That’s how I know…
Angel is grinding himself against my hip, fingering me deep and shallow, his free hand over my mouth and his lips on my ear.
“You gonna come for me, Manuel?”
I nod frantically, whimpering behind his palm.
Yes… yes yes ohh fucking yesss…
And I reach just in time to pull my cock out and milk my hot cum onto the floor, so I’m not leaving this place with a giant cum-stain on my tux.
“Look at that big dick,” he purrs in my ear, watching over my shoulder as I knead my orgasm out. “Eresmonstruoso…So sosexy, Manuel, coming so pretty, baby.”
“Mmm mm mmm,” I tell Angel I love him behind his hand, whining and panting through my orgasm.
“I h-have to… come.”
His hand slips. “Go ahead, naughty girl. Come in your panties.” I’m still pulsing, clamping on his fingers. “Mmmfuck… Daddy will clean you up.”
“Ohh God, I love you,” he shudders, and I feel him releasing. Pressing his hips into me while he comes. “Fuck, Manuel Blanco, I love you so hard, baby.”
“I love you, Angel Alvarez.”
We manage to stop pulsing, detach from one another, and fix ourselves up just in time for intermission. I use the opportunityto escort Angel to the restroom to get cleaned up, and we return to our seats with no one the wiser.
The former inmates likely assume we snuck off to fool around, because they’re quite skanky themselves, but they say nothing.
That secret little rendezvous just reminds me of why Angel Alvarez is the perfect person for me. Why I know I will never find anyone else as long as I live, and I wouldn’t even try.
He’s it for me.Allof it and then some.
I left Alabaster Isle behind so that we could begin a life together, starting fresh in a new place. And every day since has been an adventure with my beautiful little bird.
Now I think it’s time to make it official.
After the show, we go backstage to congratulate Michelangelo on a wonderful performance.Sure, I missed most of the first half while I was getting my ass fingered in a dark corner, but what I did see was really something else.
“Guys, this is the producer, Cross Carlisle,” Michelangelo introduces us, fawning while being subtle enough.
Apparently, this is the mercurial genius he’s sleeping with, according to Byron and Trevel—who told Angel, who told me.I’m not in the gossip game directly anymore, but I’m not dead. Tea is a delicious beverage.
“Charmed,” the guy murmurs indifferently, saying the same word Trevel always uses, but somehow sounding a million times more bored and pretentious?
I’m not sure I like thisbloke.
“Fantastic show,” Dascha attempts to lure out his non-dick side—if he has one—glaring at us until we all begin murmuring.
“Amazing show.
“Inspired.”
“Michelangelo, you were phenomenal,” I tell him honestly.
He waves me off, blushing.
“He was lovely for a Broadwaybaby, wasn’t he?” Cross tilts his head at Michelangelo, whose brows furrow as if he’s not sure what to make of that remark.
The feeling is mutual.
