He bites me.
His teeth clamping down on my skin, sinking into my flesh, leaving a mark. He sucks the spot, licking it, soothing the sting, and when he pulls back, his eyes are dark and intense, his lips curved in a wicked smile.
“Too much?” he whispers.
I shake my head. “Not enough.”
Then he flashes a devilish grin and takes my hard cock into his mouth, sucking the breath right out of my lungs. He’s messy about it, sloppy and eager, like a zombie tearing into warm flesh. I thread my fingers through his hair and push, urging him to go deeper, faster, harder. And he does. Oh, fuck, he does.
It’s only a fantasy, but it feels so real. I can almost feel his stubble scraping my thighs, his pumpkin-stained hands holding me down as I writhe and buck and moan his name.
Josh… Josh… Fuck, Josh.
I squeeze my dick and pump with everything I’ve got, moaning and writhing, panting and squirming. It feels so good, so fucking good. It has no right to feel this good.
“You know what I wanna do to you, Sebas?” Josh says when he comes up for air.
“No,” I answer, even though I’m the one making this shit up.
His tongue glides up my cock, and he smirks. “I wanna pin you down and fuck you so hard you’ll still feel me inside you long after I’ve emptied my balls into your tight, greedy?—”
That does it.
I explode with a strangled cry, shooting hot white streaks over myself and the pile of clothes on my bed. Pleasure crashes through me in waves, leaving my thighs shaking and my breath short. I keep stroking, milking out every last drop until there’s nothing left.
The intensity borders on painful, and by the end of it, my cock is so sensitive that even the slightest brush makes me hiss.
It takes a few minutes before I can move at all. I just lie there with wet, sticky, cum all over myself, staring at the ceiling, waiting for my pulse to settle and my vision to clear.
Holy shit.It’s been a while since I came this hard.
When the fog finally lifts, the reality of what I did slams into me. I jerked off thinking about a dude. A jock. The sort of guy I despise and avoid like the plague.
Could it be that...
No, no, no.There is no way.
But the evidence is right here. Literally. It pools in my belly button and dribbles down my arm. It stains my clothes, and the scent hangs heavy in the air.
I can’t deny that Josh has awakened something in me, and now that it’s been released, I don’t know how to catch and cage it. And the truth is, I’m not sure I want to.
I need to figure out what the hell is happening, and there might be only one way to do it.
By going to that fucking party.
3
Afallen angel.
That’s what I managed to throw together for a costume. Black jeans, a black tank top, a broken halo, and a pair of wings I still had from a play last year. They strap around my arms with elastic bands, and the fake feathers are a little worse for wear, but they still look decent.
It seems fitting: a corrupted angel, no longer able to spread its wings and fly. Conflicted, questioning everything.
Because, well, that’s exactly how I feel.
I can admit that I look good, though. The tank top’s tight enough to show off the muscles in my chest and arms, and the jeans hug my ass nicely. My hair’s slicked back with gel, and I’ve smudged charcoal under my eyes to make them pop.
Now I’m walking down the street with my wings jutting out behind me. I follow the GPS on my phone as it leads me away from campus and into a neighborhood I rarely visit.
