“I’m your wet dream, apparently.”
His eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m just about to climb off of him when a shrill noise cuts through the air the same way it cuts through my afterglow.
Colm’s face immediately switches to something tense and serious, and I don’t care for it. This person is a far cry from the needy thing I just worked to a messy orgasm, he’s all sharp angles and intensity.
Worst of all, he sits up likeI’mthe one in his way, and I clamber back off him before we become entangled. Snaking hisphone out of his pocket, he pulls it to his ear and answers with a bitten off, “What?”
I can’t make out the words on the other end because I’ve backed away a few feet now, but their tone is coming through loud and clear.
Whiny. Insistent. Speaking quickly, saying something that’s making Colm’s face set in irritation.
At least I know he’s not talking to my father. That expression would be fear, not irritation, for sure.
I space out as I watch him argue, spitting sharp words and orders down the line for a few minutes before finally jerking his phone away from his face and hanging up. The sight of my cum still decorating his cheeks and chin while he’s in work mode is frankly more distracting than I would have expected.
He must have forgotten about it as well, only noticing the wetness when he goes to rub his forehead before jerking his hand back in surprise. A series of emotions flitter over his face in rapid succession, a mixture of disgust and lingering horniness that strikes me with the sudden urge to fuck him and then plug all my cum inside him, wearing me while he goes about his bullshit day bossing around these losers.
Colm uses the hem of his shirt to wipe off most of the mess, realizing in the process how wet his crotch is with a renewed look of exasperation.
“Jesus, fuck. What a disaster.”
He mutters the words, and I get the feeling he’s not talking to me, even though he shoots a glare my way.
I shrug again. It’s not like he wasn’t involved, too.
“Come on,” he says before pushing himself off the bed and walking over to a dresser, yanking open a drawer and rifling for clothes.
Huh. We must be in his room after all. How depressingly bland.
“Come on where?” I ask before I get very distracted by him stripping off his clothes to put on clean versions of the same things.
He’s brusque in his movements, and the whole thing feels much more like a locker room than a strip tease, but that doesn’t mean the brief sight of him fully naked—sweaty and cum-slick, standing in front of me like hewantsme to see—doesn’t do things to me.
“There’s a problem that I have to fix. And you’ve made it very clear I can’t leave you alone because fuck knows what you’ll do. So, you’re coming with me. Where I can keep a goddamn eye on you.”
He barely looks at me while he says it, but I can see the subtext lurking below the surface, regardless.
Whether it’s moredon’t fuck anyone else but meordon’t tell anyone you fucked me, I don’t care. I have no intention of doing either, but I’m not going to tell him that. Not if it gets me invited to his little field trips.
“Are we going to be murdering anyone?” I ask, because I wouldn’t say no to two bloodbaths in one day.
Colm stops, pants on but his fresh shirt still in his hand, and looks at me.
Thick.That word was made to describe him.Thiccis probably even more accurate.
Once again, the thickness distracts me.
“No. You can just try to keep quiet and not kill anyone. That’s your job for the rest of the day. Fuck, the rest of the week.”
I pout, only a little exaggerated.
“You’re no fun. If you didn’t like me murdering people as much as you did, I wouldn’t have had your dick in my ass this morning.”
“And none of that bullshit,” he snaps, pointing at me with the shirt in his hand. “Just…” he hisses in a breath, leaning hishead back and closing his eyes for a second like he’s praying or something.
When he speaks again, his voice is softer.
“Just be chill,” he says. “Please.”
