“My mother… she’s schizophrenic. I might be…” He shakes his head and clears his throat. “I might be, too. I keep thinking that it’s okay, it won’t happen until I’m eighteen but it’s so close and sometimes… Sometimes there are things happening that make me wonder.”
My fingers touch the side of his neck, picking a path down to the curve where it meets his shoulder. I remember how he was at the party, in the bathroom. Angrily barking at someone outside the door when there was nobody there.
A shudder of sympathy runs through me, thinking how scary that must be. Does he even know there was no one there? I want to ask but I don’t want to hurt him with the question.
My sarcasm takes a stab at answering instead. “Things like you act like a lunatic half the time?”
The relief of seeing his smile pulses through me but it’s short-lived. His face twists, brow darkening like thunder. “It ended her career. Her whole live just sort of stopped. Froze in place. Everyone went from saying how wonderful she is to ‘do you remember how great she was,’ in an instant.”
His voice chokes to a stop and I don’t have to travel far to understand how he’s feeling. It’s with me every time I take a hit off something to curb the pain. The voice in the back of my head wondering if this is it. The time when my drug use tips from a pastime into a habit. From a habit into a basic need. An all-consuming life goal.
I can feel the desperation of that question. Except with him, it’s not coming from an external substance. It’s there, inside him, a building block of his DNA.
When his draws back, fear in his eyes, I can’t help it. I kiss him.
He looks so lost, so vulnerable, it’s the only thing I can think of. Kissing it better like it’s a scrape he got from falling on the footpath instead of a cold-blooded murder and the fear of insanity. Like the inside of his memory can be wiped clean with the soft brush of my lips against his.
Not that they’re soft. They’re hard. Demanding.
I curl my arm tighter around the back of his head, pinning him in place. His mouth is still salty from the one bite he managed to take of the meal. The milder wash of toothpaste from his morning routine hiding underneath that.
My stomach clenches as he returns the kiss, deepening it, softening it. He wrests control from me in just a few seconds but I’m happy to let him.
His hands rise to cup my face and it sets off sparklers, fizzing and popping, in my belly and lower. Through the thick fabric of my borrowed sweatpants, I can feel him stiffening against my inner thigh.
I’m sure this it not the right time, not the right place, not the right response, but when he breaks away from the kiss, I shuffle backwards. I lever myself until I’m kneeling before him, wrestling with the buckle of his belt, unfastening his jeans.
He opens his mouth to protest but I don’t want to stop. Once I stop, it’ll be my turn to tell a story, my turn at confession.
Once I speak, he’ll probably never let me touch him again. This might be my only opportunity to take my pleasure in pleasing him.
My fingers move quickly, taking his girth between my hands and working him up and down until the first drops of pre-cum glisten on the head of his cock. Until whatever protest he was forming has died on his tongue.
It’s so pretty.
The utter absurdity of this boy strikes me again. Whoever heard of a cock that wasprettyfor God’s sake. I duck my head and gently lick away the drops like it’s an ice cream cone in the middle of summer.
The taste leaves me wanting more. I run my tongue along it from the base to the tip, then suck the head into my mouth, softly pulling at it, gazing up at Caylon’s face to see if I’m doing it the way he likes.
His eyes lock with mine, wearing the same glazed look as he had the night of the party. The one I can’t shake from my brain. When he glanced over from the middle of his harem to focus on me.
Except this time, it’s not with another girl as a substitute. When he moans, it’s from my tongue, my mouth, my hands, not the nameless middle of a human centipede of fucking.
I break eye contact to take him deeper, getting used to his size before letting him sink farther inside me. The spray he gave me numbs my pain, but it also works wonders on my gag reflex. Even when his tip nudges the back of my throat, I only struggle for a second before my muscles relax around his girth.
When I need air, I suck hard enough to offer some resistance as I ease him out, gasping in a breath while my eyes water. My hand takes over, working him while I wipe my tears away, then cup his balls.
Caylon slides his hand around the back of my neck, encouraging me to sit higher as he bends down to kiss me. He runs his fingers through my hair and suddenly I miss the length, miss him being able to use it as a lead, to guide me where he wants me to go.
“Are you okay to do this?” he asks, the soft puff of his voice in my ear sending a shockwave of tingles racing each other around my scalp. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Your cock’s not that big,” I rebut with a laugh, then catch myself eyeing the evidence and reconsidering that position. My clit gives a little jump of pleasure, remembering how it felt when his silken skin dragged against my walls.
I bend my mouth to take him inside again, enraptured by the feeling of power and control it gives me when he growls low in his throat, tugging at my short hair and cupping my head as though he’s fearful I’ll run away. I find a rhythm that matches to the thrust of his hips, pacing myself with breaks so I don’t run out of breath but not so long that he forgets the feel of my mouth around him, sucking him as deep as I can.
“I can’t—” he says with a trill of urgency. His hand grows rougher, wrist tensing as I take as much as I can, more than I thought I could. The pump of his hips takes over, and I force my shoulders to relax as he stops receiving and starts taking, the catch in his breath making my thighs press together, turned on by making him feel good in a way I haven’t felt before.
Then his muscles clench and I feel the pulse of him inside my mouth as he spurts into my throat. His fingers twist my hair until the roots howl in pace with his grunts. When I try to suck him clean, he pulls me off him, gathering me in his arms and kissing me, his release still coating my tongue.
