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“Fine.” Smoothing out his clothes, he stands up. “I guess you’re satisfied with that mess, as long as you can still get laid. Though it sounds like you’re fucking that up, too.” He steps around me and heads for the door, like he’s going to usher me out. He’s so much bigger than me, and he smells amazing, like muscle and sweat and arousal.
“Wait.” It comes out like a whimper. “I just need– I–”
Please don’t make me do this.
Please make me do this.
If I have to go downstairs alone and jerk off in the shower, I’ll never be able to look at myself again.
He pauses. “I can’t help you unless you ask. Preferably with some of the manners you clearly weren’t raised with.”
Groaning, I shiver and grip the couch cushions, fighting back from the edge of losing control of my body. “Just get it over with.”
After a moment’s pause, he walks over to me, my heart rate exploding, and laces his fingers in my hair to tip my head back. “You have two choices, Darius.” He emphasizes all three syllables the same, like he’s rubbing it in. “No more, no less. Do you know what they are?”
I’m not sure I’d know my own name if he hadn’t just said it. I shake my head blankly, struggling to hold his stare because I’m scared of what he’ll say if I crumble and look away.
“You do what you’re told, or you leave. Is that straightforward enough for you to understand?”
If his disgust feels this good, some part of me needs to know what he’ll do if I really try my best, if he’ll see me like no one ever does. My hands shake as I hook my thumbs in my shorts and tug them down around my thighs, my stiff, wet cock slipping free to feel the caress of the hotel air conditioning. Tate lets go of my hair and studies me, his gaze brushing along my length like a physical touch. I wish I knew if he felt impressed or scornful. I don’t even know which one would turn me on more. “I want to get off for you,” I murmur, not because it’s sexy but because my voice won’t go any louder.
He doesn’t praise me or scold me. He just sits down next to me on the couch, the cushions dipping under his weight, and rests his arm behind me along the back. Every part of him so close, but not quite pressing against me. Part of me wonders if he doesn’t want to touch me. “Focus and do better.”
I slide down a little, spreading my knees, and push my shirt up my abs. My cock’s already so sensitive that just wrapping my fingers around the base almost sets me off. A soft moan breaks in my chest as my thighs quiver. I’m not sure I’m even going to be able to handle the friction of stroking it.
“So far you’re going even slower than the first time,” Tate taunts quietly.
“Go fuck yourself,” I snarl in frustration, gritting my teeth as I drag my fist slowly up my length. I jerk off almost every day, but here I am fumbling around like I’ve never seen my own dick before. When he chuckles, so quiet and dark, I want to kill him or get on the floor and do anything he says. I speed up, my hand chafing a little as precum starts to bead on my head.
“Give me your hand.” When I ignore him, he grabs my wrist in a loose grip and pulls it closer. He spits, and at the feeling of his saliva slick in my palm, my whole body shivers like a needy bitch.
The corner of his mouth twitches up as he watches my face. “Did I break you already, brat?”
All my muscles clench, and it feels like my bones are melting. “Please,” I stammer, not sure what I’m trying to say.
“Please what?” His voice has gone velvety and dangerous, nothing like the Tate that stands in the back of photos looking lost.
I glance down at his hand resting on his leg, so fucking close to my bare thigh. I don’t know if it’s the thought of a man’s touch that breaks me, or the touch of someone who sees me as nothing but a piece of trash. Because if he already thinks I’m a failure, I can’t let him down. Either way, I crumble and start begging. “Please touch me. Fuck, please. Do whatever you want to me.”
“Uh-uh,” he chides, half sharp, half gentle, his breath against my ear. “Don’t tell me what to do. Cover your cock in my spit.”
I can’t hold in a pathetic sound as I stroke myself with his saliva until my whole aching shaft is glistening with it.
“See?” he murmurs. “If you ever listened, you’d learn something.”
“God I hate you,” I whimper.
“I know.” Shifting his weight, he grabs one of my wrists in each hand and presses my palms into the leather couch on either side of my hips. My cock protests the loss of sensation. “Keep them there. Open your knees wider.”
Closing my eyes and dropping my head back against the couch, I let my hips move like I’m fucking the air, even though it just makes everything worse. “Tate…help me. Make it stop, please.” I need a man to touch my cock. I’m so close. I’ve already fallen, and now I need to break.
His nose presses under my ear, and even that drives me wild. “Open your eyes, Darius. Look at yourself.”
I watch through bleary eyes as he brushes the backs of his fingers up the underside of my cock. It might as well be a cattle prod to my nuts, and when he does it again I can feel myself leaking. “I’m gonna come–”
“No, not yet,” he demands softly, continuing to play with my length. “Show some discipline for once in your life, you little fucking disaster.”
“I can’t. I really can’t.” If I could turn off one of my senses, sight or hearing or sensation, maybe I could. But all three is too much.
