“I do. I can practically see it with my eyes closed, reaching out to me like that.” He doesn’t stop working himself. “Do you wish it was your hand on my cock?”
“Yes.” What’s the point in lying now?
“Do you wish it was your mouth on my cock?”
“Yes.”
“Good rabbit.”
He reaches down to gently roll his balls in his other hand and finally opens his eyes to stare at me.
“What are you going to do about it?”
I freeze. This is absurd. I can’t take him fucking anywhere. He makes everything sexual, he acts like he has some sort of power over me, and he doesn’t give two shits about the consequences I would suffer if I was caught fucking a man.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “And if it helps, I don’t really consider myself a man. More of a divine manifestation of sex and violence. I don’t think someone like me could possibly be constrained by gender. Not that there’s anyone else like me, of course.”
I snort, because he’s so ridiculous, but I do see what he means.
“It doesn’t matter what youare, to the rest of the world you’re a man. Which means fucking you makes me gay. In their eyes. The people I’m worried about don’t give a fuck about nuance. You think someone like Lucky knows what a binary is? Let alone wrap his little pea brain around something outside of it.”
“True,” he says, before pausing to grind his hips up a little and let out a faint groan. “Maybe I want to get you caught. Maybe that’s what I’m getting off on. Getting you in trouble.”
I shake my head, unconsciously leaning a little closer to him.
“If that were true, you would have done it already.”
His hand stops, releasing himself as abruptly as he started. His swollen cock is sticking straight up, his posture still slumped so far back in the seat he’s basically horizontal, and once his arms are cast to the side, it looks every inch like an invitation.
Without thinking it through, I keep leaning forward. Right in front of me, his cock is glistening at the tip and absolutely delicious looking. For just a second, I decide to say fuck the consequences. I want to taste him. Even if he murders me for it.
I get closer and closer, his eyes on me the whole time, waiting for him to snap and kick me again. But he doesn’t.
Even when I reach out my tongue to lick his tip. The taste of him explodes on my tongue, and I have to seek out more. If he’s going to kill me, I might as well accomplish something first.
There are worse ways to go.
I hold his gaze with mine as I suck the head of his cock into my mouth. The skin is velvet-soft and even hotter than I would have imagined. I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve had a dick in my mouth, and it was generally when I was a lot younger under much more sloppy, surreptitious circumstances.
This is different. This feels luxurious.
I don’t touch him anywhere except my mouth on his cock. I’m able to find places on the seat to brace myself, even though my muscles are already straining at the effort of holding me in a sort of half-crouch/half-plank position over his sprawled body.
“Fuck, rabbit,” he groans, sounding like he’s coming undone, and it only spurs me on.
With more enthusiasm than skill I try to fit as much of him in my mouth as I can, bobbing my head up and down as his hips arch up into me.
“Christ almighty,” he says, his voice quiet, then I feel one of his hands on my head, holding me in place. “That’s it. Open up. You’re sloppy, and I can work with that. Just open wide for me and relax.”
I’ve been on the other side of this enough to know what I’m about to experience, but it’s too late to back out now. Especially not with this intimate smell of him surrounding me, feeling like I suddenly have an all-access pass to something that’s off-limits to everyone else in the world. The adrenaline and lust coursing through me is enough to make me bold.
So, I keep my mouth open and try to figure out how to relax my throat, just in time for him to fuck his hips up into my face.
He hisses as soon as he hits the back of my throat and it spasms around him. I’m breathing through my nose, focusing on suppressing the urge to puke, ignoring the way saliva floods my mouth and drips down his shaft.
“God, look at the state of you. You’re such a mess. Such a wet, eager mess.”
I groan. I can’t help it, I actually groan. My erection is throbbing, but I don’t care right now. The feeling of him in me—around me—is too much to think about anything else.
