Cross Island

by Santino Hassell

  He rolled his eyes. “Something like that. To put it bluntly, I appreciate how much you want me. I appreciate how well you communicate. So, yes, I’m all for spending time with you even after you’re reassigned.”

  “Spending time that includes fucking.”

  This time, he laughed out loud, the sound deep and rich enough to fill the room and warm me from the inside out. There was something special about witnessing Clive showing his happiness. He rarely showed signs of it, or admitted to it, and I felt privileged to see him laugh and smile. That I’d caused it just made my chest tighten and my stomach flip in a way I hadn’t experienced in ages. Since my early teenage years, back when Raymond had spared me a grin or a nod. Or the first time Shawn had touched me. The first time I’d said the words “I’m gay” without feeling the need to duck my head out of paranoia.

  I could remember the handful of moments in my life when I’d felt truly happy, and this was one of them.

  “Victor, you are a joy.” Clive wiped a hand over his face, smoothing his tiny grin away. What was left was the intense narrow-eyed stare of a man who wanted to eat me alive. “Now take off your clothes.”

  I was stripping before it occurred to me that I could play hard to get. I’d thought about it the other night when we’d once again taken up sparring—that I could egg him on a little bit, be kinda bratty and insolent until he lost patience and got forceful. I’d played through those scenarios late at night with my dick in my hand, but now in the moment? I had zero patience for games.

  He wanted me naked, and I wanted to be naked for him. Done.

  With him watching from beneath his lashes while he idly stroked himself through his pants, I tossed my shirt to the side, kicked off my Timberlands, and stepped out of my jeans. Within seconds, I was standing in front of him in the toasty hotel room wearing nothing but my scarred and inked skin and a pair of black boxer briefs.

  “Come here, Victor.”

  I crossed the short distance between us and stood between his spread thighs.

  “Take my clothes off,” he said softly. “And don’t fuck them up.”

  It would be kind of hard to fuck up jeans and a sweater, but Clive was funny about every belonging he owned. He folded everything precisely and organized his belongings like his room would be inspected later. Luckily, living with my tio in Chicago had me on that same page. Not taking my eyes off his, I got to my knees and went to work.

  Every article of clothing came off slowly and carefully under his watchful and heated gaze. Yeah, this was probably absurd, but Clive’s brand of absurdity had me wired. I was willing to do anything he wanted me to do. What I felt when he laid his hands on me, without a hint of self-doubt and shame, was worth it.

  And I wasn’t about to lie—I liked him playing boss man. I liked it when he ordered me around. I absolutely loved the sight of his swollen dick straining against the fly of his jeans, trying to burst out as if it couldn’t wait to get down my throat.

  The process of sliding off his shoes, his jeans, then his sweater, was so slow that I was dizzy and overheated by the time he was in his briefs. They were white, and the fabric was slightly translucent from dampness. Groaning, I leaned in to lick that spot.

  “So fucking eager,” Clive whispered, threading his fingers through my hair. He spread his muscular thighs wider all while massaging my scalp. “I was gonna suck you this time, but is this what you want?”

  I inhaled deep, eyes rolling back at how good he smelled. My tongue slid over the length of his dick, covered by cotton but still tasting just as delicious.

  “Talk to me, Vic.” Clive pulled my hair, forcing me to look up. “Tell me what you want for your birthday.”

  “I…” My mouth went dry, but I wet it as he looked on with pure lust. He tended to bite his lower lip when he was turned on, which happened to be a good chunk of time we spent in close quarters in the safe confines of his home. Outside of that dynamic, without the stalker and the security cameras and the questions, he looked even more enraptured. With me. My body. My beat-up face. My desire to have him own me. “I want your dick in me,” I said hoarsely. “In my ass. And I want to watch you fuck me again.”

  Clive’s smile was wicked. “You liked that, did you? Seeing that big dick go in and out of your ass?”

  A shudder tore through me. “Yeah. I don’t like it on my knees with my face pressed down. I wanna see you. In me.” I licked my lips, nerves seizing me at the last moment of this X-rated confession. “Maybe it’s weird but—”

  “Victor.” Clive leaned forward abruptly and grabbed hold of my chin. He yanked me towards him, so close I could smell his aftershave. “You are far more adjusted than you think. I’ve fucked a lot of down low closet cases. It’s about seventy five percent of who I pick up in Whitestone.” He kissed me lightly between the last few words. “And most of those types like the lights off when I have my dick in them, doggy style, because they want to feel me hit their sweet spot, but they can’t stand to see it happen in real time.”

  My lip curled. “They don’t deserve your dick then.”

  “Exactly.” He bit my lower lip until I stopped snarling. “I get why they are the way they are for the most part, but you’re not in the same category. There is no need for you to worry. So stop being insecure and get the lube so I can fuck you until you black out.”

  I nearly broke my neck trying to turn and grab for the tube he’d set down earlier. He snorted at my attempts to reach it without standing up, so I got him back by stripping off my briefs so he could see my ass while I walked away. I turned back to the couch to find his underwear around his ankles and his meat in his hand, so hard and long that my ass clenched in anticipation. I gave my own dick a couple of pumps, which turned into me standing between his thighs and us staring each other down as we jerked off.

  I’d not touched myself in front of another person since those nights with Shawn. It was hotter than I remembered. The temperature rose even higher when I straddled Clive, took the initiative, and pressed our cocks together.

  Clive tilted his head back and spread his arms along the back of the couch as I jacked us together while pressing my face into the crook of his neck. I shifted on his lap, hamstrings flexing and aching.

  “You wanna ride me?” Clive wrapped an arm around me and reached down to splay his hand across my ass. He pulled the cheeks apart before sliding one long finger down the seam of my ass. “Bounce this beautiful ass on my cock until I’m in you deep?”

  “Fuck yeah,” I panted against his neck. I leaned up just a bit so I could lower myself onto the crown of his dick. It brushed my hole, and I rocked against it hungrily without taking it fully inside. “Come on, Clive. Don’t play games. It’s my birthday and all that.”

  “And all that.” He cracked his hand against one of my ass cheeks. “But you’re doing it wrong.”

  “How?”

  Clive rubbed his hand over the cheek he’d just slapped. “Reverse your position. Since you like the sight of this cock sliding in and out of you so much, you’re gonna ride me facing the window so you can see our reflections.”

  My mouth dropped open, a low sound falling from it. Without thinking, I grabbed my dick and stroked it as his dark eyes drilled into my own. The filthiest smile I’d ever seen on a person outside of my nastiest fantasies slid over his face.

  “Anyone in that building across the street who happens to look through that window might see you getting pounded in all your gorgeous tattooed glory.” Clive’s voice wavered at the very end. He wet his lips. “Are you ready for that, Victor? For some stranger to potentially watch you get fucked?”

  “I don’t care,” I panted, still lightly rubbing myself against the slick head of his cock. “Just do it.”

  Clive squeezed my ass again. “Then turn around and fuck yourself onto me.”

  It was a clumsy effort. I awkwardly climbed off him, jittery and breathing heavily, before trying to arrange myself on his lap. He was thick thighed and broad, so reverse
straddling him took some effort. I had it down by the time he was slipping on a condom and lubing up. I reached back to hold onto the sofa for balance once he was sliding into my body.

  Just like the last time, he started slow—probably worrying about hurting me. But just like before, I didn’t give a single damn about a few seconds of pain. I’d felt worse, and the sensation of sinking onto him and being so full? Of his thick piece surging through my resistance when he bucked his hips to get in deeper? I could get drunk on it. I was drunk on it, and that prompted me to slam myself down on him with a groan.

  I leaned back, stretching my body and putting it on full display for anyone who might look through our window in the next high rise over. My skin burned at the very idea of someone seeing this show, but it also had me drunk with excitement. Our reflections were clear as day on our side of the glass—my legs folded on either side of him, my dick slapping against my stomach, and him moving faster and faster until he was hammering into me in a way that made me lose focus.

  I opened my eyes just enough to watch our bodies move together, and damn we looked hot. For a dizzying moment, I wanted someone to see our muscular bodies pressed together and tangled up. I wanted someone to see how glassy eyed and flushed I got while meeting each thrust with a stuttered moan. Being totally void of shame or worry about being fucked this thoroughly by someone as sexy and powerful as Clive was almost as breathtaking as the feel of his dick rubbing against my sweet spot.

  “God,” I whispered. “Keep doing that.”

  “This?” He sunk lower on the couch, seemed to get more leverage, then clamped one big hand on my hip. He gave me the reach around with the other then lifted his hips harder. He notched his cock against my sweet spot at just the right angle to make me shout. “That’s what you wanted, Victor?”

  I started nodding because there were explosions going off in front of my eyes, and coherent thought had been knocked from my head. The sensation of being screwed into a mindless animal only intensified with the louder slap of his hips hitting against my ass as we moved together.

  “Say it,” he growled, fisting my dick and tugging. “Tell me.”

  “Fuck, yeah, like that.” My eyes rolled back as he sawed in and out of me so deep that I felt like it was bound he rip me open. But if something was tearing, it had to be the right kind of destruction, because it felt impossibly good. He could be killing me right now, and I’d beg for more because my entire body was gearing up for a powerful release. “More,” I said through harsh ragged breaths. My legs shook on either side of him, but he kept guiding me down faster. “I’m gonna lose it, I swear, it’s too fucking good.”

  “Lose it for me.” Clive pumped my cock with intent. I could feel him smirking against the side of my sweaty neck. “Come on, Victor. Bust a nut for our audience. Let them see how much you love getting my dick, and how little you care that they can see it.”

  “Oh shit.” Fire built in my gut, and the trembling worsens. “Yeah, yeah—”

  “They can see how hard you are just from being filled up,” he panted roughly. “How much you wish I could breed this fucking ass.”

  “I do,” I groaned. “I want it. Fucking do it.”

  Clive groaned against my neck, agonized and desperate. “Goddamn it, Victor.”

  “Do it. Do whatever you want to me. I don’t care as long as you don’t stop fucking me.”

  The words were pouring out of my mouth at that point. A stream of brainless nonsense as I drifted to the same haze where nothing existed but our bodies being connected and the pleasure that exploded inside of me with each stroke and thrust. Every sensation tripled as my orgasm approached like a freight train, fast and powerful enough to flatten me. I became hyper aware of his hands gripping me tight, his smooth face pressed against my scarred one, and sweat drenching both our bodies.

  I never wanted it to end. I never wanted him to pull out of me, but I threw my head back and came with a shout. My mouth was still gaping and my eyes squeezed shut when he held onto my thighs and yanked me down onto his dick at a frantic pace.

  I felt it the moment his body locked up and his cock throbbed inside me, but instead of coming, Clive shoved me forward. Stumbling, I just managed to get my bearings before he twisted me around so I was on my back on the couch. Chest heaving, and face twisted, Clive ripped off his condom and jacked himself twice before coming all over me.

  “Hell yeah,” I whispered, watching in awe as he went to pieces right in front of me. His eyes rolled back, and he released a series of throaty moans while striping me with his cream. “What do I have to do to get it in me?”

  Clive inhaled deeply. He squeezed his shaft again before hanging onto the side of the couch. “Get tested, we show each other results, and then you can have as much as you want.”

  “Bet.”

  Unexpectedly, he burst out laughing. I raised an eyebrow, and he laughed harder.

  “Really? I say I’m gonna get a special test just so you can bust in my ass, and you start chuckling?”

  Clive popped his tongue into the side of his mouth, still grinning, and shook his head. He straddled me this time and sat on my thighs. “Something came over me.”

  I arched my other eyebrow and gestured at my stomach and chest. He laughed again, and this time I smiled in response.

  “Weirdo.”

  “I am,” he admitted. “But more importantly—are you okay? Not too much?”

  “Definitely not. If we still have this place in a little while—”

  “You don’t rent the Four Seasons by the hour, Victor,” he said, snickering again.

  “All right then, good. I expect more dick after I take a bath in that lux tub.”

  Clive tilted his head. We observed each other with bleary post-orgasm fondness before he leaned down to brush his lips against my forehead. “Bet.”

  Cross Island, ch 17

  Chapter Seventeen

  Victor

  We’d wound up spending the entire weekend at the hotel.

  Then, when Sunday morning rolled around, and I’d woken up to room service hand selected by my wanna-be sugar daddy, I’d repaid him with a drawn-out blow job. He’d responded by calling the front desk to pay for another day.

  Clive calling out of work on a Monday morning had blown my mind. The fact that we’d spent the entirety of Sunday fucking and making out? I was on overdrive trying to figure out what it all meant by the time we headed back to Whitestone.

  I drove while he sat next to me and rubbed my thigh. When he wasn’t frowning down at his phone, he was looking at me. I’d never had anyone pay me so much attention, or touch me with so much affection, and I spent the entire car ride trying to figure out how enraged I’d be when he went back to Grindr.

  You’re his bodyguard, not his boyfriend.

  The reminder hit me upside the head over and over. Then it faded when he started idly rubbing my dick when we got stuck in traffic right after entering Queens. We were only about twenty minutes from the house, but an accident had us trapped under an overpass while we sat at a complete standstill.

  “Waze says we’re stuck for a few,” I said, going for professional but sounding gravelly.

  “Seems like good timing.” Clive ran his fingers along the swell of my erection. “Would you mind if I play with your dick until we get home?”

  Until we get home.

  I’d started snagging onto key phrases like that ever since we’d spent a few days sharing a bed.

  “We’re in a car,” I said uselessly. “With a million people around us.”

  “A car with a suspiciously dark tint.” Clive kept stroking me while gazing at me with a half-smile. “You’ve done a good job humoring me this weekend. Why not do it one more time?”

  “Humoring you? The fuck?”

  He snorted and walked his fingers further up to the fly of my jeans. “Here’s an unsolicited confession for you: when I was with Michael, I always wanted him to spend a weekend holed up with me, or to play hooky and hav
e a sex-filled snow day.”

  “And he didn’t ‘humor you’?”

  “Not even once.”

  Irritation built in me at Michael. I’d always given him the benefit of the doubt despite Clive’s bitterness, but now I was starting to see why he was so resentful. “He wasted your time.”

  “Yeah, he did.”

  “But I’m not humoring you,” I continued. “Believe me, the fact that you wanted to spend your weekend with my dumbass—”

  Clive’s hand stilled, and he gave me a look so cold the inside of the car got frosty.

  “—with me,” I corrected, shaking my head. “Had me feeling actual feelings.”

  “Oh really.” Clive tugged at my fly until he undid the button one handed. “Such as?”

  “Confusion. Pity that I’m your only option…” Clive yanked his hand back, and I burst out laughing. “I’m kidding. I swear. Don’t get pissed.”

  “Then don’t piss me off. I’m trying to fondle your dick in a moving vehicle, and you’re trying to trigger my rage.”

  We were barely moving, but I wasn’t about to correct him. Not when he was giving me that sexy-as-hell pissed off face while returning his hand to my fly. By the time traffic outright stopped as emergency vehicles blared their sirens up ahead, Clive had my jeans totally undone and my dick out as he kissed me breathless.

  I’d put the car in park since we weren’t going anywhere, anyway, and now I spread my thighs as wide as I could so he could touch me. His hands had been all over me all weekend, but him slowly jerking me off while giving me passionate kisses in a car, in the middle of traffic, where anyone could peer into the windshield and see… Damn.

  I was starting to think after all these years of hiding, I had an exhibitionist kink. Just the idea of someone seeing Clive kissing down my throat and over my open coat to get to my cock was a thrill. He wasn’t trying to fuck me discreetly and keep it hush-hush like Shawn—who’d never failed to remind me that I was just a willing hole. Clive would probably bang me out in the open where anyone could see him claim my ass if it wasn’t illegal.