“Shut up and suck it, Neno. You know you want to.”
My free hand caresses his golden skin. The dark tone of my cock complements the pink of his lips and the golden hue of his flesh. Before I can say another word, his mouth envelops my needy length, my balls drawing tight from the contact alone. But just like that, the dream vanishes, turning into a nightmare as my girlfriend, Marlo, steps out from her hiding place. The flash of her phone illuminates the dimly lit space.
Just like I planned it.
Success will come, but only for me. I gave out my heart for stock and a dream.
“I knew it,” she taunts. “You’re fucking cheating.”
The words slam into me, reverberating through my soul. I put on the best show for her to see. For a moment, I avoid looking over at him as he scatters back. But I can feel his gaze on me, and guilt wraps around my heart like vines full of thorns, pricking and tightening their grip, making it painful to breathe.
Fumbling as I tuck myself in. “It’s his idea. I’m sorry.”
Marlo flashes me a pearly smile, her eyes glaring daggers at the back of Neno’s head. “Then get rid of him.” Her words final, ringing inside my head,
DING! DING! DONG!
The melody unites with the rhythm inside my chest, and my stomach churns as I look at my girlfriend—the daughter of the highest paying investors—doing the dirty work for me. Finally, I look down at Neno, who looks so scared it fucking hurts. But appearance is everything. My hands come together to form an applause, causing Neno’s eyes to go so wide I can see the white.
“De-De.” He can’t even form my name. I should stop what’s about to happen, but I don’t. My pulse quickens, blood rushing rapidly through my ears as my lungs constrict. I force in a breath, steadying the shake in my nerves. I knew Marlo was right, I’m gay; however, that’s not the real issue here. It’s my drive to success that has me stepping away from him, watching him flinch. His tears rolls down his gorgeous face. You would think seeing the man I consider my best friend and the love of my life in shambles would be enough for me to stop what's about to happen.
But as my mouth opens, the ground rips open and I fall through.
Jolting out of my sleep, my body lunges before coming to a quick halt. Icy fingers trace the outline of my jaw. I try to speak, but I can’t. My mouth is open, a spacer holds it open, forming an ‘o’. The air thickens, and the scent of peppermint crowds my overworked lungs.
Saliva pools inside my mouth, causing me to gag, as a hand props my head up just enough for the drool to slip from the corner of my mouth and down my chin. Brown eyes clash with evergreen, and the warmth inside me grows heavy, pressing andfucking claiming. For a moment, pleasure takes over my panic, or maybe they become the same thing. My heartbeat fills my head until it’s the only thing I can hear.
“Ho, ho, ho… Devon Porter,” Neno sing songs. His lips spread into a devilish grin before he leans in closer, his tongue licking up the same trail of drool, before pulling away again. An angelic ghost framed in a red Santa suit with a white beard to complete the look.
“Looks like you made the naughty list,” he whispers, and my eyes snap closed, because there’s no way. It can’t be. But his finger dips inside my mouth, and it seizes up my throat.
“Wake up, Toy King. I want to play.”
The fire blazes wild and bright behind him, framing him in red light. A Santa Claus from hell. I thrash, but my wrists won’t move, and something tight cuts me every time I try.
Santa from hell hums a carol under his breath —low and off-key, stopping just in time to say.
“Merry Christmas, Devon.”
5
The Past
My eyes flutter open, and I realize, somehow, I must have fallen back asleep again or woken up out of my nightmare. The searing pain in my jaw grounds me to the bitter truth that I am very much in a reality I’m sure I want no part of. The storm continues to howl outside, the sound of peeling barks coming again and again. Then something else, my ears twitch slightly as I listen to what sounds like paper sliding across wood.
The fire has grown into a beast while I slept; the warmth is suffocating and making me sweat. My mouth is dry from hanging open, my jaw locked tight, and my fucking neck aches. Turning to the sound, I see printed papers sitting on the wooden dining table that weren't there before. The ends of the white papers curl into themselves due to the heat, I’m sure. My eyes catch the top page. It’s a company letterhead.
Which reads:
Across it, the words in bold red letters say:NAUGHTY LIST.
Underneath the papers, there are three green boxes with little red bows drawn beside them and the words.
Past.
Present.
Future.
