“I bet you just love Gaston, don’t you?” he pipes up loudly, interrupting my thoughts. I don’t answer, but a heavy sigh leaves me before I have time to stop it. “Bet you see a lot of yourself in him, don’t you?”
I know he’s trying to ruin the movie for me. Sadly, he’s doing a solid job of it too. I try not to let him get to me, but all that happens is I find myself in a depressing hell loop of thinking about how quiet he was when he sucked my cock yesterday. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t think of a sight I’ve seen in my life that was more gratifying than Damon Alexander Becket on his knees. That alone would almost have been enough for me, but the little fucker had the audacity to make me feel good. God, he made me feel good. His touch was firm, the perfect amount of pressure. He flicked his tongue back and forth over my head. The way he did it gave me this weird certainty that he liked it. That he was fighting the same internal battle I was. I can’t remember the last time a guy looked at me like that. Like they wanted to consume me with one breath and destroy me with another. It was hot. It was fucking amazing. It might have been the best anyone’s ever made me feel, but right now, after this hellish day of dealing with him at his most annoying, I almost think the peace and quiet it brought might have been as good as the actual blow job.
“This movie is sooooo dumb. Honestly, can’t believe you like it. How embarrassing for you,” he says.
“You were sooooo much quieter when you had my dick in your mouth,” I say before I can stop myself.
I feel his body stiffen. I look over at him fully expecting to see scorn written across his face. I’m startled to see something different. Something dark. Dark like desire. Admittedly, I’m pretty sure it’s a mix of desire and disdain. I can ignore the disdain, but the same can’t be said for the desire. It makes his eyes glimmer and his top lip twists to the side. I see his chest rising and falling. He looks as though he’s trying to steady his breathing. My eyes wander down. Past his treasure trail. Past the drawstring of his sweatpants. They land on a very distinct bulge in his pants.Fuck. I know he can see me looking but I don’t look away. I can feel him looking too. I let the leg closest to him fall open, splaying my legs wider than they were. Wider than they need to be. I know its fucking insane, but I want him to keep looking. I want him to see what I have for him.
I’m not sure who moves first but I think it might be him. His hands are on my buckle and then on my fly. I scoot my hips up and he pulls my pants down, roughly scraping the fabric across my dick as he does it. Cool air hits me and before I have time to fully register the change in temperature, he leans over and swallows my cock without any warning. Without so much as a lick or a stroke. My head whips back against the sofa and a long, terrible groan leaves me. Before I manage to compose myself, another one finds its way to the light. Demon is blowing me as if he’s possessed. Hungry. As if he’s an incubus and his life depends on him consuming me. He’s sucking me so damn well I can’t tell if I’m crying out in pleasure or from the unbearable ache of wanting a terrible person this much. I lean back harder, raking my fingers through his hair, holding it back, so I can see his chiselled cheekbones and those soft, full lips as they drag up and down my dick. I notice he has his left hand between his legs. He’s beating himself off so fast his forearm is blurred. My balls are heavy and full. They’re so full I can’t stop squirming.
I need to come.
I need to come.
I need it so badly, I’m drunk with desperation. I need release but I need what I need to get it. I reach down and grab him by the back of the head. I clamber to my feet and drag him up with me. His eyes stretch in confusion. His lips are puffy and shiny. Slick. They drop open in a clear question. I lean down and cover them with mine. I do it softly. Our flesh melts together. My tongue nudges in between his swollen lips and finds his. I rub my tongue gently against his until he sighs and cants his hips against mine. His erection digs into me. Hard and demanding, just like the rest of him. I push his sweatpants down and bite back a soft, pathetic sound, as his naked cock makes contact with mine. I reach down without breaking the kiss and take both our cocks in my hand. I move my hand up and down our shafts, fusing them together, sending jolts of pleasure through both of us. The tight hardness of my cock is nothing short of perfection against the slight excess of skin his foreskin provides. Our cocks slide together, over each other, slippery with saliva and copious amounts of precum.
He pulls back from the kiss, arching his head back, exposing the graceful column of his neck as he starts to shoot. Heat gushes out of him and over my hand. It’s so warm on my cock. My eyes slam shut as pleasure hits. I keep stroking until I’ve milked every ounce of our loads out of us. I don’t stop until both of us are shaking and he’s biting his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out from the excruciating knife edge between pleasure and oversensitivity.
He steps back when he can’t take it anymore, wiping his mouth angrily on the back of his hand. He lets out a long and protracted, “Ew,” and glares at me in fury. “What’s with all the kissing, Asshole?”
I’m far from my best. My legs feel weak, and my insides are trembling. My guard is down. It’s so far down that I tell him the truth. “I can’t get off without kissing.”
Chapter 7
Demon
Can’tgetoffwithoutkissing? What the fuck is wrong with him? Can’t get off without kissing. What the actual fuck?
I hope he’s embarrassed by that. He really should be. I’m embarrassed for him, and that’s saying something. I mean, it goes without saying that I’m embarrassed for myself too. The fact I’ve voluntarily managed to get myself entangled with him not once, but twice now, defies belief. I don’t know what’s got into me. It seems as though I can’t seem to get within a few feet of Asshole without acting like a cat in heat. It’s infuriating to be this out of control.
“I need more coffee,” I say, thrusting my mug at him as rudely as I can.
I do need more coffee. I need it urgently. I slept horrendously. I woke up with the type of boner that was worthy of having a building named after it. A skyscraper. Something so major it would alter the New York skyline.
It’s almost midday and my damn fool dick seems hellbent on cropping up. It’s using so much of my energy to remain flaccid I’ve hardly been able to focus on being annoying. Everything about Asshole is working me up. It’s like arousal and hatred have crossed wires and fused. My body is malfunctioning. Every gruff sound he makes seems to stroke something inside me. Something under my skin. Every time he moves, my eyes are drawn to him. I don’t mean to look. It’s not like I want to. It’s just that his T-shirt today is so fucking tight I can see his nipples though it. They’re peaked. Hard. They’ve been like that since he woke up this morning. Mine are peaked, too. The tanks he bought me are rough and cheap. I wouldn’t be surprised if he bought them at the dollar store. They’re chafing me, making my nipple stand worse. Making it hurt. Making me unable to think of anything else. The fabric of my sweatpants is aggravating things, too. That fabric is soft, almost fluffy. Every time I move, it caresses my already trigger-happy cock.
Fuck Asshole for not buying me any underwear.
I scowl at him. He’s sitting on the other end of the sofa crammed up against the arm. I take some small comfort in that. At least I’ve managed to make him uncomfortable around me. It’s not much, but it’s something, I guess. He’s looking ahead resolutely. He’s ostensibly watching TV, but the slight tension near the corner of his mouth lets me know he doesn’t feel comfortable around me either. My eyes track down his profile. For the briefest of moments, I let myself imagine tracing the profile of his battered nose with my forefinger. My gaze edges down a little more. Down to his lips. It looks like he’s trying to look relaxed. He’s trying too hard, so I can tell he isn’t. His lips are pressed together a little tighter than they would be if he was truly relaxed. I know if I touched them, they’d feel firm. And smooth. And hot. God, they felt hot against mine when he kissed me. Scorching. His kiss was gentle. Soft. So fucking soft.
Why can’t he come without kissing, for fucks sake?
Howdarehe have such an adorable kink.
I feel breathless with er, rage.
“What you looking at?” He interrupts my thoughts and makes me jump. His eyes slice through me.
“I’m not looking at anything,” I say, without breaking eye contact with him.
He gives a little smirk that could pass for a smile if you squinted just right. “You thinking about this?” He lets his hand slide all the way down and cups his dick and his balls in the palm of his hand. “You are, aren’t you?”
I make a series of sorry sounds that may give off the impression I’m choking. When I recover, I say, “Don’t flatter yourself, Asshole. My dick’s done some damn stupid things in its life. You just happen to be one of them. The only reason I sucked you off was because of how wrong it felt. I have a weird, fucked-up thing for that, okay? It’s got nothing to do with you.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs, looking at me as if he’s giving serious consideration to my statement. “If you think sucking my cock felt wrong, imagine how wrong it would feel to have it rammed up your ass.”
I don’t react for several seconds. I can’t. I feel like I’ve had a strong bolt of electricity has passed through my body.
