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“Nah.”
“Shut. Your fucking mouth.”
“Make me.”
He steps into my space, and his fingers thread into my hair, and my breath catches as he tugs on it roughly.
“Make me,” I gasp, and he pushes his crotch into my face.
My hands grasp onto his hips, my fingers digging into his sides.
“God, I hate men like you,” he says, arching into me again.
“And I hate pretentious pricks like you…thinking you’re better than everyone else,” I mutter, nipping at his hip.
“Pretentious? Big word for a dumb jock,” he mutters, and I yank his shorts down roughly until they’re stretched over his thighs. His hard cock bobs out in front of me, and I stare at it but don’t touch it.
The asshole doesn’t deserve it, even though I want it.
He presses the tip of his dick against my mouth, but I lock my lips. I’m going to make him work for it.
“Open.”
I shake my head, and he yanks on my hair roughly.
I yelp and open for him, pulling him into me. He drives his dick inside, all the way to the back of my throat and stops. His hands are still gripping my hair, holding my face against his pelvis, his cock lodged in my throat, and drool starts to leak from the side of my mouth. I can smell him, his unique scent, the coarse hairs around his dick tickling my nose.
“That’s better,” he says gruffly, and then pulls out and pushes all the way back inside again.
My cock is rock hard now, pushing painfully against my track pants as he starts to thrust his hips and fuck my face. I’m needy, desperate…want more.
But then suddenly, the cloud of lust briefly clears and common sense erupts inside of me. What the hell am I doing? He doesn’t deserve to have his dick sucked.
I lash out, shoving him off of me. The shorts around his thighs hinder his ability to balance, and he tumbles down onto his ass.
Then there’s silence. He just sits there, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving, as I swipe at my mouth with the back of my hand.
“What the hell?” I say, and he shakes his head, his eyes a little wild.
“I…I’m…” he begins and then shuffles, pulling his pants over himself. “You need to go, Logan.”
I shake my head and grasp onto my book, staring at him.
“I’m not leaving until we go over this shit. I paid for my time, and now you owe me forthat.”
He draws his knees up to his chest, leans his head back, and closes his eyes. “Get out,” he mutters.
“No.”
He opens his eyes, and throws his arm out, pointing to the door. “Out.”
“No.”
He shuffles over to me and grabs onto my shoulders, his fingers digging into my skin. His mouth opened in a frustrated cry. Curie startles from her nap on the floor in the kitchen and stares at us, she seems just as confused as me.
“Get. The fuck. Out!” he cries, shaking me roughly.The torment and anguish in his eyes disintegrates any anger I was holding onto.
I don’t do what he asks because it doesn’t feel right, leaving him here like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with him but he’s a mess. I reach out and pull him until his body falls into my lap. Wrapping my arms around him, I hold him tightly against my chest.
