I start to read his lips—a skill I picked up as a kid while imprisoned—he seems both puzzled and amused by Clover. I don’t have access to the cameras in the pet shelter because this is Dare’s territory, and he doesn’t know about Sully and me. But I need to change that. I don’t want a day passing by without seeing him. And I need to catch as many glimpses of him as I can tonight just to get my fix, since he’s been all around with fucking Brad. I’ve checked his tracker on my phone constantly today,and asked Serena to hack into the restaurant he went to with his friend for lunch to be sure nobody fucked with him. Ramiel is a pain, but his AI is fucking handy.
Clover leaves. I see him jumping out of the bathroom window and then running silently toward the parking lot, where an Uber is waiting for him. I heard that guy is a formidable thief, but he must have more than a screw loose. As my eyes return to Sully, he swings his gaze to the window where I’m peeping on him from the tree’s shadows. He can’t see me, I’m sure of it, but he’s searching for me. He can feel my hungry stare devouring him almost like he wants it.
Those vivid, polychromatic irises, were they ever stolen by someone else? I’ll make sure to become their sole owner for life.
“Soon, Little Chick. Soon,” I whisper, dipping each word in dark promises and wicked desire. My hand balls around the empty bag of M&M’s inside my hoodie’s pocket.
After a short phone call, he starts moving all around the shelter, organizing and preparing. Ten minutes later, a car arrives. A woman carrying a cage enters. Then a small truck with another pet shelter logo stops near the entrance. Two guys open the back doors, and more animals are taken inside.
One of the guys seems to know Sully. They start talking, smiling at each other. The guy seems to be in his twenties as well. I’ve never seen him before. Did they meet while volunteering? During classes, perhaps, or other activities related to the university? I never experienced campus life, but I know boys tend to experiment with all kinds of stuff during those years. Sully will, but with me and only me.
He’s smiling freely in a place where I’m absent. I feel the urge to be the receiver of such emotion. His mouth gets so big when he chuckles, those juicy lips looking even plumper. The few times I got closer to him, he looked tense, skittish…I liked that, too—a fuck lot. I want to see what other expressions I can ignite in him. I want to own every waking minute and every sleeping hour he has.
I take a pic of that guy as he comes out again—better check who the fuck this dick is. Then I send a message to Ramiel to remind him to keep me out of Dare’s security system around the pet shelter. After he texts me back a thumbs-up emoji, I give Sully one last deep gaze before turning around and moving deeper into the trees. I walk until I reach my Kawasaki W800, two streets down. I take off the mask and turn the engine on. I ride the motorbike to Sully’s dorm and park it a block away, before casually striding over to the entrance.
It’s nine thirty. There are quite a few people around. Acting relaxed, as if I belonged here, is the key to blending in. Someone is always watching, but I don’t draw much attention since I know where I’m going—I’ve been in Sully’s room too many times to count. The dorm entrance is unsurprisingly unlocked. I’m holding my key—I had a copy made—as I start climbing the stairs with my head down. His door used to have a ridiculous excuse for a lock, which I picked in two seconds flat. I made Ramiel replace it the same day; I couldn’t have someone else coming in here. Sully is my possession, and nobody fucks with my things.
When I reach the third floor, I move toward his room like a man possessed. I quickly use the key and enter his small, pitiful bedroom. As I cross over the threshold, the tantalizing, peachy fragrance immediately hits me. I can smell him in here.Somehow, despite the whole day having passed without him coming back, the room is full of his scent just like my head is. It’s in here, perfect and untouched.During one of my first solo visits, I found out that it’s not a cologne, but body soap mixed with his unique smell. It has a soft hint of earth to it, which makes my blood stir. I’d recognize it anywhere.
I close the door behind me soundlessly. Being in his space again is fucking bliss. It makes me savor the moment with anticipation when I’ll be finally able to touch him and fuck him on every surface available. I’ll own his body so entirely that he’ll give me his heart freely, placing it right in the palm of my hand. I’ll feel it pulsing against my skin, every beat thumping for me. I can’t stop obsessing over him. He’s such a tasty piece wrapped in temptation. He makes me want to crawl under his skin and move around.
My eyes fall on the bare mattress against the right wall where his prick of a roommate used to sleep. Sully’s brother took care of him just when I was about to get rid of the asshole. Oliver thinks he can outdo me; it’s going to be very satisfying to see the look on his face when he fails.
There are two framed pictures on the desk, one of Sully with Oliver and Lori, who look much younger, making weird faces, and the other with Dr. Meghan Bear-Stone. I look at her with a cynical eye. Hair in a tight bun, a closed-mouth smile, and a tired posture. I don’t trust doctors of any kind, especially the ones who can manipulate minds. Uriel respects her, though. I know that after the attack, she became Sully’s therapist—until Nine put her into a coma. He didn’t look for another psychiatrist after, but he still takes Prazosin, a medication used to target trauma-related nightmares and improve sleep. Seems like the doctorisn’t as bad as I thought, but good deeds always come from guilt or self-satisfaction. So, which one is it for her?
I put the pill bottle back on the nightstand and open his closet and messy drawers to double-check the trackers I inserted in a couple of garments. They are still giving a good signal. I pull out the small camera I bought and move near the window to attach it on the upper frame. The app is already installed on my phone, and when I open it, I can see the whole room and even zoom in on the bed. I didn’t install one before because watching him from the window was enough for me, but after the show he put on last time, I need a closer look at that pink, virgin hole. I growl at the memory, and my dick jerks in agreement.
I slide my hand under his bed, and when I find what I’m looking for, I grab it and take it out. Sully’s diary. I open the last entry and start reading:
I want to be dominated.
Fucking hell! He never disappoints. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment before focusing them back on the page.
I have this fantasy of being taken without a choice. It’s an odd kink, but the idea of just letting someone toss me around and…and do as they please makes me so horny I could die with the need for it.
I’m hard as a stone, picturing me shoving Sully’s face into this very mattress.
I want him to spank me, grab my face and spit in my mouth, pound into me like a wild animal while calling me a dirty whore. Right or wrong, I don’t care. My body desires…I can’t stop it. I want his deep, smoky voice, growling into my ear in detail what he’ll do to me.
Jesus, he’s so goddamn lewd, eager to be fucked for the first time.
I’m burning with carnal desire. Carnal desire? Gods, what am I writing?But I can feel my wet hole fluttering, desperate to be stuffed, to milk his thick cock until his balls are empty deep inside me. My seed all over those chiseled abs. Yes.
Only one face comes to mind. Ezra. Ezra. Ezra.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself as I throw the diary over the comforter. How can I fucking resist this? My fists are balled up as I try to calm the hunger threatening to devour the whole world. I can’t ruin the last eight months of work by kidnapping Sully and giving that ass all it’s ever dreamed of. But fucking shit, he wants me. Me. My name. Ezra. To dominate and mark him and stuff him with cum.
I look at the briefs sitting on the top of the pile in the open drawer. I reach for them with one hand to bring the fabric up to my nose and inhale Sully’s intoxicating, secret, private scent. It nearly makes me spill into my pants. Divine. My cock throbs in the tight confines, and I use my other hand to push them down far enough to wrap around my stiff dick. Beads of precum are gathering over the red tip, dripping down my length, making my hand slide smoothly as I stroke my cock with a mind full of Sully.
I feel like a junkie, finally getting a fix after days of withdrawal—very long fucking days. My nose is breathing in his scent, greedy, deep pulls as I picture my little, slutty chick. Spread out, his delicately boned body naked, quivering with want, pale skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. I open my mouth and suck hungrily on Sully’s briefs, imagining myself between his legs, licking his hole open, feeling the intimate taste of him inmy mouth, tongue-fucking him with a vengeance as he tries to swallow down his moans.
My hand is flying over my cock as I see myself climbing on top of him, spreading his ass cheeks wide. They are soft and sweet like two halves of a peach. Without warning, I force my dick in and rut into him until I wreck that hole and put the contents of my balls all inside him.
My body goes suddenly tense, and I cover the cockhead with Sully’s briefs as long stripes of cum streak across the fabric. Stars burst behind my eyelids, and I groan through gritted teeth, jaw tight and neck straining. The image of his ass gulping down all of my cum pushes another rope out of my dick. As I come down from the high, I’m panting, but my body feels loose and satisfied. Not enough. I need to make Sully Carver mine.
I remove the briefs and look at the puddle of cum on them. A primal instinct overwhelms me as an idea forms in my head. I usually spread my scent on his T-shirts, sweaters, and pillows, knowing he can perceive it on some level as it has already become familiar to him. But maybe I can mark my territory better. My lips stretch in a wicked smirk as I cover my fingers with cum and then proceed to rub a little bit of it on his pillow, sheets, on his clean briefs, toothbrush, towel, over his desk, his pens, whatever comes to mind.
Am I acting like a beast? I’ve done worse. I work with what I have. And I’d do everything and anything to get what I want—like leaving my mark in his bedroom instead of his skin. For now.
