Wrath: A Sinful Secrets Romance, page 20
He grunts as I gather his big balls in my palm and give him a long lick along the underside of his cock.
“Christ.” His hands reach for my head as I lean away, giving him a grin.
“Relax, angel. Shut your eyes and let me show you how good you are.”
He can’t relax. I guess he’s been on the verge of coming for a while, and now his balls are firmed up and his dick is leaking like a sieve. He’s so desperate, he rocks his hips and bounces his big, veiny cock until I close my mouth around him. Then he grips my head and pushes partway into my mouth.
“Mills.” It’s a whimper.
I pull off and whisper, “Don’t worry. I’m about to suck you good and let you come. Close your eyes and give it to me. I want all of it.”
I lick all up and down him. Then I suck his head back into my mouth, rolling my tongue around it. He’s so big, I’m not sure how I’ll get more of his dick than just this into my mouth. I stretch my jaw as wide as I can just to take the top half of him. I tease the rim of him with my tongue, try to stuff the tip of it into his little leaking slit, and when he comes up off the ground for that, I take him as deep as I can, gagging as he whimpers “fuck” and tries to jerk out of my mouth.
I’m so surprised, I almost lose hold of him, but my hand grabs him near his base. I tighten my grip and gobble him back down, so all his hot, thick cum sprays right down my throat. I shut my eyes and find a rhythm with the swallowing, noticing as I do that his entire lower half is quaking.
When I’ve drained him dry, I lick around him, kissing him once more along a big, beautiful vein before I lift my head to give him a grin.
There’s an arm over his face. He’s breathing hard and fast.
“You okay?”
He holds his free arm out like he wants me come and lie beside him. After a glance around, and confirmation that we’re hidden by the trees, I do just that. Ezra hugs me to him, and I realize he’s still got chills. His nipples are little points.
Good Lord, I’m fucking hard again. I tug up my pants and try to focus on this moment. The hard, warm ground behind my back, the tight way he holds me while he gulps back big breaths…coming down. He moves his arm off his face. His eyes are red. He smiles, looking different than I’ve ever seen him. Softer. There’s a look of shock on his face, like he can’t believe something could feel so good as what I just did to him.
I did that.
“Thank you,” he rasps.
“You should be a porn star, dude. That’s like another appendage and fuck, it tasted so good.”
He gets this look on his face…wide eyes and his mouth bent into a flat-lipped duck thing. Then he breaks into the most euphoric grin.
“You’re crazy,” he murmurs. I notice his ears are red.
“Crazy ’bout that pipe.”
Just to be dramatic, I crawl back down to it and give it a little light kiss, my nose brushing his dark curls as I do.
His hands rove over my head and my shoulders as I crawl back up him, straddling his hips. He runs his big hand over my cock, which is pushing against my pants.
“I put a finger in your hole, Mills.”
I shut my eyes, and his hand strokes my knee.
“You embarrassed?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “It felt good.”
He reaches his hand into the leg of my shorts and starts jerking me slowly, like he’s just toying around, but I realize as I’m about to come that this was always his goal. Just when I’m so amped up I can’t control myself—I’m gonna come—his free hand pulls my shorts and briefs down. He gives me a few more jerks, and I come all over his chest. He’s grinning like the damn Cheshire Cat as he smears his finger through it and tastes.
“You taste good.” He smirks, this time failing to pull off the full effect and looking kind of silly. “Just another thing good…” He lifts a brow, and my heart presses against my chest in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
“And now you’re blushing,” he whispers.
“Shut up, red ears.”
He grins, looking guilty. He sits up and wipes his hand over the mess on his abs. Then he tugs on his sweatshirt and smears it in the inside pocket, which makes me laugh.
“Oh my God.”
He shakes his head. “We’re animals.”
I notice he’s hard again and move for his dick, but he catches my hand, kissing it before he starts to get up.
“We’ve gotta get dressed,” he murmurs. “What if someone found us?”
"If you’re sure you can walk."
He tucks himself into the waist of his boxers, then reaches down and helps me to my feet. We straighten ourselves up with smirks and little funny smiles. When we’re decent, his eyes catch mine and hold them. I can’t read what’s on his face, but I think he looks content.
Eleven
Ezra
I let Mills suck my dick. And it felt amazing. His mouth didn’t feel like any memory, and his hands on me were so good. I came like fucking crazy—and he swallowed.
I think about that as we walk home. I’ve got his load in me, and there’s some of me in him.
I’m not sure if I can look at him. I don’t know what to say. I feel kind of fucked up, and my throat is too tight. I want him to know how much I—
I don’t know what I’m trying to say. To think.
As we walk into the driveway, I reach out and catch his hand again. Give it a squeeze. DG’s face is fucking glowing as he turns toward me. I glance around; of course, no one is here. I bring his hand to my mouth, brush my lips over his knuckles. His cheeks go red as hell.
I guess I’m smiling big, because he whispers, “What?”
I let his hand go and pinch one of his cheeks. And then I kiss it. Quick as hell, and afterward, my stomach twists until he looks around and murmurs, “No one saw.”
I lean in closer and inhale in his direction. “You smell good, Mills.”
“You taste good,” he whispers.
“We both taste like Bubble Yum.”
“That fucking duck,” he smiles.
“You like the duck?” I ask him.
“Just think it’s funny.”
“Keeps it poppin’,” I say.
He snickers. “What?”
“That’s the slogan.”
“No it’s not.”
“It is, too,” I tell him. “That’s what the duck said.”
“I don’t think ducks can talk, Ez.”
“That one did. In old commercials. I swear.”
“Did he?” Mills looks mystified as we walk up the porch stairs.
I’m unlocking the door when I look over my shoulder to smirk at him. No real reason. Just like to smirk at Mills. I find him smiling—this little crooked smile—and I want to leave the keys there in the door and turn around and hug him so damn tight.
I don’t hug him on the porch, but when we step inside, I can’t stop myself. I kiss him once more, too, dragging my tongue against his, running my fingers into the soft hair at the back of his head. I squeeze his nape, the kind of squeeze that always feels good to me when sports massage people do it.
“Get dinner with me,” I whisper.
DG’s blue eyes widen, and I laugh, because I’m as surprised as he is by my request. “Let’s get pizza and then watch a movie,” I say.
His face changes so he looks more guarded, and he moves back a little, which makes my hand lose its grip on his hair.
“What do you want to watch?” he murmurs.
“It can be anything,” I tell him.
Say yes.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m holding the front door open for him. We’re stepping out onto the porch together, Mills in ripped jeans and a magenta Rocky Horror T-shirt. He got a quick shower while I fumbled around in my room, looking for the “Praise Be, Bitches” shirt I got from a girl I knew.
I lock the door and stride ahead of him to open the passenger door of my Jeep. He pauses before getting in, squinting at my shirt.
“The Handmaid’s Tale,” I tell him; it’s a book and TV show I’m sure he’s heard of.
“Oh, right. I’ve seen some of that.”
“Good stuff.”
He laughs. “Yep. The worst best ever.”
I’m grinning as I walk around the car. “Probably not going to end up all kittens and glitter if the book is any indication.”
“Ohh yeah, there’s a book, isn’t there?” he asks.
“Margaret Atwood, baby.”
“Hell, I guess I need to read it.”
“You a reader?” I ask as I crank the Jeep.
“Yeah, but more like Michael Crichton…Stephen King.”
“I think you’d be a fan of Margaret,” I tell him as I pull out of the driveway and point us toward the causeway that leads across the lake to Georgia.
“I’ll have to try her.”
“Or watch the show.”
He looks down at the hole in his knee, tugs at a thread. “Does this mean you like sci-fi or horror movies or…”
“Anything with energy,” I hear myself say. “Fight Club, The Sopranos…shit like…I don’t know—No Country for Old Men. Interstellar. You ever see that bullshit Me Before You?”
He screws his face up, scrunching his brows as he tries to place it.
“Probably not,” I offer. “I didn’t get to pick it when I watched it. It was shit, though.”
“Why was it shit?”
I see him note that we’re headed toward the bridge that leads to the Georgia side of the lake; I looked up pizza places before leaving the house, and there’s one in Cillin, a little town that’s on the other side of the lake. It looks rural as hell, and it’s drive-through only, which is perfect.
“Well the main reason is that one character just fucking quit,” I tell Mills. “And for no good reason.” I feel my cheeks flush as I say it—recognizing my hypocrisy, but now it’s too late to shut my damn mouth. “Dude got injured, I don’t know, like in an accident of some kind. This is before he meets the girl he falls for. She’s hired to help him do things he needs to do. He’s paralyzed. And basically, he wants to die. He says his life doesn’t compare to his old one where he was—I don’t fucking know—a skier or some shit like that. He doesn’t want to live his life disabled, so he does assisted suicide. And the girl goes along!”
I’m relieved when he laughs. “Really? Is it like Romeo and Juliet?”
“Not at all. It fucking wishes.”
He throws his head back laughing. “Who knew Mr. Masters got so worked up over un-romantic movies?”
“That’s the problem, though. It’s posing as romantic, but it isn’t.”
Miller presses his lips flat in contemplation as I drive onto the causeway. “I guess you’re right. Love should conquer all…at least ideally. If it pitched itself as romantic, and I think I remember now, it did, then that’s kind of false advertising.”
“Exactly. Pitch it as a tragedy, fine. At least that way people know what miserable shit they’re getting into. This was a guy in a wheelchair with a family and shit—and lots of money, too—just choosing to give up.”
I see the moment that he wonders whether I’m a hypocrite. I’m feeling bold, so I just say it. “Yeah, I get it. Maybe I’m a hypocrite, but I don’t think so. This guy was fine except his body didn’t work the same way anymore.”
His face softens, going thoughtful, and I realize I’ve made a misstep.
“I’m fine, too, obviously.”
“Yeah?” His blue eyes slide to mine and I say, “Yeah. I’m telling you, he booked a damn appointment. Suicide with eyes wide open. And they let him do it, too.”
“You think they shouldn’t have?”
“Fuck yeah, I think they shouldn’t have let him. Family and friends. The fuck. What was wrong with the guy? So he was sick? Like he got hurt? Welcome to the world, mofo. It hurts a lot, and dying slowly seems to be our fucking job here.”
I fix my eyes on the road after that spills out. I should probably shut up for the rest of the night.
“You know I have to ask now. Do you really mean that? Dying is our job? That’s what you think the point of everything is?” he asks.
“That’s what I said.”
“I’m not judging, dude. I don’t even know what I think. I just want to get it. I want to know what you think.”
I swallow. “Let me say this. If dying’s not the point, then the setup’s all wrong?” I laugh. “You feel me?”
He frowns at the windshield, and I barf up more words. “In my better-case scenarios I like to think we graduate to something better. Sort of how the little babies don’t know what the fuck is going on, and then they grow up and their brains, their consciousness like…refines its focus on speech and all this complex social behavior. I feel like maybe it’s the opposite with death. Maybe our brains are too narrowed when we’re human, framed in by the senses we have, and once we die and ditch the meat bag, those walls are busted down and we can see more. Maybe it’s a level-up thing.”
He snickers. “Meat bag? You mean bodies?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
He chews on his lip. “That’s deep, dude. I think I like it.”
“Just my little bullshit theory.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “Mine is hoping I don’t go to hell for wanting dicks in my ass.”
I’m not prepared for the way his words go straight to my cock.
“Oof. Miller one and Masters zero.” I cup myself, shaking my head with a choked laugh, and he puts a hand over his face.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. That was too much. I don’t really want—”
“Oh no you don’t! You can’t say you want a dick in your ass and then recant. That’s not okay.”
Miller swoons into the passenger’s side window, drawing his knees up and covering his head with his arm. “Pardon me while I expire and check your theory for you.”
That makes me laugh. It’s a real laugh, and it sounds strange in the quiet of the car. When I dare a look at him, he’s grinning.
“I want both,” he says softly. “Or I should say I don’t know yet. I’ve never tried…you know?”
Fuck me, my dick is standing at attention. When I laugh, it sounds choked. “Miller. Jeezus, brother. I’m about to wreck this thing and then we’ll both be finding out which way is up.”
“Top or bottom, Masters?”
My last name hits me like a slap, and I say, “Ezra. Ezzie, Ez, or angel will work, too.”
He bites his lip. “Sorry. Angel.” He gives me a small smile.
“I don’t know either, Mills. How would I? Maybe top?”
“I heard it’s all bullshit with Cara,” he says, looking out the window.
“Yeah. It was.”
“So you’re gay?” He’s whispering. I can tell he’s nervous by the way his body freezes as he asks the question.
“If I’m not, I sure am acting faggy, yeah?”
I see his face go pensive as I hang a right onto the county road that will take us to the pizza place. “Why do you say that?” he asks.
“I don’t know. It’s just a bullshit word. It’s a weak insult, so I use it how I want to. You don’t like it?”
“It’s like the verbal version of a slap…to me, at least.”
“I won’t say it again.” An awful thought hits me. “You get called that before?”
“No way. Almost no one knows, so…”
“But you hear it.” I’m just speculating.
He nods. “People use it like an insult, and I get it, like re-claiming bad words, but to me…”
“I get that. It sticks with you.”
“It sticks in me,” he smirks. “And not in the sexy way.”
That makes me smile and shake my head. “You want me rolling up to that place hard as a rock?”
He looks over at my lap. “Fuck, you’re getting me hard now, too.” He laughs. “So you’re gay? You’re telling me you’re gay?”
“If you’re not telling anyone…then—” I sigh, too loud.
“Why can’t I tell? Not that I ever would. But your dad seems cool. And I know my mom is.”
“I have a mom too, in case you weren’t aware.”
“And you went to Christian school…”
My stomach flips as I nod. “Trust me when I say it wouldn’t turn out well for me if my mom heard that I was gaying it up down here.”
He looks thoughtful for a moment. Sad. He says, “Damn. I’m sorry. That must be a lot on you.”
I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his and then bringing our joined hands to my lap. I can’t bring myself to make him touch my boner, but once he’s this close, he does it himself.
“You’re a lot on me, Josh Miller.”
He rubs me lightly, sending heat all through my lower body.
“I thought you were a gay hater,” he says softly.
“That’s the cliché isn’t it? Gotta make sure no one thinks you’re one of them.”
He grips my dick, his eyes hard on mine. “You scared me.”
“I know. I’m an asshole.” I move his hand off my dick. “If you’re smart, you’ll let me get you pizza and just avoid me after tomorrow.”
He lays his palm over my bulge, squeezing just a little as he cups me.
“And if I’m not?” he whispers, running his thumb over my cockhead through my pants. “You gonna fuck me up? Just start the snowball rolling and let it go where it goes? And give up steering?”
I bite my lip hard enough to hurt. “I’ve never been steering.” Everything that’s happened between us has been accidental—at least on my end. Everything until me asking him to come get pizza with me. That’s where it all shifted.
Mills comes under me and cups me, pressing my balls up against the base of my cock. Then he leans over and nips at my throat. “I think you’re better than that shit, dude. Coward stuff.”
My cheeks and neck flush. I pull off on the roadside; we’re not two hundred yards from the pizza joint. “Did you just call me a coward?” I grip his chin, wanting to bite him and kiss him; I don’t know which I crave more.
“No, I didn’t,” he says. “You’re not a coward right now. You came out to me, and even though you played a bunch of games, you didn’t let it last. You just told me some shit that made me want to know you better. Like you actually think about things, unlike most people,” he whispers as he shakes his chin free, leaning in to brush his lips over mine. “I’m obsessed with your lips. And your throat.” He gives my Adam’s apple a nip, sending lightning down to my junk.
