“I’m sorry!” Roger gasped. “Okay? I’m so very sorry—!”
“Sorry for what?” Mickey spanked his cock again, grinding his own dick into Roger’s hip. “Tell me. Say it real good and loud so everybody can hear you.”
“I’m sorry I called you a bitch, okay?” Roger whined. “I’m fuckin’ sorry!”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m sorry, master!” Roger pleaded, squirming desperately against Mickey’s hold.
Mickey still refused to let go, his mind reeling with trying to figure out how far he was willing to take this. Especially with a captive audience, he didn’t know. He wanted to humiliate Roger for insulting him and daring to make him jealous—!
As if Mickey would ever be jealous.
Roger was his, thoroughly and completely…
Shit.
Mickey slapped his hand on Roger’s cock over and over, losing himself in his frantic cries and the trembling jerks of his hips.
“Mmmm, master! Fuck! Yes!” Roger howled, the sound nearly lost in the appreciative groans of the bar patrons.
Mickey clamped his hand down on Roger’s cock, and he could feel the pulse of his orgasm through the denim.
Flushed and grinning, Roger sighed dreamily. “Fuck, I think I love you, Mickey.”
Mickey could hardly believe it. He’d made Roger come in his pants right here in front of everyone. He leaned close and whispered in his ear, “Who’s the bitch now?”
“Fuck,” was all Roger could say in reply, breathless and groaning wantonly.
Head held high, Mickey left him there without another word.
Chapter 10
Driving with a raging erection was not Mickey’s idea of fun, but he was still very satisfied that he’d given Roger exactly what he deserved for running his mouth.
The tense energy rushing through him was familiar now, not only because it was so similar to the surge he got from a job, but because he’d felt it with Roger so many times now. As hard as he tried to stop himself, he kept getting drawn right back in.
He’d never met anyone like Roger—maddening, infuriating, and absolutely irresistible.
No one had given Mickey this sense of power before, and that thrill of total control made him shudder deep inside from the mere thought of it.
Fuck, what the hell was he supposed to do now?
Back at home, he snuck inside to grab a quick shower so he could handle his traitorous cock without waking up his grandfather. The hot water was soothing, and he kept his injured arm out of the spray so the bandages wouldn’t get damp. He had bled through the gauze some, probably from when that bastard Salvatore grabbed him.
Mickey briefly fantasized about killing Salvatore, but with his hand wrapped around his dick, his mind turned to Roger for proper inspiration.
He’d never spanked someone like that, and he still couldn’t believe Roger had literally gotten off on having his dick smacked. It was insanely hot, and he could have listened to him moan like a whore all day.
Roger couldn’t resist him either apparently, and his submission was the sweetest treasure Mickey hadn’t known he needed. He couldn’t give it up now. When he bit down on his lip, he wished it was Roger’s teeth on his skin.
When Mickey came, he was thinking about Roger’s hot kisses and the sinful clench of his gorgeous body on his dick. The climax was quick, bland, and not nearly satisfying enough.
Now that he’d had Roger, jerking off was nothing but a tease.
He got dried off and changed into fresh clothes: a pair of cargo pants, a shirt, and work boots. As much as he had enjoyed Roger’s ogling earlier, he wanted to be comfortable for later tonight.
“Hey, Michael! Is that you?”
