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“Mmmfff, oh god,” he moans as he stretches around me, taking me all the way to the hilt. It’s so goddamn tight and warm, I’m afraid as soon as he moves I’ll come like a teenager getting laid for the first time.
“That’s it baby… god I love the way your ass is choking my cock right now,” my tongue traces the seam of his lips before he smashes his mouth into mine and wraps his legs around my waist. Shifting my hand to the back of his head, I weave my fingers through his hair, grabbing at his hip with my opposite hand.
Rocking his hips back and forth, I chase the high as I help him slide up and down my length. Our movements become stunted and sloppy, but our lips never part, instead we kiss, and lick, and nip, and bite until we are both moaning an incoherent string of words. Cole’s cock is dripping between us as our chests slip together beneath the hot stream of the shower.
“I can’t… I… I need to…”
“Come for me lover, I want to watch it pour all over me,” when I feel Cole’s body jerking, I lean back just in time to watch his cock jump. His release cascades across my abs and down his dick, shooting up over my chest, making the most mouthwatering mess.
“Mmmfff, ohmygod,” he groans, and I continue to manipulate his motions, rolling his hips and sliding him up and down as he orgasms.
“I’m coming Cole, I’m…”
“Come inside me,” he mewls.
“Oh fuck, Cole. Cole. Cole,” I chant and my balls draw up, tingling as I explode inside of him. Filling him with my cum while I grip him so hard my fingerprints are probably etched into his skin. All of my muscles tense, and it’s only when I feel the heat expelling from Cole’s lips, that I realize I’ve pulled him so close, there’s no longer any space between us.
Closing my eyes, I slip into a euphoric state as Cole drops his lips to mine, inhaling my every exhale. I want to capture this precious moment in time and keep it. File it away in a box of memories. One that I can pull out and replay on even the darkest of days. Because even though I can’t utter the words, it’s in this moment that I know with absolute certainty, as much as I’m in love with Zeke, I’m also in love with Cole.
Chapter twenty-seven
Cole
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
I find the low hum of Zeke’s tattoo machine to be surprisingly calming as I curl up in the leather armchair, mindlessly sketching. Usually I’d have headphones on, blaring whatever music is speaking to me in the moment, but I’m enjoying the quiet as Zeke works his magic.
For the past week, Riot has been leaving every single day, literally shooting out kneecaps trying to track down those responsible for the nearly killing Zeke, which has left us largely alone. Riot made us swear we would stick together anytime we go anywhere, so here I am, accompanying Zeke to work. He really shouldn’t be here today since he’s still healing, but it seems to be the only thing bringing him some kind of peace, so Riot doesn’t fight him on it and neither do I.
I took some time away from Rico’s when the shooting happened, but tomorrow I have to go back, and if we are still doing this whole sticking together thing, then it’s going to be awkward. Not that there haven’t been plenty of awkward moments already.
Ultimately, I don’t mind the awkward moments, because there have been plenty of comfortable ones in between. I can feel Zeke slowly lowering his walls around me, and it’s actually been nice. We’ve been finding ourselves in these moments where we’re exchanging pieces of ourselves. The good, the bad, the broken.
And at night, when the rest of the city is sleeping, and Riot comes home glassy-eyed and covered in blood spatter, Zeke initiates these games between the three of us that leave me upside down. Dangling from the ceiling with blood rushing to my brain. We never touch each other, Riot’s always between us, but a few times now I’ve noticed the way he looks at me. To be honest, I catch myself looking too. It’s like we’re trying to assess where the boundary lies, and if either one of us will ever be brave enough to cross it.
Because once that happens, everything changes.
Everything.
Placing my pencil between my teeth, I slowly and carefully smudge the lines of the background with my fingertip. It’s killing me not having full access to all of my supplies right now, but I get it, and I’m not one to rock the boat. The buzzing of the machine stops and I can hear Zeke vaguely addressing aftercare, so when I finish line smudging, I quickly do a bit of cleanup and highlighting with my putty eraser. When his customer leaves and he locks up the front door, I stuff my tools into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt and push up to my feet.
“I just have to clean up here, but you can head upstairs if you want. I have to grab another bag while we’re here,” Zeke eyes me from his peripheral as he collects his tools one by one from his small table.
“I can help if you want?”
“Nah, this only takes a few minutes.”
“Alright, I’ll be raiding your cabinets for snacks though,” I shrug as I close my sketchpad and wander through the back of the studio, up to his apartment, leaving him chuckling under his breath in the background.
When I open the door, I can’t help but notice that Zeke’s space is so very Zeke. Neat and orderly. Controlled. Zero chaos. Considering he has such a creative soul, I’m surprised at the way he seems to box his creativity into this neat little package that he keeps locked away from the rest of his life. Like it’s a space reserved solely for him.
Walking through the kitchen into his living room, I plop down on the large, plush, navy blue couch and curl up. It’s been a long ass day and I’m thoroughly exhausted. Zeke had put off his clients all week, so today he crammed as many into one day as possible.
As I kick my sneakers off and curl my feet beneath me, I prop my elbow on the arm of the couch when a single photograph catches my attention. On the small end table between the arm of the couch and the window, there’s a small gold-framed photograph of an older man and a teenage boy. With salt and pepper hair and heavy tattoos, the older man wears a leather jacket adorned in patches that I recognize from the Havok Hellhounds. The teenage boy has brown hair that hangs in his eyes. He’s tall and lanky, with a body void of tattoos. An unmistakable younger version of Zeke.
Picking the photo up, I hold it in my hands examining it, looking for resemblance between the two, but I find none. Distant relative maybe?
