“You’re distracting me while I’m trying to fucking drive, that’s what wrong. You can’t just go around jerking off in the passenger seat. It’s fucking feral behavior.”
Another low, throaty chuckle escapes him, but he doesn’t stop.
“What did I say? Stale, boring bread. Just like I expected. You should try being a croissant for once in your life.”
“Do I look like I eat fucking croissants?” I bark back, but still don’t manage to regain my focus.
I can see his hand moving out of the corner of my eye the same way I can see the blushing pink color of his cock that looks so delectable all I can think about is getting my mouth around it.
No. Stop. Bad thoughts.
I squashed the worst of my internalized homophobia a long time ago, because flesh is flesh and who cares what parts people are sticking in each other, as long as everyone is on board. But there’s a difference between the occasional dabble and something that actively makes me shitty at my job.
My job is all I have. The Banna is all I have. I’ve never even come close to putting my job performance at risk for someone, girl or guy. It’s not what I do.
Except Savagea voice in my head says, but I ignore it. That’s different. He was my friend, not a fuck, and I risked a lot to gain a lot. It was calculated.
This is not calculated.
That’s exactly what I’m thinking to myself as I jerk the steering wheel hard, crossing three lines of moderate traffic to hit the exit ramp and get the hell off this interstate. I’m two exits early for the strip club, but I don’t care anymore.
I careen down the slope of the exit, then make a couple of sharp turns until I find somewhere relatively off the beaten path and pull onto the nonexistent shoulder. It’s still broad fucking daylight and I shouldn’t be doing this, but I’m not stopping. And neither is Fallow. He’s continued to jerk himself through all of this, only switching to using his left hand on his cock so he can grab theoh-shithandle with his right as we bump around.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt to launch across the car and wrap my hand around his slender throat.
I’ve had enough.
I’m breaking his rules, but he doesn’t freak out like I expect him to. His eyes widen as my fingers touch his skin, and there’s just a flicker of arousal as I squeeze, all while his hand never stops moving on his cock.
Then his hips rise up a little into his grip. It distracts me for a split second, and apparently that’s all he needs to get the better of me.
I’m not sure how he manages to be graceful with his dick hanging out, but he brings up his legs between us, plants both feet in the center of my chest and pushes me.
Hard.
I fly backwards until I hit my own door. He gives me a stern look for just a second, pinning me in place, before softening again. He removes his boots from my chest and places one on the dash, while hooking the other between the two seats to dangle into the back. He shuffles until he’s in the most obscene position I could imagine, bites his bottom lip at me ostentatiously, and then goes back to fisting himself.
“If you want me to beat you black and blue, you could have just asked, little rabbit. I’ll beat you any time you want. No need to break the rules.”
“Fuck your rules,” I growl, but there’s no heat behind it. If I really didn’t care, I’d be fighting him right now, not watching him with my chest heaving and my own erection pressing uncomfortably hard against my zipper.
“No, I fuck your rules. Just like I fuck you. And you fucking love it, so it’s time to stop pretending you don’t.”
His words hit a little harder than I’d like.
“You don’t fuck me,” I say, but my voice is weak and we both know it’s a technicality.
“Shh, rabbit.”
He throws his head back and closes his eyes, rubbing that hand up and down himself with a kind of indulgence I don’t think I’ve ever experienced. Like he’s savoring every moment. He stops every once in a while to roll the head in his hand, before switching to a featherlight touch of just his fingertips working his shaft.
“Are you hard,Colm?” he asks, the emphasis on my name sounding more disdainful than I can fathom.
I pause before I answer. I need to stop this cycle of letting him have all the control, but I can’t seem to find the willpower.
“You know I am,” I say, and I swear my voice nearly cracks.
He hums.
