I wonder if I can have Dom find out who he is and—
“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come…” Bartender gasps, but the object of my lustful gaze doesn’t move away.
In fact, he appears evenhungriernow. Driven, using his wet mouth to slurp and suck, chasing his reward as if it were his own pleasure, not the other way around.
He wants it.
Sweet thing wants to be fed.
A sudden and irrational flood of jealousy hits me as cum is hitting the back of his throat. I can’t see it happening, obviously, but I can see his throat adjusting. Lashes fluttering, cheeks hollowed, and more of those sexy noises just pouring out of him while a man’s seed pours down his throat.
A man who isn’t me…
Why am I bothered by this right now?
My possessiveness is becoming a problem.
The golden beauty appears to be getting off in some form himself just from swallowing, and it’skillingme. I don’t even know this kid, but I’m on fire where I stand. Burning with jealous yearning that feels almost primal.
Iwant him.
Mine.
I’ve never professed to be any sort ofrationaloremotionally stablehuman being. Still, I didn’t think I was capable of becoming possessive of things I happen upon while walking around.
It’s odd. But then,is it?
I mean, as a child, I always wanted the toys other kids had, even if I had my own toys, oftenbettertoys. Something about wanting what you can’t have, I suppose, calls to the inherent stubbornness in many of us. And the challenge of thievery.
I like to take things thatshould bemine and make them mine.
Ugh, Dios, maybe I am my uncle’s nephew.
Another flash is back in my brain, the memory of killing Ocho… And what happenedbeforethat.
A pop of gunfire, red splatter.
A whimper from inside the closet…
My fingers wiggle again, and this time, it doesn’t go unnoticed. The beautiful boy on his knees glances my way. And when he sees me, he jumps, tugging his mouth off the bartender’s dick. Even that sight, the way itglidesup and pops off…
Dios fucking mio.
The bartender hasn’t seen me. He’s still high, clearly, and I don’t blame him. I think if I got some of what he just had, I might be floating away too.
And I’m a virtuoso at receiving blowjobs.
But the bartender is irrelevant. He might as well be a mop or a broom in that closet. Literallyallthat matters isthis kid, blinking heavily up at me from his knees.
It’s my favorite position in the whole wide world. Especially when the person kneeling looks likethat. Almost unbearably beautiful; soft, and sweet, despite being composed of angles and carnal masculinity.
Spartan, but also precious, like a little… bird.
I blink.
I’ve seen that look, in those eyes, before…
Gazing up at me from the floor of a different closet.
