by J. M. Dabney
He released Fielding, and he stumbled a bit at the loss of contact. Fielding jerked his gaze to him. The desire glazed eyes made a slow tilt pull at the corner of his mouth.
“On your knees, boy.”
Fielding obeyed the command and knelt on the hard, rough planks in front of him. Never taking his eyes off Fielding’s beautiful face, he worked his belt free. The clanging jangle of the buckle and the soft slither of leather through denim loops was loud in the sudden silence that was only filled with Fielding’s heavy panting. Fielding trembled as he released the button and forced himself to ease down the zipper in slow increments.
Fucking wasn’t all about sticking his dick in a hot welcoming hole. It was about the build-up. Fucking or making love began as a mind fuck, a jumble of emotions and sensations. Heightened through anticipation. It intensified the pleasure. A barely-there caress to incite a build toward desperation—a call for something harder and faster. Denial made the final act that much sweeter and intense. Before he finally gave his boy his dick, Fielding would weep and beg to be fucked.
He needed that moment to be stamped forever into Fielding’s memory just as he’d always remember. His home wouldn’t be the same. Fielding’s presence was infused into every corner. No matter what happened in the future, he’d never forget his boy.
It was the moment of truth as he peeled the denim to the sides. He reached in, wrapped his hand around his cock and flinched at his touch on his overly sensitive dick. It was as scarred as he was, he took in the ruined skin on the right side and wondered if it would turn his boy off to see it. He almost commanded Fielding to close his eyes, but he couldn’t, he wanted to know everything his boy felt. Fielding was so inexperienced in life that his boy couldn’t mask his emotions.
That was why what they were about to do was so dangerous, and still, with the knowledge, he refused to stop.
“You ready to learn how to make your Daddy happy, baby?”
His rough fingers combed through Fielding’s baby soft hair. He slowly stroked along the thick length of his cock. Pre-come beaded in the slit. He called on every ounce of control he possessed because he was already too close to cumming. Fielding’s perfect white teeth sank into his pouted lower lip.
“Relax,” he growled as he gently coaxed Fielding’s bottom lip from between his teeth with his thumb.
He applied firm pressure under Fielding’s chin and tilted his head back. He caught the darkening of Fielding’s gaze seconds before he painted his boy’s lips with the tip of his dick. They glistened with his pre-cum, and Fielding was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Fielding on his knees, blissed out with the newness of passion and need. He’d done that to his boy.
His right hand curved around the back of Fielding’s neck, massaging firmly with thumb and fingertips.
“Open those pretty, pink lips for me.”
Fielding obeyed without question, the thick head of his cock teasingly pushed past Fielding’s lips, and he growled at the sensation of soft lips—the wet heat of Fielding’s mouth closing around the tip. Fielding tentatively tested the textures, and his dick went harder at the shy caresses and the high-pitched whine. He forgot about why they shouldn’t do this or what would happen in the morning; he’d never needed anyone this much.
His eyes closed as he moaned and his head rolled back onto his shoulders as he focused on the pleasure.
He jerked his head up as Fielding started to suck his fat cock. Fielding choked until spit ran from the corners of his mouth—down his chin. Tears slipped from the corners of Fielding’s eyes. Fielding’s face was red as his boy choked again. His free hand sunk into Fielding’s hair and tugged, hard enough so he could cause his boy a slight pain.
“You want to suck my cock, boy; you look at me while you do it.”
Fielding’s hand came up to rest on his hips.
“I want those hands behind your fucking back. Lace your fingers.”
Satisfaction filled him as Fielding obeyed like a good little boy.
“Open wide,” he growled.
As Fielding opened his mouth, he thrust forward, and Fielding gagged. He felt the convulsion of his boy’s throat. He started a slow, deep rhythm, after a few thrusts he felt Fielding’s throat relax.
“Fuck, boy, you’re so pretty when you cry.”
He stroked one of the tears from Fielding’s cheek.
“Now, suck me, boy, make your Daddy happy.”
He threw his head back, and he let Fielding do what he wanted. His inexperience was evident, but, fuck, that was sexy as hell to him. Fielding had never sucked cock or bent over for anyone else. Every first would be his; he’d own them before Fielding left him. His dick jerked in Fielding’s mouth every time his boy choked, but his boy kept forcing himself to take more.
His balls started to draw up, and he jerked his boy away, he breathed deep and even until he could bring his focus back to Fielding. He grabbed Fielding’s hair and tugged him to his feet. Without thought to being gentle, he slammed his mouth down on his boy’s. Fielding’s lips were so soft they conformed to his harder, thinner ones. He thrust his tongue into Fielding’s mouth and lifted his boy until slender legs locked around his waist.
Blindly he strode from the kitchen toward the bed. His boy cried and clutched at him, but his boy’s strength wasn’t a match for his, and he tossed Fielding across the bed. His gaze stroked over his boy’s torso. His little, tanned nipples beaded, Fielding’s skin misted with sweat, and he traced the line of pale, blond hair from his shallow bellybutton to where it disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
He knelt beside the bed, untied Fielding’s shoes and eased them off. His boy’s jeans were next, and he quickly had Fielding naked on his bed. He’d dreamed of this since the first night Fielding had come to stay in his cabin.
He’d stretched on his bedroll, he’d closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, his fantasy person was real. His cock had been so hard the entire night he’d barely slept, and he’d glanced toward the bed to watch the boy sleep. Innocent and trusting curled up in his bed.
As Fielding watched him from under lowered lashes, he turned and bent to slide the drawer out, removed the condoms and lube that they’d acquired when they went to the grocery store. He tossed it onto the quilt beside Fielding’s hip.
“Turn over. I want you on your hands and knees. Ass in the air, now.”
Something primal burned to life in his gut as his boy did as he ordered. The smooth, pale curves of Fielding’s lush ass were perfect. He took the soft cheeks in his hands and squeezed, parted them to see the wrinkled, little hole.
Fielding tried to pull away, and he punished him with a hard smack to his right cheek, then another to the left.
“I own you, boy, I can do whatever I want, understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Fielding’s voice was muffled in the covers.
“I can look at what I own.”
He pushed his thumb to the tight ass and found almost no give. “Have you ever played with your ass, boy?”
“No.” His boy could barely get the word out with his stuttering.
He realized that he was going to need a gentler touch with his boy. Fielding was more innocent than he’d first thought. Young men had toys they played with, but it seemed Fielding hadn’t ever allowed himself.
“Don’t you have toys at home?”
“No, I didn’t—they never let me go out alone.”
He knelt on the floor which put him at the perfect height to bury his face between Fielding’s cheeks. His tongue stroked over Fielding hole, testing the texture and the firmness. Fielding was so fucking tight. If he weren’t careful, he’d ruin his boy’s first time.
His boy tensed so much his muscles trembled, and he spanked his boy as he tongued his ass, shocked him out of what he knew was embarrassment. It wasn’t long before he caught his boy’s moans, noticed the way Fielding pushed back on his tongue. He pushed inside and Fielding’s back arched.
His cock was
leaking, and he was so hard he hurt, so he surged to his feet and took in Fielding’s red, abused skin from the spanking. The spit-slicked hole. He flipped Fielding over, his boy’s face was flushed, and his body shimmered with sweat. His boy’s slim chest worked up and down with his labored breaths.
“Put your head on the pillows, baby,” he said as he picked up the lube and crawled onto the bed, settling between his boy’s spread thighs. “Don’t be nervous, if something hurts you tell me.”
Fielding only nodded, but he didn’t say anything about that. The damp head of Fielding’s pale dick pressed to his stomach, and he slicked his fingers, then pushed his hand between their bodies. He touched Fielding’s hole, felt the resistance as he slowly worked the rim. Fielding whimpered and bucked beneath him as he slowly stretched him until he easily pumped three, thick fingers into Fielding.
He praised him. Told his boy how good he was being. Kissed him softly, sipped at Fielding’s full lips as he pushed his boy farther toward the point of no return. When the whines became desperate he sat up, he tore open the condom and rolled it onto his cock. He barely kept from releasing like some horny teenager at his own touch. Fielding watched him. Taking in every inch of him with pupils blown with pleasure. He’d done that for his boy. Someone watched him with an expression he’d only dreamed of on nights he was too weak to ignore his needs.
He added more lube and returned to his spot between Fielding’s shaking thighs. He wrapped his hand around the base and pressed his thick head to Fielding. He nudged forward until the tip pushed inside. Fielding gasped, and pain tightened his beautiful face.
“Easy, boy, Daddy will make it all better.” He pushed another inch inside. The pressure around the head of his dick so tight he barely kept his eyes from rolling back in ecstasy. “Just breathe and push out. I know it hurts, but I’ll make it all better, I promise. Give Daddy your ass. You want to make me happy, right?”
His boy nodded and panted against his mouth.
“Tell Daddy how good he makes you feel.”
He felt his boy push out and he sank in deeper, not stopping until he was ball’s deep. He kissed the tears from Fielding’s lashes.
“Daddy, it hurts,” Fielding whispered, and he heard the pain in his sweet voice.
“I won’t move until you tell me,” he promised and hoped he wasn’t lying. His body urged him to move, to pound his boy’s ass until he filled the fucking condom.
He couldn’t do that to Fielding. His boy was giving him a gift, and he wouldn’t cheapen that no matter how much he needed to cum. He felt the second Fielding relaxed and tentatively Fielding rocked his hips, fucking himself onto his dick.
“Can Daddy move?”
Fielding’s arms embraced him tightly, and he pressed his mouth to Fielding’s as he started to fuck his boy slowly. As he savored the heat and the pressure, his body moved in an unhurried rhythm. He took Fielding’s moans into his mouth. Kissed him with reverence until Fielding’s short nails started digging into his back. His thrusts became sharper and longer, building until he pounded into Fielding. His boy grunted with each brutal slam of his hips and the entire time he didn’t break the contact of their lips.
He opened his eyes to watch Fielding. Found his boy's eyes closed as Fielding cried. He was so close, so he took his boy’s hard, slender cock in his hand and jacked him to the pace he’d set with his hips. He lifted to watch as a scream parted Fielding’s swollen lips and then he felt the heat of cum spilling over his fingers. He slammed his hips against Fielding’s ass and ground out as he spilled his seed into the latex.
Every muscle in his body locked up as he threw his head back, shouting as he began to fuck his boy brutally until his pleasure ebbed away. He collapsed onto Fielding, buried his face against his boy’s sweaty throat, and savored the stroke of shaking hands over his back.
He arched his back, framed Fielding’s face with his hands and tenderly kissed his face as he brought his boy down until Fielding’s trembling subsided.
“Baby, you okay?”
He needed to know he hadn’t hurt his boy, that Fielding had been right there with him. The small, sweet smile and eyes shining, eased his moment of anxiety.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked.
“I didn’t want it to be anyone else but you.”
Those words tore at him, made him feel guilty, but he was in complete agreement. He didn’t want anyone else touching or loving on his boy either.
“Let’s get you cleaned up so we can get some sleep.”
Fielding nodded again. He lifted onto his knees and held onto the condom as he eased out of Fielding. He looked at Fielding’s abused little hole and stroked his thumb over it—made his boy moan. Reluctantly he crawled off the bed and took Fielding’s hand, helped his boy stand. He led him to the bathroom to get him showered and forced himself to take in every detail—he never wanted to forget the night his boy became his.
Thirteen
Death is the Best Bait
A panic attack made itself known as Livingston tightened the bulletproof vest. They’d gone over the plan a hundred times, and still, he wasn’t confident in it. Blood packs were taped to the vest with small charges to explode by remote. Pure tried to appear reassuring, but the maniacal glimmer in the man’s navy-blue eyes made him nervous. He didn’t put it past the crazy man just to hit him with one rubber bullet. They kept telling him death was the best bait in situations like this.
“You have to breathe, baby.”
He closed his eyes to focus on the gruffness of Livingston’s voice. It was the same tone Livingston used last night as he pushed him closer to the edge. Brought the memory of the first burn of Livingston’s fingers as he prepared him. He savored the fullness, the pleasure, and even the pain. His ass and cheeks were still sore from Livingston fucking and spanking him.
Every time he’d sat down the discomfort brought him back, and he didn’t want to be there. He wanted to go home. Curl up on Livingston’s lap and let his Daddy take care of him. Instead, Livingston was going to walk him across the street, and Pure was going to shoot him with a rubber bullet.
“Why am I doing this?” he asked.
“Baby, you’re going to be fine. Pure is the best sniper in the country. We’ve had our best on this, and this fucker isn’t leaving so much as a digital fingerprint on anything. Drawing him out is our only option. He needs to get sloppy and the very beautiful object of his obsession being dead or hurt is a way to do that.”
“I know that, but what if Pure misses, it’s going to hurt.”
“I’ll reward you for being a good boy.”
“Really, what will I get?” he asked as the scarred side of Livingston’s mouth pulled into a smirk.
“What does my boy want?”
“Anything?”
“Within reason, remember it’s at my discretion.”
“Do I have to answer now?”
What he wanted he knew he couldn’t have. Staying there with Livingston to try for something permanent wasn’t possible. Livingston made it clear that when they drew the stalker out that he’d let him go.
“I won’t push on this one.”
He nodded his thanks and Livingston helped him into his t-shirt. He shivered as Livingston’s big hands smoothed over his stomach, then settled on his hips.
Pure peeked into the room. “I’m going to get in position. Five minutes.” The big man practically skipped out of the room.
He shook his head as Pure disappeared. “Is it just me or is he way too happy about this?”
“Maybe a little. He gets to play with his big gun and not his little one for a change.”
He giggled and dropped his gaze. When he’d met Pure, he’d assumed the man was the normal one. That wasn’t the case. Raul stepped into the room, and there was the reason he thought Pure was odd. Even though Pure appeared normal to anyone who looked at him, the man was hopelessly in love. Raul was a cold, dangerous man, and Pure was sweet, virginal for fu
ck’s sake.
Then he mentally chided himself because wasn’t he just as bad. Livingston was dangerous, cold, and still, he couldn’t resist. The moment he saw Livingston, despite the scars and anger, he was drawn to him. It had been mere weeks, and he knew he couldn’t go back.
Calloused fingertips slipped under his chin and pushed his head up.
“What’s going on in your head?”
“I’m just nervous.”
“Lying to me will only earn you correction.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
“I can’t offer more, baby, we’ve talked about this.”
He knew it was his imagination that produced the slight sadness and regret in Livingston’s voice.
Tears slipped down his cheeks because he’d known Livingston’s answer. He should be thankful for Livingston’s honesty. Livingston didn’t tell him lies to have sex with him. It was his decision to give in, and he didn’t regret that he let Livingston be his first. If nothing else, when he went home, at least he’d have the memory to keep him going.
Did Livingston think him too naive and young? Maybe the man didn’t think Fielding could love him or anyone could love him. Livingston had his moments of being an asshole, he could be hateful, but everyone had their quirks.
“Let’s get this freak show on the road. Pure is getting impatient.”
“You need to control your boy more, Raul.”
“He ain’t mine to control, Liv, and maybe you should take your own fucking advice.” Raul’s voice had a sharpened steel edge, and the warning in it was clear.
“I’ll take care of my boy, and you take care—”
“Finish that, and I’ll knock your fucking teeth out.”
