by Jade, Ashley
“I think you got that backward.”
“Is that so?” I moan when he laps the fluid leaking from my cockhead. “Because it seems like your dick sides with me.”
“Yeah, he enjoys blow jobs.” I push my hips into his face. “But we both know you’re enjoying it way more than he ever will…because you’re obsessed with me.”
I damn near whimper when he draws the tip into his mouth. “And you love it.”
“Suck me already.”
“You don’t make the rules. I’m not doing shit until you admit how much you enjoy my attention.”
“Your attention to my dick.”
The tip of his tongue swirls around the small hole and I grunt. “Fuck.” I look down. “Make me come.”
“Not until you tell me the truth.”
My nostrils flare. The price I’m forced to pay is hefty, but I need his reward. “Fine. I don’t mind you sucking me off. You give great head. You’re welcome to do it whenever you want.”
He licks and slurps me as though my cock were a popsicle on a hot day and he’s trying to prevent the juice from dripping all over him.
“Jesus.” My calves clench. “Feels so fucking good.”
“It will feel even better once you admit it.” Wrapping his hand around my base, he runs his tongue along the underside of my shaft. “So be a good boy and tell me how much you like it.”
“I like how good you suck me.”
“Yeah, I know you do,” he muses. “You’re practically coming down my throat already.” My balls throb when he dips his head and tugs each one into his mouth, releasing them with a wet pop. “You’re so close.”
I growl when he circles my asshole with his thumb, causing a million nerve endings to fire off at once.
“Good boys get rewarded, Cain.”
My stomach drops. I know what he wants to hear. It’s what started this whole fucked-up friendship in the first place. The thing I’ve tried not to think about…but can’t ignore.
“I like your obsession with me, Damien.”
I convulse when he takes my entire dick in his mouth, sucking me in deep, long pulls that make me moan and spasm until I’m shooting down his throat.
Crawling up my body, he motions for me to open my mouth. When I refuse, he plugs my nose, forcing my lips to part. I nearly gag when warm salty liquid floods my mouth and I have no choice but to swallow my own cum. Shame snakes up my spine when he shoves his tongue inside a second later, fucking my mouth as he jerks himself to the finish line.
“I know you do,” he rasps before he groans, and a gush of wetness hits my sac.
I’m about to ask what he means but then he says, “Because it’s awfully appealing being the object of someone’s fascination.” He rubs the liquid into my skin then shoves his finger in my mouth, making me taste him too. “Whether I’m touching you or not, we both know you’re enjoying the view from your pedestal.” His eyes bore into mine. “Otherwise you would have jumped already.”
The next time he tries to kiss me, I let him.
Not because I’m attracted to him, and not because I pity him.
But because he’s right.
It’s nice being on someone’s pedestal for once.
Chapter 23
Damien
I watch as a single tear streams down her cheek. Not even her mask can hide the pain of watching the man she loves deceive her.
My muscles tighten. I can practically see the wheels in her head turning, wondering if perhaps the man walking past her isn’t Cain.
After all, he too is wearing a mask.
But while Eden’s mask hides her sorrow. Cain’s mask hides his lies.
Hand clutching her chest, she turns, looking in the direction he left. Hoping there’s been a grave mistake.
My fallen angel doesn’t yet realize that while her mind tries to justify her lover’s betrayal…her heart already knows the truth.
It’s why that lonesome tear is making its way down her chin.
The heart is the greatest fortune teller of all time. It’s always one step ahead of the curve.
Unfortunately for me—Eden’s pain is something I empathize with.
Because I’ve experienced it myself.
Chapter 24
Damien
Past…
The sound of a twig snapping outside has me opening my eyes. Turning my head toward the sound, I watch as Cain crawls through my bedroom window. Not that I’d know it was him by the looks of it. Unlike his usual polo shirts and khakis, he’s sporting an oversized hoodie and sweatpants.
Other than the neon lights from my tank, it’s dark in my bedroom. But from what I can see of Cain’s silhouette, his hood is pulled up, and his face is pointed down toward the floor.
“Front door works just fine, man.”
He says nothing.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s past midnight. Cain’s spent the night a few times, but he’s never arrived here this late.
And he’s certainly never crawled through my window before.
Not that I’m upset. With my dad gone for business three weeks out of the month, Cain knows he’s welcome here whenever he wants. He’s the only one I bend the rules for.
Sitting up in bed, I lean against my headboard. “What’s up?”
I’m not oblivious to Cain being out of sorts, I just know he’s more likely to talk if I act like everything’s normal.
“Think you can get Mrs. Miller to come over?” His voice is so low I almost don’t hear him.
Considering her husband gave her a black eye for not answering her phone yesterday, I doubt it.
I don’t have romantic feelings for Mrs. Miller, but I do have a fondness for her. I guess you can say I consider her somewhat of a maternal figure. Which is probably all kinds of screwed up considering I’ve fucked her more times than I can count.
That said, I told her I’d keep the shit that goes on with her husband to myself. And unlike most people would if they knew, I don’t judge her for cheating on her husband or for fucking high school students.
She’s got her own demons, just like everyone else.
Reaching for my cigarettes, I bring one to my lips and light it. “Probably not. It’s late.”
Back turned to me, he grips the windowsill. “Is it?”
Not many things put me on edge. But Cain’s recent mood swings do. I knew he was a ticking time bomb, but he should be feeling better now that I’ve given him an outlet for his issues.
Instead, he’s unraveling a little more each day. The only time he’s not is after I tie him up and get him off.
He’s content after that. Stable. Usually hangs out in my bed with me and watches the fish…talking about anything and everything that comes to his mind.
Until he goes home, goes to school…and the cycle starts all over again.
“It’s almost one in the morning.”
“Oh.” He blows out a shaky breath. “Is there someone else we can call? A girl who’d be down to fuck around tonight?”
I don’t care that he wants to fuck a girl. Hell, I’m down to fuck a few girls tonight. But the vibe he’s putting off currently doesn’t sit well with me.
“I know plenty of girls, man. But before we schedule the orgy…why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
He stops pacing. “Nothing. I just…I need…” His voice trails off and he bows his head.
My chest tightens as I continue staring at him. I’ve always been perceptive when it comes to other people’s emotions. I’m not a bleeding heart by any means. Quite the contrary—I don’t give a shit about most people until they give me a reason to. However, I’m sensitive to the slightest shift in their demeanor.
Probably has to do with my mother ignoring my existence. It forced me to spend a lot of time observing her and her druggie friends, which in turn made me somewhat of a people watcher.
Cain’s the only one who’s ever truly fascinated me though. The first time I saw him—or rather took
an active interest in him—he was in a faculty room—stuffing ballots into a locked box so he could win the race for student body president.
But that wasn’t what sparked the fire…it was what he did after. From my hidden spot behind a bookcase where I made Mrs. Miller give me head moments prior, I watched in amusement as Cain unzipped his pants, took out his dick, and proceeded to jerk off.
Before that incident, I’d never known anyone other than me who got a boner from doing fucked-up things. But there was Mr. Debate Team Captain himself, violently choking the chicken while he cursed Gerald Douglas—a student with special needs—to hell and back for daring to go against him in the race for student body president.
The icing on the cake was when he walked over to the fridge and jizzed inside Mrs. Douglas’—the school music teacher as well as his opponent’s mother—jelly and fluff sandwich.
We might be opposites, but deep down—Cain’s my kindred spirit if there ever was one.
Luckily, I knew just the right outlet for him…one that wouldn’t result in the mass homicide he was clearly heading for. The guy has dreams and aspirations after all.
Unfortunately for him, it’s only making him come apart at the seams.
And unfortunately for me…I seemed to have developed serious feelings for the bastard. Well, feelings other than wondering what makes him tick…and wanting to fuck his asshole so I can see if it’s wound as tight as the rest of him is.
Taking a long drag off my cigarette, I study him. “Look, you’re obviously going through some shit.”
Silence.
I’m not the type to feed into people’s dramatics, but as per fucking usual, Cain’s an exception to the rule. For reasons I don’t understand, he’s gotten under my skin.
Rising off the bed, I walk over to him, knowing it will end in either one of two ways. With my fist in his mouth or his dick in mine as we battle it out. Either one is fine by me. Thanks to my nap I’m well rested.
I grab his shoulder. “Ca—”
He flinches and a choked sound rips from his throat as he turns. “Don’t.”
He’s hurt, that much is evident. What I don’t understand is his getup. “Why are you wearing a masquerade mask?”
From the looks of it, it’s the same one I gave him two weeks ago at the dance.
When he doesn’t answer, I pull it off.
My stomach turns to lead when I see his swollen black eye and split lip.
My anger is a visceral thing. Starting low in my gut and spreading outward. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
I don’t say shit like that lightly. I’m going to torture the living shit out of his father just like he’s done to Cain all these years.
I go to climb out the window because it’s the quickest exit, but Cain seizes my arm. “No.”
“Yes.” It’s no longer a matter of if. It’s only a matter of how fast I can get there.
He starts to open his mouth…and then—to my absolute fucking horror his eyes become glassy and he starts shaking.
“I got waitlisted.” He looks at me like a child who just watched Santa kill the puppy they wished for. “They waitlisted me.” He points to his chest. “Me.”
Christ. I don’t do well with shit like this. At all. Or maybe I do, but I wouldn’t know because I don’t have experience when it comes to comforting others. Fact of the matter is—I just don’t care about people enough to give a shit.
But Cain’s different. Because I do care. More than care…he’s…I’m not sure. My neurosis? My fixation? My obsession? Perhaps all three.
All I know is he’s where ninety-nine percent of my thoughts drift to as of late.
“I’m sorry, man.” It’s not a lie. I know getting into Harvard was important to him. “But being waitlisted isn’t the end of the world, right? It’s not like they turned you down.”
“Being waitlisted is the end of the world. Do you know how many applicants they get a semester? Tons. It’s their way of jerking me off so hard it burns but never letting me come.”
“Interesting analogy—”
“This isn’t a fucking joke, cocksucker.” He starts pacing. “This is my goddamn life.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m not sure there is anything else to say. “This sucks.”
Nodding, he turns to face the window again. “I might as well blow my brains out and end it now.”
My reaction is automatic. I grip his shoulder, much harder than before. “Don’t say shit—”
“Fuck.” He clutches the windowsill, his body wracking with tremors. “Don’t touch me.”
Harvard is the least of my worries. Ignoring his request, I reach for the hem of his sweatshirt.
It gets stuck halfway up his back and I realize it’s because of all the caked-up blood sticking to the material.
If I thought my reaction was visceral before it has nothing on the storm that starts brewing inside me when I see the belt marks.
Judging from the abrasions, the motherfucker didn’t use the loop. Just the buckle.
Running to the bathroom, I grab a few cool washcloths. Then slowly, I peel the rest of his sweatshirt off. Every inch I uncover is like my own punch to the face.
“First beating I ever felt like I deserved,” Cain says, his voice cracking. “What am I gonna do, Damien?”
Before I can answer, he grips my shirt, his tears soaking the fabric. And that’s how we stay for the better part of five minutes. Until he places my hand on his semi-hard dick. “I need you—”
The words are out of my mouth before he can finish his sentence. “Get on the bed. Face down.”
I suck at comforting people…but this? Taking control over someone who feels out of it and blurring the lines between pain and pleasure? That is something I can do.
“He was so pissed,” Cain says as I position myself behind him and proceed to take off his pants and boxers. “The angriest I’ve ever seen him in my life.” He closes his eyes. “And then my brother…he just laughed and called me a loser.” He scrunches his face. “He’s not wrong. What kind of man lets their father beat them while their brother stands there and laughs?”
I press my lips to a wound on his tailbone. “A man who thinks he deserves it because he’s been conditioned to think he does and doesn’t know any better yet.”
He shifts his cheek on the pillow a little to look at me. “Are you in love with me?”
That’s a weird fucking question. “I’m not sure.” Grabbing the washcloth I placed on the nightstand, I dab it over a wound that’s still bleeding. “To be honest, I’m not sure I know how to love. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”
He nods. “That makes both of us.” He sighs. “Promise you’ll fuck Mrs. Miller for me one last time before I’m gone.”
“You’re not going anywhere, asshole.”
“There’s no point living if I can’t do it the way I was supposed to.”
It’s not so much his words, it’s the intent in his expression. Like he truly believes there’s no way out other than death.
Throwing the washcloth down, I brace my arms on either side of him and lean down so I’m next to his face. “You think there’s only one roadmap to your life? One way to get where you want to go?”
“For me there was.”
“Then you’re not half as smart as I thought you were, Mr. President.”
His features harden. “Gee thanks. You and Harvard have that in common I guess.”
I grit my teeth. “What I mean is, there are a hundred different paths to get to Harvard. Same goes for becoming a politician if that’s really what you want. Pick one and start walking.”
“It’s not that easy. My dad had everything planned for me. And now that I fucked—”
“Fuck him,” I shout. “Fuck your brother and Harvard too, for that matter.” I grab his jaw. “There are two types of people in this world, Cain. Those who are capable of greatness, but don’t bother trying. And those who still try even though they�
��re not capable of greatness.”
“But I did tr—”
“You’re neither,” I interject. “You’re the type of person who can do anything he sets his mind to and succeed.”
“You really think so?”
“You know I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” I lean my forehead against his. “Everything you want is already yours. All you have to do is reach out and take it.”
He draws in a breath. “I wish I could believe that, but I don’t see how. My life is over.”
“Your life isn’t over.” I run a finger down his thigh. “It’s just beginning.” Shifting, I plant a line of kisses down his back. “There’s a reason for all the bad shit we go through, man…something that will eventually make us realize it was all worth it in the end.”
He snorts. “You get that from a Hallmark card?”
“No, jackass. It’s how fate works. One event leads to another…and those events lead to the next event and so on and so forth. Then one day, you look back and connect the dots. Next thing you know, everything starts making sense.”
“I think Mrs. Miller’s fortune teller crap is starting to rub off on you.”
I bite his ass. “Yeah. Or maybe, just maybe…I’m a lot smarter than you give me credit for.”
His features twist. “Harvard was everything, Damien. My father’s connections are everything. There’s no way I can do this without him.”
I trail my lips down his ass. “Says who? Because the Cain Carter I know isn’t a fucking pussy. He takes what he wants. Show your dad you can do this without him. Because you can.”
His hips jerk. “I’ve never met anyone who believes…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “You…”
He moans when I slip my tongue between his cheeks. “Did you mean what you said before?”
I pause. “Yeah, you can do anything you—”
“No.” His voice drops down a few octaves. “Did you really want to kill him for me?”
“Not did. Do.”
“I’d never let you do that—”
