Everything explodes—skin, organs, tissues.Kaboom.Cum splashes all over my cheeks and lips, salty and bitter. I feel so fucking good. High, used, and spent. Exhausted but in a good way. I’ve never, not once, gotten a runner’s high, but this must be what it feels like, just coasting on a cloud of endorphins, soaring through the sky. We lie there for a while catching our breath, and when he finally pulls out, my legs drop to the bed with fatigue.
“You attacked my dick like it was a goddamned cheeseburger,” he says, wiping me down with a pair of underwear I tossed aside when I jumped on his morning wood. I don’t even think he was completely awake yet.
“Yeah.” I rub my sticky stomach, feeling good all over.
“I just bought a thousand shares of some stock I don’t even know the name of,” he complains and smacks my side again. I roll over and stick my ass out so he can watch his cum dribble out. He uses his thumb to tug at my hole and push it back inside. Pervy motherfucker.
“I’m sore,” I say but angle my ass backwards so he can get deeper.
“I’m taking you out tonight,” he says in a contemplative way. “I’m dressing you in something slutty and parading you around in front of a bunch of horny men, and at some point, I’m going to fuck you in front of someone else because I can.”
“You want an audience?”
“What’s the point of having a hot boyfriend if no one else knows I’m the one fucking you?”
“What about the press?” I have to be careful now that I’ve signed the contract forWrecked.There are all sorts of rules about how I’m supposed to conduct myself in public. I still can’t believe I got the part of Tristan Ramsey III. Shooting doesn’t start for another month, but the paperwork is signed, and I’ve been added to the group chat.
“I’ve got a mask you can wear. The place I have in mind is members only.”
“Sounds like a good time,” I murmur into the bedsheets, rocking my hips because I want more and more and more.
“My cum probably added two ounces to your weight,” he says to torture me.
“I came too so that makes up for it.” I’ve done the math already. Even Steven. “Now, tell me something sweet.” I’m as addicted to his praise as much as I am his cock.
“Your cum tastes like candy.”
“That’s good. What else?”
“My stockbroker thinks I’m a sexual deviant thanks to you.”
“Awesome. How was my performance?”
“Babe, you put the rock in rock bottom,” he says and bites my ass playfully. “And that’s all you’re getting from me because you’re already well on your way to being insufferable. Have you checked your phone this morning?”
“Yes.” It’s the first thing I do upon waking unless I wake to Cassius’s dick in my mouth. Then it’s the second thing I do.
“Was your red carpet selfie well-received?”
I took one of us last night to let the world know I have a boyfriend. (Cue all the heart eyes and flame emojis.) Cassius and I went to a movie premiere—we were invited by none other than Barry Behrakis—and both of us were dressed to the nines in ridiculously expensive suits. Cash was wearing a tux, dead sexy, while my dress shirt was undone nearly to my navel because he says I need to amp up my sex appeal. Since I’m completely out and living with my famous-adjacent boyfriend, Cassius says my target demographic is queer men and hetero women, and they like it if you show a little skin.
“Rey Pavo-Real called me a slut,” I tell Cassius. “Said I looked like I was auditioning for the role of Cum Dump #1 in a low-budget porno.”
“He was wrong. You don’tlooklike a slut. Youarea slut. My slut.” Cassius leans over me, covering my body with his own and whispers in my ear, “And this is only the beginning.”
* * *
The effectsof the drugs are already kicking in when we arrive at some dimly lit nightclub in a seedy part of town. The dog mask I’m wearing makes it hard to see, but Cassius guides me down the stairs and through a maze-like hallway with one hand at my back and the other tugging on the leash attached to my leather harness like a horse’s lead. All I know about the club is that it’s underground and loud with a heavy bass synth that rattles my bones. I sink into the music, feeling it concentrate in my groin every time the beat drops. Pulsing. Throbbing. I want to fuck and be fucked. To have a million tentacles slither over my body and be licked by a thousand tongues.
“Fuck me,” I say to Cassius, loud enough that he can hear me over the music.
“Not here. Let’s get this thirsty little whore a drink.”
It takes me a moment to realize he means me. I’m the thirsty whore. Cassius orders something for us both and lifts my mask just long enough that I can chug mine down, some fruity cocktail that’s probably hundreds of calories but feels so refreshing on my dry tongue, making my belly as warm as my cock. My head buzzes faintly and my skin hums with adrenaline. Everything electric. With the mask back in place, Cassius leads me to the dance floor, and I only know we’re there because the music is louder and there are bodies everywhere bumping and grinding—against each other and against us. I get lost in the press of sweaty men that slide and slither against me, trapped in a viper pit of pent-up sexual frustration. And Cassius’s hands, squeezing my pecs and pinching my nipples, skating over my sweaty abdomen, clutching my painfully hard cock, pulling down the waistband of my skimpy shorts and displaying my arousal for anyone to see, all while keeping time with the steady thumping of the bass. The music is everywhere, and it reminds me of church, everyone singing in unison, accidental harmonies lifting and rising, floating upward and swirling all around, sending your prayers in a song to Heaven.
“I want to be famous,” I shout to the crowded dance floor, to God. “I want to be young and beautiful forever.”
Cassius chuckles while sucking my earlobe. “You are the flame, Adam,” he says, “burning so brightly. You’re all that anyone can see.”
