He pulls me over to the bed and sits down on the edge, looking up at me.
Look, under normal circumstances, I totallywouldteach this guy a lesson. I like my fucks rough, fast and with enough discomfort that they remember my name, sometimes enough to make them curse it. But I’ve got a cracked rib, maybe two, and a slice in my arm with a shitty stitch job. There’s no way I can fuck this kid like I want to fuck him; like heneedsme to fuck him. So I settle on another strategy.
“Move,” I tell him, and he moves, lets me arrange him lying in the middle of the three hundred pillows this place has piled onto the bed. I pause to take him in.
He really is an angel, with his messy pink hair spreading over the creamy pillow case, the color of the sheets setting off his bronze tan. He has a face that’s impossible to forget, and I can’t resist reaching out to touch him, this beautiful kid, just to reassure myself that he’s real.
I’m the one who got bashed and left for dead, but there’s something so vulnerable about him; I’ve never felt like this before. He might have been my guardian angel tonight, but there’s a new feeling stirring inside me.
I’ve never wanted toprotectanyone.
I’ve only ever thought about how I can use them.
I reach out and smooth one lock of hair off his forehead. “You’re a goddamn fairytale princess, aren’t you? Lying there all pink and gold.”
“Just waiting for your kiss, Prince Charming.”
“Oh, I’m no prince, angel. But I don’t think youwanta prince, do you?” I pull off the rest of my clothes and his breath catches as he gets an eyeful of my cock. I crawl onto the bed, over his body. “No, I think you prefer trash like me, don’t you?” I make my way up, knees on either side of his arms, dick wagging around in his face. “I think you like getting dirty with the rats and then washing yourself clean when you’re done. Isn’t that right?”
“When you’re right, you’re right,” he says.
I narrow my eyes as I look down at him. “Open your mouth.”
He takes it like a champ, I’ll give him that. I push in fast, already aching hard for him. I hit the back of his throat and wait for him to stop spluttering and gagging, because I’m a gentleman, or at least, that’s what I tell him, smiling down at him.
He gives me a roll of his eyes in return.
I like that this guy doesn’t give up his swagger just because he’s choking on dick. He’s not going to make it easy on me, not going to give in to his own pleasure without a fight. So I pull out again, and smack my wet cock on each side of his face. “Too much for you, princess?” I ask sweetly.
His only reply is to mash my dick back into his mouth like he’s a starving man and I’m rare roast beef. He’s a drooler, and unashamed. I like that. I like a guy who’s confident enough to dribble and cough and go red in the face and still know he’s the hottest thing in the city.
And this guy definitely is—the hottest thing in the city, that is. The hottest thing I’ve everseen. And here I am, feeding him my cock and fucking his throat.
He’s stirring something in me I never knew was there, something unfamiliar. It’s not just about the sex, although that’s also blowing my mind. He’s working my dick like he’s never had one so good, but he’s so practiced at it, I know he’s had more meat in his mouth than I’ve had hot dinners. He’s jacking himself while he sucks me, and I risk twisting, ignore the pain in my side, just so I can see his pink-tipped dick shining and jerking in his hand.
It’s that pain in my side that makes me lose it; I like my fucks perverted and I like to see the pain change to pleasure in others, but I never knew I was wired that way too. His deep-throating and his beautiful gold-green eyes looking up at me, streaming tears, the sight of my thick cock going in and out of those bubblegum-pink lips…it all combines and I take three more thrusts, deep in his throat, hoping he’s had the sense to close off his airway because otherwise he’ll drown in spunk.
It bursts out of me like I’m a bottle of soda shaken up, pouring into his warm wet throat. He swallows, thank fuck, so I came down the right hole at least. I had a guy choke on my cum once. It was way less fun than it sounds.
I pull out so I can squeeze out the dregs onto his puffy lips, shining with spit and snot, and then he comes too, staring up at me. It’s like he’s surprised, calling out in shock, and I feel a hot spray on my ass and lower back. He shot hard.
It makes my three-minute performance not quite as embarrassing. Some lesson; this guy schooledme. That doesn’t happen much.
I never lose control.
“Holyfuck,” he coughs. “Okay, you’re gangsta.”
“You’re not bad yourself,” I say, and climb off him. I can’t suppress the hiss of pain as my body contorts, and I feel dizzy again. Now that my balls are empty I can think straight, but it also means I’m feeling the other stuff. The bad stuff.
Finch leans up on his elbow. He’s looking paler as well. “You okay?” he asks. “You were pretty adamant about not going to a doctor.”
“Adamant,” I repeat.
“Yeah. It means—”
“I know what it means.” I know what it means, I just never heard anyone in real life use that word. I’ve been working on my vocabulary, reading whatever I can get my hands on. Practicing. I know where I want to be, and I need the right words to get there.
The guy’s staring at me, his eyes still glowing, even though he looks like he’s starting to feel the effects of the night, too. I give a shrug, although it hurts me even to do that. “I’m okay. I mean, shit’s gonna scar, but it was better to sew me up than not.”
