Page 3 of Don’t Call Me Son

I hesitate, glancing at the clock. “Sarah’s gonna wake up for work in an hour, kid. It’s too risky. I’ve gotta get back to our bed before she notices I’m gone.”

Archie’s expression twists; the needy look flips into something bratty and pissed off. “Bullshit. You just fucked me, made me piss on you, and called me a disgusting little bitch, and now you’re running back to Mom like a pussy? Real nice, ‘Daddy.’”

The word hits me like a spark on gasoline. I’m on him in a second, hand wrapped around his throat, firm enough to pin him back down.

A low growl rumbles out of me, displeased, right in his face. “Watch your fucking mouth, brat. You don’t get to call me that shit; you’ll take what I give you. And right now, what you’re getting is my come leaking out of your ruined hole while you lie here and wait.”

I lean in closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Sarah leaves for work at seven. You’re gonna stay right here, keep my come inside you like a good boy, and not touch that pretty cock again until I say so. Then I’ll take care of you properly… clean you up, change these nasty sheets, whatever you need.”

Archie’s breathing picks up again, half angry, half turned on. His spent cock twitches against his stomach despite everything.

I press one last rough kiss to his lips, tasting the mess we made, then pull back and stand. “Behave. I mean it.”

I slip out of his room quietly, heart still racing.

Chapter Two

Archie

I lie here for about ten seconds after the door clicks shut behind Colt, staring at the ceiling, chest still heaving, thighs sticky and gross. My hole twitches and I feel another warm trickle of his come, and God knows what else, leak out of me. The whole room smells and it’s disgusting… and hot… and I hate how much I don’t hate it.

I mimic his deep, asshole voice under my breath, all mocking and bratty: “Behave. I mean it.”

I scoff loudly, sitting up fast. “Yeah, fuck that.”

I’m not laying here in this mess, like some obedient little toy waiting for Daddy to come back and pat my head, no way. I swing my legs off the bed and stand up, naked, come dripping down the inside of my thigh. The cool air hits my skin and makes me shiver.

“Fucking prick,” I mutter, reaching over to the corner and yanking my sheets and comforter off the bed in one angry pull; the wet spot is massive and obvious.

I ball everything up and shove it hard into my laundry basket, not even caring that some of it smears on my arms.

The mattress underneath is even worse, with a dark stain right in the middle. I grab the corners and try to flip it, grunting with the effort, muscles flexing from all the track workouts. It’s heavy as shit and awkward as hell when you’re buck-ass naked with jizz running down your legs.

I get it halfway, then let it drop with a frustrated growl. “Goddamn it. This is fucking nasty.”

My friends would lose their minds if they knew what just happened. They think I’m the quiet guy who turns people down, who likes to have a laugh with his friends, who doesn’t believe he has time for romantic entanglements… because I’m too focused on training and keeping my scholarship, the guy who runs the 400 like it’s nothing. Not the virgin who just let his stepdad fuck him.

I need a shower; right now.

I storm out of my room, not even bothering to close the door all the way, and head straight for the bathroom down the hall. The house is still quiet; Mom’s alarm hasn’t gone off yet.

I slam the bathroom door shut behind me, crank the water up hot and step into the shower, letting it burn over my skin. Soaping up aggressively and scrubbing my thighs, my stomach, and between my cheeks where I’m still sore and leaking. Every touch makes me hiss and twitch.

“Fuck you, Colt.” I laugh bitterly to myself.

I’m still grumbling to myself when I hear movement in the hallway; my heart jumps.

…

I finish rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, fingers scrubbing through it roughly until the water runs clear. I kill the shower, step out, and stand here dripping on the mat for a second. I’m still pissed off, but at least I feel clean; mostly. My ass keeps clenching randomly, like it’s still confused and trying to shrink back to normal after being stretched wide open. It’s sore, tender, and weirdly full even after I washed.

I grab a clean towel from the cabinet and rub it over my face first, groaning into the soft fabric. This actually fucking happened. I’m annoyed at him, but I’m more annoyed at myself; I came hard.

Fuck’s sake… it had to be Colt, didn’t it? I don’t even care about genders; I’m bi, I’ve just never bothered with any of it because track and school always came first. Would’ve been nice to lose my virginity to someone I actually had a connection with, instead of my stepdad fucking me at stupid o’clock in the morning.

I scrub the towel through my hair, roughing it up until most of the moisture is gone. Mom’s alarm still hasn’t gone off, so I crack the bathroom door and step into the hallway completely naked, towel in hand. I drag it lazily over my chest as I head toward my room.

Then a deep, dirty chuckle stops me cold. My head snaps up… Colt’s leaning against the doorway of his and Mom’s room, arms loose at his sides. His long hair is tucked behind his ears, the tattoos across his chest still gleaming with a light sheen of sweat. His muscles twitch as his eyes drag slowly up and down my bare body like he owns every inch of it.