Page 8 of Knox

Roman puts his hands behind his back, his fingers knitted together. We’ve spent a lot of nights together over the years, and I know him well. Which translates into understanding his limits and tolerance levels. With one more swipe of his tongue over his lips, he kneels up and leans forward. I hold back a moan as his mouth slips over the head, his tongue flicking at the frenulum at base of my glans. Then with a swipe of his tongue over the head, like he’s licking an ice cream, he sinks down until I feel the back of his throat. His nose is pressed to neatly trimmed pubes, and my fingers weave through his hair and grip tightly. I know how long he can hold on with my dick lodged in his throat, and after a couple more seconds, I release my grip, and he slides back up to the head. As he pulls away, saliva clings to his lips and the crown of my cock.

“Good boy. Again,” I instruct him. It takes hardly a second before I’m back in his throat. This time, he swallows and moans as I tilt my hips, pushing in a little deeper. I’m aware of the audience I have, including all my brothers. It’s time to make a show. I was going to settle with coming on his face, but now I want to see my cum dripping from his hole. “Enough.”

He pulls up and off, his eyes wet with tears and his mouth swollen and puffy; he looks thoroughly debauched. “I want inside you,” I tell him. “Are you prepped?” I know that Roman likes to come prepared and will stretch himself and slick his channel with lube. “Have you had anyone else tonight?”

Roman is very popular and a favourite of a lot of Doms. He used to be here with a friend Tate—they were fun to tag team, but Tate was banned after his hatred and jealousy towards Noah became dangerous. Roman is happier now without his stroppy sidekick, who would bully him just as easily. Roman shakes his head. “No, Sir, but I’m prepped.” He winks at me, the cheeky brat.

“We have some admirers, so lose the shorts and climb on me, facing away.” I lean back as he stands and drops his bright pink satin shorts to the floor. There’s a whisper of appreciation from the onlookers. Noah even lets loose a mewl of pleasure; he’s more than acquainted with Roman and has had more than a handful of scenes with him. “This is going to be hard and fast. You can come.”

As Roman rises up on his tiptoes, I slide two fingers inside him and scissor him just a little to make sure he’s as ready as he said. I hold the base of my dick upright and guide it to Roman’s eager hole. “Make as much noise as you want, boy.”

Roman sinks slowly down my shaft; his leg days at the gym have worked wonderfully. When he’s sunk down onto my lap, I lean forward and bite his neck. I suck hard to bring the blood to the surface and leave a beautiful bruise. Then I grab his hips, lifting him up slightly, and thrust, my hips flexing, pushing up and making my dick plunge deep inside the hot, slick channel. Roman knows how to put on a show and stays on his tiptoes so I have the space to move. He raises his arms above his head to rest his hands on the back of his head. His narrow waist and well-sculpted torso are a delicious sight. I’m sure he’ll have his pick of Doms when he’s back here again.

In the meantime, I wrap my arms up under his armpits and hold him still as I stand up. With him still impaled, I lean him over the table, letting his arms support him as I press into the glass top. “You okay? Still green?”

“Oh god, yes, Sir. Fuck me hard.”

So, I do, finally ending up with his back against my chest as I hold him upright when I’m about to pour into his tight hole. “Come for me, boy. Show them how beautiful you are.”

He shudders as I peg his prostate and then he cries out loud. His cum fires from his dick in an arc without any touching. I groan and grunt loudly as I fill him. We sag back on to the bench, and Roman lets his arms fall to his sides as he leans back against me. I can feel the rapid beating of his heart as I rest my hand on his ribcage. “You okay,” I whisper.

He nods slowly, then lifts his head to look at me and smiles so softly. “Yeah, still floating.”

I nod. I know how he feels. I could be happy with him, claim him as my own. But he’s never expressed a desire to find himself a Dom. He’s always enjoyed the company of many of the men in here, a free spirit.

A thought enters my head, one I’ve never entertained before. I’m not exactly a one and done sort of guy, but I haven’t looked for a relationship with anyone. Tonight feels different. For the first time, I think I want something, I don’t know—more.

“Would you like to come home with me?” I ask quietly and kiss his lips gently.

He looks surprised, maybe as much as I am. Then his eyes go soft, and he shakes his head. “Ask me again in different circumstances.” He presses a deep kiss to my lips, his hands cupping my face. “Thank you for tonight.” He pauses before saying, “Thank you for asking.”

It’s stupid to think Ellis will come back, but it doesn’t stop me going back to the empty shop to check. Why would he after the way I pushed him away? The cruel words, the pained look on his face, have been seared in my mind. And why? Because I’m a dumb prick who got jealous. He spoke of a safe place, of a bed and a hot shower. He looked good clean. There’s no way I could go with him, even if he says it’s safe. It won’t be safe for long, not with the trouble I’ve got myself in.

Yeah, I’ve got some cash in my pocket, but I’ve made a deal with the devil, and I’m pretty sure that if they find out about Ellis, they’d have something to hold over my head. To keep me in line and push me to do more. After all I’ve been through, and the promises I’ve made to Ellis and myself, I’m now back in the hell that took my mum away from me. I know how bad drugs are. I know the addiction and the havoc it causes, like a tornado taking everything and everyone in its path and throwing it, spitting and screaming into the wreckage. It’s how I ended up in care.

My mum was found dead with the needle still sticking out between her toes. There wasn’t a vein anywhere else that hadn’t collapsed. And now I’m running drugs for one of the hardest gangs around here; they know I’m in too deep to get away now. I’m waiting for them to make me one of them. I’m not looking forward to the process, but it will make me safer. Just the name of them— Ten Down—is enough to make people turn a blind eye.

I have a burner phone, and all I do is wait for it to ring. Then it’s collect the package and deliver it without being caught. One of the reasons they picked me is that I’m unknown to the rival gang. There’s no one looking for me. It also means no one’s looking out for me, keeping me safe and making sure the packet is safely delivered. Then I get paid.

Tonight, I’m hanging around in a pool hall. I don’t look the way I did six months ago when I was permanently hungry or wearing filthy, stinking clothes. I’ve got new clothes and a flat I can crash in and use the shower. There’s something wrong; I can’t put my finger on what, but the atmosphere is wrong. The people hanging here are mostly new faces. Not all of them, but enough to make my skin crawl. It’s dangerous to be here. But this is where tonight’s pick up is taking place. I’m waiting for Marco, who usually saunters in like the world owes him a living, but he’s late. That screams abort, to leave and head home. I can get a message out when I’m clear of here.

I finish my can of Coke and take the last shot and clear the table, the balls clunking down into the pockets. I pick up the twenty quid I’ve won, and with a nod to my opponent, I weave through the tables to the exit.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, only the vibration alerting me. It never rings; it causes people to notice, to remember me.

“There’s a change in the pick-up. Get to Larry’s Fish bar.” The line goes dead.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. Larry’s is a good fifteen minutes away, and running is the last thing I want to do. I get moving at a quick pace, and for once, people separate to let me through the post-work crowds.

Marco is leaning against the full glass window outside Larry’s and doesn’t even look up at me as I step too close for normal people. As I pass, his hand slides across mine, and the package is now mine. As I walk away, I shove my hands into my pockets, the weight of the small, wrapped packages inconsequential in my puffer jacket. The drop-off is only ten minutes away from here, and I cross the road, taking a few wrong turns just to lose anyone trying to follow me.

The drop-off is plain sailing, no delays, no questions, just a simple smile and a greeting as if this stuck-up banker type is a friend. A couple of slaps on the back and a firm handshake and it’s over. I’ve got the money, and I can get back to my flat.

Except when I get to end of the road, a huge black SUV stops at the kerb just as I’m about to cross. Another man walks up and stands beside me, then there’s a woman next to me. This isn’t even a proper crossing, so what the fuck is going on? “Come with me,” the man says in a low voice, his hand on my elbow. I realise I’m surrounded, and there’s nowhere else to go but forward. At the next corner, I’m made to turn into an alley, and fuck, I think this is it. I’m going be killed.

Instead of a masked man and a gun, there’s another black SUV. This is even more fucking frightening; there’s no one else around. “Get in.” And with a shove, I’m in the back seat.

“Good evening, Dean,” the tall man who shoved me says with a grin. His perfect white teeth shine brightly against his rich, dark skin. “Sorry, for the pushing.”