too—this could be a disaster.
Once we get to the main bedroom, and he drops his backpack on the bed, I let him shove me into the wall and kiss me.
His arms cage me in for a few long, luscious moments before his hands meet my sides and ruck up my shirt to press his hot palms to my skin.
I’m so hard, it’s not really all that difficult to shut down my reservations or any mushy thoughts about what I might wish this was in some tiny corner of my mind. It can’t be that, so there’s no point.
What it can be is an experience I might not ever have another chance at.
Being a nineteen year old virgin among the guys I hang out with has involved so much lying.
I literally wear a cross around my neck to signal purity, and I’ve allowed so many people to believe I have principles when it comes to sex.
Morals or beliefs about “man and wife” when the truth is I’ve never thought of sex as sacred.
The problem with that is, when Sullivan is kissing me, it feels somehow more important than football, all the good I can do with all the NFL money, or the legacy I feel meant to carry on.
Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it seems equally important for sure.
But I’m probably the most hard up person I’ve ever met.
My hand is all I’ve ever had. Because I live with guys, I can’t even have toys for fear a roommate might discover the truth about me and shrink away—think of me as some threat to their own heterosexuality by the mere fact of existing in their world.
As Sullivan’s hands push down the back of my pants to grab fistfuls of my ass, and I press my hips forward, flexing and wanting and kissing him as hard and deeply as he’s kissing me, a fever builds, and I forget everything but him.
“Are you gonna let me fuck this ass?”
I nod, slamming my mouth firmly back onto his. His tongue sinks deep, wrapping around mine. Two of his long fingers slide through my crack as his other hand pulls my ass cheek out of the way. When his fingertips brush my hole, I groan into him. So fucking sensitive.
“Tight,” is what he notes.
I steal nips of his full lips. I’m shivering and melting as that fingertip circles my opening.
I clutch his shirt at the sides feeling cold and sweaty and so fucking needy suddenly, I might have a breakdown because Christ, oh Christ it’s embarrassing and terrible, and I like it too much.
When my forehead drops to his shoulder, I’m gasping, and he hasn’t changed a damn thing.
He presses a kiss to my neck and whispers, “Tell me what I’m gonna do with this.”
“Mm…you’re gonna fuck me.”
Blunt nails dig into my ass cheek. “Be specific. What am I gonna do with this tiny little hole?”
Shame floods me, heating my neck and face. My dick aches as it rubs against his, and I feel wet at the tip.
“Tell me, champ. What will I do?”
“You’re gonna put your cock in it.”
“Tell me more. Tell me what it’s gonna feel like.”
Unable to help it, I press my palms to his sides, my mouth to his neck, and I whimper. It’s so hot, I might pass out. Like running summer drills in the blistering heat. I’m not hydrated enough for this. I’m fucking dizzy with weak knees and no defense. “Like being split open.”
“Mhm. Yeah.” His finger works itself into the tight hole, and I shudder with the humiliating, burning pleasure of it. “Does it sting?”
“Yes.”
“But you like that. You like when I touch all your private places.”
My dick throbs painfully. “Fuck…yeah I do.”
“Take your clothes off. Get on the bed.”
This was not how I pictured my life. Back in my innocent, secret, gay youth, I imagined something sweeter for my first time. More tender. Love and reverence and slow, shy exploration. A meeting of equals.
This isn’t that—not at all. While I’m probably ten times more physically powerful than Sullivan, he turns me into a trembling mess every single goddamn time.
He’s just big enough to trap me and take me over, just strong enough to make me obey, just unpredictable enough to scare me, and oh shit, I’m leaking everywhere.
He’s gonna see how messy I am, and what if I die of embarrassment?
“Are you gonna hurt me?” I ask in a whisper.
He smooths my ass cheeks with his hands. He pulls his head back, and I get the distinct impression he’s waiting for me to look at him, so I do. We’re nearly eye to eye. He’s still got our hips and dicks pressed together as he studies my face. “Do you want to be hurt?”
I shake my head slightly.
His brows lift. “Then do what I tell you.”
“Okay.”
“Undress, get on the bed, and show me that tight little hole.”
I swallow hard and let go of him at the same time he lets go of me.
A feature of this staged room is a very large mirror over the head of the bed. I imagine the theory behind it is to reflect light, make the room seem bigger and enable potential buyers to picture themselves here.
The thing is, I can see how wrecked I already am with swollen lips and a damp, flushed face.
When I pull off my shirt, I see the flush extends halfway down my bare chest. I avert my gaze, not relishing the sight of myself like this.
It’s not dark out yet, and so the room is bathed in mild, pre-dusk light.
The simple cream quilt on the bed looks soft and unspoiled, and now I’m wracked with a wave of guilt for what I’m about to allow to happen on it. For what I want to happen on it.
As I stare down at it, my hands shove my joggers over my big thighs and ass. A bottle of lube and a condom packet land on the bed. I swallow another mouthful of saliva, my cock jerking upward as though it could possibly get any harder. “I should put down a towel,” I say.
He chuckles softly, and I glance at the mirror to see him taking his own shirt off.
More scattered tattoos appear along with two studs in his nipples.
My mouth isn’t dry anymore. It’s watering.
He’s all lean definition and long limbs—lithe and graceful, his chest as hairless as mine, but I keep mine that way on purpose.
Sullivan’s looks naturally smooth, the same way his face is always so smooth.
As though his body decided that the hair on his head was lush and perfect enough that it shouldn’t have any competition.
But as he lowers his own pants, I notice he does have some hair.
That very specifically male hair from his hollow of a navel leading down to his thick, jutting cock.
He’s otherwise hairless, though. Even his legs are satin smooth. I take a shaky breath as more of the mysteries of his body slowly reveal themselves. Another random utterance escapes my mouth. “Do you wax?”
“Not by choice. You want to wait until my leg hair grows back?”
“No, I… it’s just…”
“What?”
Gay, I want to say. It’s not that I need him to go into a specific sexuality box right this second, and I understand that straight or bi men sometimes remove their body hair, but why does he? Why would he? His size and body art notwithstanding, he looks so much younger like this.
He moves around me, pushing the quilt back from the foot of the bed to reveal the sheets. He grabs the lube and the condom to keep them within reach. “Not by choice?” I ask, my sluggish mind snagging on the more important part of what he just said.
“You think I like looking like a twelve year old?”
“Then why?”
“It’s a long story, and I don’t feel like telling it when you’re leaking all over the place. But if you want to stop to talk, say so now.”
“It’s nothing to do with that. You’re gorgeous, I just—”
He cuts me off. “You’re nervous, and you’re looking for excuses. If you don’t think I’m man enough to fuck you, just say so.”
He’s clearly more than man enough to fuck me. When he follows the bold words up with an even bolder stroke of his own hard cock, he’s like a fucking fantasy coming to life.
I guess I’ve never felt all that masculine, although I do realize the way I look and have learned to carry myself don’t betray a lot of who I am inside this body that I’ve trained to take heavy hits, run fast, and throw far.
Tonight, I feel dwarfed by Sullivan’s presence, hairless legs or not.
His words, his cock, his hands, have nearly all my focus.
Ninety-nine percent. One percent, however, seems bent on voicing every random thought that pops into my head. “Do you like the room?”
“I like the mirror, and I think you should get on your hands and knees if I’m staying.”
Precum drips and stains the sheets as I crawl over them.
In the mirror, Sullivan’s reflection takes in the sight of me displaying myself for him. I drop my head, unable to stand seeing myself like this.
If I could change, I would have changed. If I could be anything but this, I would take whatever pill, undergo whatever procedure, endure a fucking exorcism. In this moment, I hate myself, my hormones, my brain chemistry, my dick for wanting the way they do. For making wanting hurt the way it does.
I feel Sullivan’s hand on my inner thigh first like a warning just before it slips between my legs to take hold of my cock.
He draws it down and back, making me grunt and my elbows shake.
His thumb runs up the sensitive crease in my scrotum as the rest of his hand moves over my shaft, his fist creating a rocking motion unlike anything I would or ever could do to myself.
Shame on me. Shame on me so much for loving it.
“Oh, God,” I sigh.
He’s quiet, so I fold my arms and rest my head on them, completing my submission to him by presenting all my parts like a stretching kitten.
In the silence, he keeps my dick hard and leaking and hurting for and from his continued attention.
Soon enough, he uses his other hand to massage and part my ass cheeks.
The rush of room temperature air hitting my hole gives me another deep shudder that feels a lot like anticipation.
He strokes it gently with a dry fingertip. It clenches. It opens.
He spits on it, the sharp sound from his lips shocking me almost more than the sensation of the firm circles he uses to rub his saliva into my rim.
Whatever finger he’s using slides inside, and my muscles lock up tight, the urge to bear down and push him out nearly irresistible.
Heavy pressure downward stretches the rim in a way that feels almost too extreme, and I pant heavily, loving it.
It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. A warm burn accompanies the stretch, and I welcome it.
“Push,” he says, his voice lower and rougher.
I do as I’m told, and his finger sinks inside, deeper than I expected. The thought I have, which I manage to keep quiet, is that’s what those long fingers are for.
It’s immensely pleasurable in a way I feel both on the crown of my head as zaps and tingles to my curling toes.
My thighs tense, too, but I force my glutes to stay relaxed, and because I do, I get more downward pressure from his finger and a gentle mapping of my insides that sends more shockwaves through my groin and down my legs.
“More?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
I don’t get spit this time. He lets go of my dick and opens the lube with a click of the cap. The cool gel lands between my ass cheeks. He removes his penetrating finger, swipes my crack up and down, and presses two fingers through my mostly relaxed rim.
I think I convulse or something because his laugh is a low rumble I feel in my overly tight balls. I open my mouth, biting my wrist so I don’t squirm or shout or something worse.
Two fingers move smoothly back and forth, occasionally taking a lap around the circumference of my insides.
“Not to tell you something you probably already know, champ, but you were built for this, too.”
My lips close around my wrist to muffle my groan.
“I’m not gonna give you three.”
“Wait, no—I need more. Please.”
“Oh, you do need more.” He withdraws his fingers, and I feel the lewd slap of his cock on my ass.
“Yes, fuck yes,” I whimper.
“Say more, Knight.”
“Please fuck me.”
“More.”
“Please put your cock in me.”
“Why?”
“Need to feel you. Need you to stuff me full.”
“With what?”
“Your cock, goddamnit.”
“Describe it.”
His cock? “Your big, thick, hard cock. I want it inside me.” I can’t tell if it’s the words that get him going or the fact that he’s able to make me say them at all. I’m so hot. Burning up with self-loathing and need so severe I’m sweating in the cool room.
The condom packet rips. Rustling of foil and latex make a soft sound that’s no match for my heavy breathing.
The lube makes a slick noise, and he grunts.
Lifting my head, I check the mirror. His head is down, his arm is moving, and then his other hand grabs my hip.
Slippery, hot flesh settles against my hole.
I clench once, hesitating as though my body needs to offer up one last chance for me to back out of this, but I don’t want or need that.
My doubt evaporated the moment my knees hit the mattress.
My body opened for him with barely a breath.
And it does now, too. His fat cockhead tears through the ring of muscle too small to accommodate it. I hiss at the searing stretch, and my reflex to push away the sudden, extreme fullness welcomes him in beyond my capacity to react in any way except to drop my head again and fucking whine.
“Oh fuck holy shit it’s so big fuck fuck oh my fucking God.”
“You gonna let me hurt you now?” he asks when I finally shut up.
I nod, my hips rocking back in an effort to take more.
It’s uncomfortable, but in terms of pain, I’ve broken three bones and have suffered through dry socket after I had my wisdom teeth removed, so I can’t even really call it pain.
I understand exactly what’s happening to me.
I have a cock in my ass. It feels more or less exactly how I thought it would, and I’ve craved it for so long, I don’t experience anything other than pure relief at the fact that I’ve actually gotten this far.
Earlier this week I was researching celibacy, so it’s not like I’ve never considered the possibility that I’d be a virgin for a very, very long time. I wanted this, though. I wanted to feel this. Just once, I remember telling myself.
I reach back to touch him. He lets me grab onto his thigh for about two seconds before he brushes my hand off him. “Use your words if you want me to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
With one slow push, he’s fully inside me, his hips planted firmly against my ass.