20. Twelve Fuckers
TWELVE FUCKERS
PARKER
Three Months Back
He comes home just after two in the morning. I’m fully-alert before I even hear the door open, which feels more pathetic than it should because I should’ve gone to bed hours ago.
The lock clicks. Anders stumbles inside carrying a tiny black bag slung over his shoulder, cheeks flushed pink from the cold and alcohol. The moment he sees me, a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. “You waited up for me,” he says smoothly, toeing out of his shoes.
“I fell asleep,” I lie.
“Mm.” He glances at the untouched beer on the side table. “With a cold beer beside you? Because that’s impressive restraint.”
He bends down to untie his shoe and nearly eats shit into the entryway wall. I’m on my feet before I even think about it. “Easy there.” My hand catches his elbow.
The contact sends something static through my chest.
Anders looks down at where I’m touching him before tipping his head back to look at me again. His eye makeup is smudged dark around his eyes. Glitter still flickers along his lashes every time he blinks.
Jesus Christ. I think he might be the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.
Twenty-one. He looks older tonight somehow. Older in confidence, like he came home understanding something he didn’t before.
“I’m okay,” he murmurs.
“You’re drunk.”
“Yeah, so?” His mouth curls. “It’s my big night, Pet’ka.”
I move toward the kitchen before I can keep staring at him. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and twist the cap loose before handing it over. He watches me the whole time, completely not subtle in the way he bites down on his lip.
“Thank you, Petchka,” he murmurs too softly to be innocent. That fucking nickname in his mouth should be illegal. He’s taken a normal family endearment and turned it into something dangerous the moment he says it.
Anders takes a long drink, leaning back against the counter. His throat moves when he swallows and my eyes catch there before I force them away.
“How was your night?” I ask instead.
“Fun.” He smiles faintly. “I got hit on by, like, twelve people.”
“Oh, I bet you did.”
He laughs softly. The sound settles warm beneath my ribs and I immediately hate how much I’ve missed it.
Anders sets the water bottle down and slowly closes the distance between us until he’s standing right in front of me. Too close.
My body notices immediately and tenses up against my will.
“So,” he says quietly, giving me a drunken smile.
I inhale staggeredly through my nose and purse my lips. “What?”
“It’s my big night,” he says again.
“Yeah,” I chuckle softly. “And you got hit on by eleven people.”
“Twelve.” His fingers slide lightly along my forearm. My muscles lock. Fuck. I should step back.
I should. Instead I grip the edge of the counter behind me hard enough that my knuckles ache. Something cold and sharp shoots down my spine. Anders reaches up slowly, giving me enough time to stop him if I want to.
I don’t. Hell, I don’t.
His fingertips brush through the front of my hair. The breath leaves my lungs in one quick pull. Something about the way he does it without invitation…I like it more than I should.
“Why are you asking?” He asks me, voice ringing with confidence. “Are you jealous?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the thought of even admitting I am terrifies the hell out of me. He softens a little. “Are you?”
“Anders—”
“Tell me,” he begs, “please.”
“Yes, I’m fucking jealous,” I breathe, almost like it’s painful to admit. “Of course I am.” But he already knew that. The pleased look on his face tells me as much. I look away from him immediately.
His hand slides to my jaw, turning my face back toward him with surprising gentleness. “Good,” he says quietly. “You should be.”
I’ve been beside myself for weeks now, absolutely reeling over the fact that I let him walk away from me on that dock thinking I didn’t want him, which is the complete opposite of the truth.
Anders steps closer until I can feel the warmth rolling off his body. Alcohol and expensive cologne and early autumn air.
I should shut this down. I should walk away. Instead, I stay rooted exactly where I am while this boy stands in my kitchen looking at me like he already knows every terrible thought floating inside my head.
And maybe he does.
He reaches for my hand carefully, and I know this should feel easy to stop, but it doesn’t. I don’t want it to. He nuzzles into my palm with his warm cheek and closes his eyes like it’s instinctive.
The intimacy of it nearly fucking kills me and my restraint starts cracking right down the center. My hands find his waist immediately, my fingers brushing up beneath his tight mesh top.
Anders exhales shakily and folds himself against me like he belongs there. Like he’s done this a thousand times already in his head. He doesn’t even need to think about it.
My eyes close before I can stop them.
His forehead rests against my chest as he stands in my arms and breathes slowly like this is the safest place he’s ever been.
That realization hits me harder than anything else tonight.
I have to stop it. He’s drunk and I’m dangerously close to crossing a line. “I think it’s time for bed,” I whisper roughly.
Anders tilts his head back enough to look up at me again. His eyes travel to my mouth.
There’s a beat where neither of us moves.
Anders gives me a smile that feels almost vindictive the way it has an immediate effect on me.
He slowly guides my hand down his perfect fucking body.
“The sun is sleeping, Pet’ka,” he whispers, letting my hand continue its descent until it brushes over the tempting hardness between his legs.
“Feel me.”
Anders sucks in a sharp breath when I gently palm him over his jeans. His heat clings to my palm like a thin sheen of sweat.
My mind goes to dark places. Sick and twisted places.
Fuck it. This is when I cross the line.
It all happens so fast.
“God, baby.” I remove my hand, just long enough to pop open the button and tug down his zipper.
“Fuck,” he murmurs sharply when I dip my hand inside, exploring his hardness through the thin material of his underwear. I make the mistake of looking down, my breath hiking when my eyes scan over the lacy, black panties.
Fucking panties. Holy shit.
“Would you look at that.” My voice is rough. “Do you wear these a lot, birthday boy?”
“On special occasions,” he mumbles. Grabbing onto my arm, Anders squeezes his legs shut around me, driving me absolutely primal. “Mmmh.” He tilts his head up with parted lips. “It tickles,” he whispers, rocking his hips and rubbing himself up against my palm.
My blood boils. I’m fucking dead. Luca is going to murder me if his baby brother doesn’t do it first…
Almost frantically, I back him up against the counter so he can thrust with more force, his body slamming against the lower cabinets. Each little whimper that escapes his lips puts me closer towards the edge. Closer to ruining my life for a moment of fun with this boy.
I can feel his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He looks up at me with a needy look, sucking on his bottom lip like he’s expecting me to completely unravel.
And he’s fucking right.
“That’s it,” I murmur in a broken voice. “You fuckin’ like that, dirty boy?”
“Mmmf…f-feels so g-good,” he whimpers, hesitating for a second. “More…Daddy.”
Out of all of the words he could’ve said, I never expected it to be Daddy. And I never expected it to land the way it does.
“Yeah?” I mutter, pretending my eyes aren’t practically bulging out of their sockets. My autopilot kicks in as I start squeezing him harder.
“Yeahhh…Pet’kaaa…” Anders’ breathing turns erratic. He leans his forehead against my shoulder while delicious little cries escape through his parted lips. “Fuck,” he whimpers, digging his nails into my skin and biting down on my shoulder. “Ahhmmm. Jesus, Park.”
I cradle the back of his head, holding him to my chest as closely as possible.
He tilts his head up and bats his eyes at me.
“What a pretty little boy,” I purr, smiling lazily. I bite my lip for less than a second before Anders throws his arms around my shoulders and threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck.
My eyes flicker to his lips without even thinking, immediately focusing on the way they slowly part with desire. I tighten my grip on his curls and yank his head back, leaning in so close I can taste the tequila and sugary mixer on his lips.
This is my chance to stop. I still have time to do the right thing and end this right here.
But I keep thinking about the feeling of his mouth against mine.
His warm, sweet mouth. His soft lips. The tip of his nose brushing against mine.
I’ve had it before. I’ll have it again. Maybe even a little more.
I close the distance immediately, kissing him like I’m starving for it. He lets out a moan and deepens it without needing to think about it.
“Mhmm.” He tightens his hold on me, like he’s trying to surgically attach out bodies. “Sexy Petchka.”
Fuck.
I plunge my tongue down his throat, practically mauling him to death as I slip my hand from between his legs and cup his face.
Something nasty and possessive creeps into me at the thought of another man possibly having him tonight, and it clouds the part of my head where restraint is supposed to live.
“How many of those twelve fuckers touched you tonight?” I breathe, breaking the kiss with force.
“None,” he pants, quickly shaking his head. “Nobody, Pet’ka. Imma good boy, right?”
“My good, special boy,” I whisper. Heat pulses through my veins. My cock and balls are absolutely throbbing, begging to come all over his beautiful face and make him mine forever.
Nobody ever will, I want to tell him. I’m the only one who gets to have you.
I can’t escape the possessive thoughts. Every inch of my body is screaming he’s mine. That I’m the only one who gives him pleasure.
Before I even realize it, I’m down on my knees. I mumble “good boy gets special treatment,” before I mouth him through the lace, the heat of my mouth sticking to his soft skin.
“Am I special?”