Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
If I punch him, the blade is going into my throat, but if I do nothing, I’m as good as dead.
I swallow against the blade. “Do it,” I dare him, looking straight into his eyes. I want this madness to end, the beast gnawing at my insides each night gone.
He licks his lips, and is it just me, or did his breathing get faster? He’s already sporting a tan despite it only being May, yet I can still see the flush blooming on his features as he swallows. His fingers slide into my hair and he untangles my knot in a caress that sends jolts of electricity all the way to my balls. Who the fuck reacts like this to a simple touch?
I’m so damn broken, but my mind becomes a desolate desert somewhere in space when Road responds by pushing his knee against the inside of my thigh to spread my legs. The blade that was meant to end my life flies off and clatters against the asphalt, and the hand still sweaty from holding it pushes my wrist down.
What is happening?
I stiffen, out of breath, and I don’t know if I’m terrified or horny. I could fight. He’s thrown away his knife, and I’m not the scrawny boy I used to be. I could take him. I’ve learned to be vicious and unyielding so I’m never again at the mercy of some predatory fucker.
Instead, I make the tiniest moan I didn’t intend and raise my hips ever so slightly to rub my rock-hard cock against him. Because yeah, I got hard in seconds. And I want him to feel it.
The relief flooding my chest feels as if someone took a combat boot off my neck after keeping it there for years. He’s hard too.
Chapter 9
Road
Intense heat weaves through my muscles, making them tense and ready when I sense the hard erection lined up with mine.
Knife-fight, my ass. Blue-eyed boy came here for this, no matter what lies he’s been telling himself to rationalize it, but this isn’t the moment to call him out. The wordless truce between us is fragile and could be shattered by a single wrong word.
I can smell the truth all over him. He's taken a shower before mounting his bike, and has that addictive scent on him. Pine, leather, smoke, like a fucking campfire beckoning me to come close and taste the meat sizzling in a skillet.
He wanted to smell good for me. Wanted to be juicy and fresh. Who am I to reject such a delicious offering?
I squeeze both of his wrists against the cold asphalt, and then flex my shoulders, rolling my body against his. We’re dressed. I don’t really know how he looks naked, beyond the glimpse I got of his backside in the hospital gown. I don’t even like him, but his wide-eyed gaze is like a vibrating leash rewarding each and every thrust I make.
The stifled moans are even better. He bites his bottom lip, as if trying to tempt me into a kiss, but does everything to avoid eye contact. And yet, he rocks back against me, legs spread. A shiver goes down my spine when I’m reminded of what he said to me those months ago.
‘I would have let you’.
Fuck. I’m so horny for anything he meant he’d let me, because it suggests the kind of dynamic I want. He’s not fighting me when I hold his wrists, and he’s not trying to get on top either. Clyde’s warm breath tickles my cheek, and I can’t believe who I’m grinding against, but I don’t hate it.
If I didn’t know he wants this, I could have gotten so much more wrong about him.
Or I’m blind to all his shitty flaws, because he makes horny grunts under me and rubs against me ever quicker, like we’re two undersexed teens, not grown-ass men. Does it matter? As long as no one else finds out, I don’t care.
The night grows hot when my body speeds up. I can barely take credit for Clyde’s moans, because I’m no longer in control. Primal instinct has taken over, and the unexpected pleasure is just happening to me, almost as if I’m its very willing victim.
His skin is pink and looks so delicious with the glaze of fresh sweat that I can’t help myself and dive in, lapping salt and musk off his stubbly cheek while we rock together. He stirs, taking sharp gasps. His hips push hard against mine, and his leg curls above my ass, holding me close.
This is what dreams are fucking made of. The delightful heat of the friction between us doesn’t even feel real, but then he’s arching, thrashing, and I don’t need to feel his cum on my skin to know I’ve finished him.
All I want is to follow, but determination takes hold, and I unzip my pants with a trembling hand, moving over him even as he collapses, breathless and sweaty. Any touch feels like a threat to my sanity now, but I pluck my painfully stiff dick and shove it under Clyde’s T-shirt, resuming my grinding.