The moonlight illuminated the ghost of lashes trembling against his cheek. His rabbit-quick heart beat against my lips, hammering in time with my own. His hips began to rock faster in invitation. I dropped my hands lower, tracing the carved edge of flesh that led into the waistband.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Anything,” Peter gasped evasively. He didn’t push my head as I expected, though his fingers relaxed and tightened in my hair until the gelled strands softened in his grasp.
“Tell me,” I repeated. I wasn’t going to be satisfied unless he had asked me for something. I’d prefer begging.
“Austin?”
“Peter,” I said, smiling evilly while plucking teasingly at the button of his shorts. He moved fluidly, propping up on his elbows. I almost lost it when his lip disappeared between his teeth. Then I recognized the crinkling of his eyes. In that second an intrinsic puzzle piece locked in place.
Peter wasn’t shy. He wasn’t being coy or seductive. In Peter’s world, everyone wrested a price for an action. Peter was calculating what price I would extract and deciding if he could pay it. He never asked for anything for himself because he was already paying for everyone else.
It was on the tip of my tongue to reassure him that this was as much for me as it was for him, but it wasn’t. I was nervous, inexperienced and knee-buckling scared. I hid it well because he was so damn fucking hot that my brain kept firing synapses to the area that controlled my cock. Fear had a tight grip on my emotions. Standing in the middle of a parking lot wasn’t helping matters. The feel of his skin against my palms; the subtle trembles he couldn’t hide; the way his chest heaved from being overly aroused, all that did a lot to maintain my erection. Barely. My heart beat erratically, not only from arousal or the public display we were putting on; I was wholly terrified to take that last step. There wasn’t a drop more of denial available after tonight.
“No strings, Peter.” It hurt to say those words. I wanted strings. Strings and chains and possibly glue. Superglue. Triple-bonding, weapons-grade epoxy.
It wasn’t the acceptance of a blow job stopping Peter. It was the asking for it. And, more specifically, it was me he had to ask.
I waited, patiently.
His eyes flickered. The blue disappeared in a spill of black, and the tip of his tongue curled up to lick his front teeth. “Suck my dick, Austin.”
Gay Sex Three, Straight Sex Nil
When those words computed, I would have testified in court that my cock jumped in an attempt to escape my zipper.
Taking a deep breath, I glanced around us, checking to make sure there wasn’t a group of videographers ready to upload our tryst into Internet infamy. I heard music a street over; it faded quickly, and the hush of the dark morning settled back around us. Sweat pooled in the small of my back and trickled down my neck. I took a deep breath of summer air and reached for his shorts.
My body refused to allow me a suave, steady hand for my first blow job. He was wearing my shorts. Shorts I was familiar with. And my fucking fingers were behaving like chopsticks. I shakily fumbled with the small plastic button, and I accidentally—on purpose—twisted it off in frustration and then went for the zipper.
To my ears, the zipper was audible in space. Peter’s breath held, his stomach still and tense. Either he was anticipating what was coming, or his zipper was really loud. I met his eyes.
Anticipating. He was definitely anticipating.
His tongue poked between his teeth, daring me. I held his gaze while slowly pulling his boxers down. He lifted his hips, bringing the heat from his body closer to my face. I shuddered a breath and scooted the boxers down to his thighs. He lowered back to the car. My hands made a shaky trek over dips and curve of his hips, stopping when I felt the tip of his cock brush the edge of my thumb. I looked down.
As much as I wanted this—fantasized in vivid detail about the feel and the taste of him—it took serious resolve to wrap my hand around his cock.
The feel was familiar, and that took the edge off my anxiety. It also helped that I was aroused. Excruciatingly so. My tongue rolled along the top of my mouth, anticipating the slide of velvet skin and slick of precome. It wasn’t the nine inches every gay ad peddled—for which I was grateful. The length was still a problem, though. More than six in—
“Did you forget the lyrics?”
“Huh?”
His mouth tilted in a smirk. “If you’re going to break into song, we’re going to get arrested.”
I checked my position, realized I’d been standing there with my mouth half open, holding his dick like it was a microphone. “I’m deciding how this works.”
“The word ‘suck’ should give you a clue.”
My eyes never left his cock. “This relationship can only take one smartass if it’s going to survive.” Pornos and previous blow jobs were all I had to go by. They montaged in my head, trying to give me instructions. Lick the base. Slowly slide the tip of my tongue along his shaft on the way to rimming the head. Fondle the balls. Pump the shaft.
Too many instructions.
A single, clear drop glistened in the slit. My mouth watered. Start there, my brain told me. Right fucking there.
His smirk grew. “I—” My tongue dipped into the slit before my mouth closed around the head of his cock. Whatever he was going to say was lost in the hiss of breath pulled through his teeth.
I sucked hard, hollowing out my cheeks and drawing a long, “Fuck,” from Peter. Swirling my tongue over the tip, I twisted my hand at the base, stroking up.
His head tipped back. “Fuck,” he whispered again. “Oh, fuck.”
My heart was nearly wrecked from the speed of its beat. His pulse was beating just as raggedly along the vein my tongue nestled against. It suddenly became less about slot A with tab B, and more about making Peter moan louder, jerk his hips like that, catch his breath, bite his lip.
In the heat of the moment, I spat on his cock, breath toying with the wet head, attempting a porn-quality blow job. I held his hips, swallowing more of his length, no hesitation, seeing how much I could take. When my gag reflex kicked in, the rhythm changed. It became a slow bob up and down, wetter and wetter, teasing, screwing with him, until, with every breath, he gasped out a curse.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He fell gently back onto the hood, knee tensing under my hand. “I’m gonna come.” I ignored the warning, grabbed hold of the base again and pumped, lips sealed around his cock. I winced internally, preparing for the taste of come. This was for him, I reminded myself. His fingers clenched in my hair and yanked back hard. My mouth slid off with a wet pop just as his body tensed, air exploding from his lungs like gunfire. He held my face still against the tip, come spilling onto my mouth and chin. The strong scent soared through my nostrils. He shuddered the rest of his breaths, hand dropping from my hair.
His orgasm was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.
Before I could say something witty, like “Nngh”, he sat up, grabbing my hair again. I watched, mesmerized as he squeezed his cock dry, pressed a wet thumb into my lips and smeared the come on my mouth and cheek. My eyes widened as he moved in for a kiss.
His breath heated my lips. “Lick it off.” It was a taste I’d have to get used to. It was definitely not ambrosia, but the way Peter stared at me intently while I licked my lips clean was. I wasn’t sure what to feel, other than…claimed. I obviously liked it, my cock was hard enough to drill concrete.
I wiped the rest away with my sleeve and leaned in to his mouth. “Going to pee on me next?”
He licked the remaining come off the underside of my lip and fed it to me with his tongue. My cock called a timeout, begging for mercy. “Only if that’s what you’re into. Not my thing,” he said, sucking at my chin while unbuttoning my pants. All functioning was centered below my waist, so it took a moment for my brain to catch up to his actions.
“No strings,” I reminded him, a gentle hand on his wrist.
He bent forward whisperin
g in my ear. “Unless I want them.” My pants fell to my ankles.
A sauna couldn’t stop my shiver. “Do you?”
He didn’t answer. “Leave your jacket on.” He pulled down my briefs to mid-thigh. “I have a price tonight.”
“It wasn’t coming on my face like we were shooting a scene from Peter Does Austin?”
He grinned, unbuttoning my shirt. I loved that he got my sense of humor—or attempted humor. “You look good in my spunk.”
“Not swallowing it?” We apparently were going to go for round two. Outside. In the parking lot. Fucking nuts.
“Not as sexy.”
“Not as dominating, you mean.”
“That too.”
“I’m not into the dom/sub thing.”
He shrugged. “Me either. I just like…”
“Taking charge?” I arched a brow.
He grinned wider and pulled my shirt apart, dragging it and my jacket over my shoulders. Curling my tie around one fist, he gripped my cock with the other. “You like it.”
I did. Public sex, too, it seemed. I looked around, cautiously. Empty alley. Dark windows in the distance. Crickets chirped, a horn honked from a few streets over. Other than that, the city was silent. Or, maybe I was so wrapped in Peter, I didn’t notice much else.
“Brace yourself.” He jerked the tie and pulled me into a kiss. In situations like this, one always had a choice. Mine was to obey or topple over. Obeying included his wet, warm lips against mine. Obeying included his tongue plunging into my mouth. Obeying included his hand stroking my cock. All in all, obeying was the first and best choice. Not just the only one.
He released me to cup my jaw and pulled back. “I want to watch you get off.”
I opened my eyes and blinked the fog away. “Huh?”
“Jerk off. Masturbate. Stroke your cock ‘til you come.”
“I get it,” I interrupted the string of euphemisms. “Christ, you’re bossy.”
“And you’re blushing.”
“I’m not blushing,” I lied. “I’m aroused. I want to fuck you. And it’s hot out here.”
“You blushing is hot.” He pulled his shirt over his head and flung it on the hood before dragging my hand to my cock. I gripped and started my practiced strokes. The fingers that fumbled at the newness of pleasuring him were now on their home turf. He leaned back on his hands, displaying his chest while he watched. I concentrated on that scenery to avoid his eyes. And so he couldn’t see the embarrassment in mine.
It didn’t take long for my orgasm to build. Not with the moonlight soaking into his pale skin, detailing each crease and outline in his muscled stomach. And not with him slowly stroking his cock back to life. When he stuck a finger into his mouth and sucked like it was a straw in a thick milkshake, I closed my eyes and tried to control my breathing.
I was so focused on my task I didn’t realize he’d sat up again until I felt his hot breath along my ear. “Fucking hot.” He kissed my jaw slowly and hovered over my lips. Our eyes met. Were my pupils that dilated? So black only a sliver of color remained at the edges? “Are you close?”
I nodded. “Do…I get…a prize?” I asked, feeling his hand brush against mine. I waited for him to take over the stroking.
“Uh-huh.” Fucker was smiling as he slipped a finger into my ass.
He swam out of focus at the first knuckle. My hand stuttered. By the second knuckle I was dizzy with the need to come. My stroking intensified. When his finger crooked, I choked out a cry. “Shit.”
“Please don’t.”
“Jok-ah-ing? Now?”
God. God. God. The words became a chant as he pushed in again, hard and fast.
“Beg for more.”
“More,” I panted out. He added a second finger and fucked into me over and over. His voice was low, whispering things against my lips. I felt his breaths, but his words were drowned out by the thump of my pulse.
My eyes slammed shut, a blurred myriad of dots dancing against the curtain of black. His pace accelerated in time with my approaching climax. I dug my nails into the car’s paint as I tensed and came hard, gasping out an explosive breath.
I stood, legs quaking, gulping in air, rivulets of sweat racing down my cheek and over my nose. I shook and flexed my aching hand.
“Now that, Austin, was hot.”
I opened my eyes to Peter’s soft, satisfied smile. Closed them as he pulled out of me and prayed to God—who I’d probably just pissed off in my litany of blasphemy—that I wasn’t blushing.
I rolled my eyes as they opened. “I aim to please,” I said with more air than voice.
“Bend over and spread, in that case.” He wrapped his arms around my neck and softly kissed the sweat from my lips. I mumbled something nonsensical and quickly lost the English language as his tongue stole it away.
We were breathing heavily by the time we broke apart and looked down. His shorts were stained with my come, and his hips and thighs glistened with the same DNA. My pants were lying flaccid around my ankles. Both of us smelled like a locker room, and neither of us made a move to get dressed.
“We should go inside,” I said.
“We should rent a room,” he countered.
The thought had merit, but, “Cai’s release depends on my staying here.”
He sighed, lifting his hips and pulling his shorts up. I heard the zipper as I bent to retrieve my pants. “Where’s the button?”
“It was poorly sewn on,” I muttered, jerking both underwear and pants up. My waistband hit the edge of my ass, reminding me of the stitches. The lack of pain was a surprise. “I think your come cured my pain.”
“Magic come. I should sell it.”
I glared at him and merely cavemanned a response. He tilted his head in consideration, lips flicking between his teeth. “What,” I asked at his scrutiny.
“No one’s been jealous with me like you.”
“Iss wasn’t jealous?” I asked incredulously.
He hopped off the car. “No, I mean no one is jealous in the way that you are jealous.”
I was buttoning my shirt while we talked, but stopped at that. “I’m not—” There wasn’t any way to deny it. Why bother? He took over the buttoning in an odd parody of the day before. I watched him with a smile. “You know I’m taking this off in about five minutes, right?”
“You know the FBI is probably inside on your couch, right? Anyhow, I like that you’re not…possessive.”
“Like hell I’m not,” I said.
“Okay.”
I exhaled in exasperation. Everything was ‘okay’ with him.
“Do you think you’re in love with me, Austin?”
“Yes,” I answered automatically, then reversed it after several seconds of stunned silence. “No!” I rubbed my aching chest and began to snatch papers off the ground. He was stone for all the movement he made. Fuck. Fucking. Fuck. What the fuck did I just say? “I’m not in love with you.” I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Flinging the back gate open, I strode quickly to the front door, only to struggle with the handle. His footsteps echoed behind me moments later.
“Austin—”
“Shut the fuck up, Peter.” I whirled around to face him, teeth raw from being clenched. “Just shut up. You don’t love me. I don’t love you. No one loves anyone.”
His eyes were filled with pity. “You’re so fucked up,” he said.
“What the fuck do you know? You’re a wh—” Goddammit!
The door opened. I pushed past a startled Darryl, slamming the papers on the end table and booked it upstairs.
The Truth Sucks. And It Is Awesome.
I didn’t even have time to pace more than four steps before he came in and shut the door, leaning against it.
“Are you in love with me?” I asked, grinding my nails into my palms.
“Yes,” he said simply. “But not yet.”
I gaped at him. “Oh, fuck you and your inscrutability, Peter.” I jerked off my jacket and yanked at my tie.<
br />
“I wasn’t trying to be— Fuckit. What do you want me to say? That after a week and half I can’t live without you? Be reasonable.”
“Reasonable? I can’t even spell that fucking word since I met you.”
“Here are the facts, Austin. You’ve been engaged four times. You’ve cheated on every single one of them.” Fuck the fucking newspapers and their biased articles about me. “You’re cruel sometimes and superficial and spoiled and really fucked up emotionally. You talk about my being inscrutable, but you treat nothing as if it matters to you. Something terrible happens? You make a joke and shrug it off. You feel too much? You get angry and lash out at me. So no, I’m not in love with you. I’m fighting it every fucking step! I just wish I could stop it.”
Chapter Nineteen
He Loves Me. He Loves Me N— Fuck This.
“If it helps, Austin, I don’t believe you’re in love with me.” I said nothing. “I told you what I liked best about you was the way you jumped into whatever decisions you make. But it’s also your worst fault.”
“You’ve decided you’re gay,” he continued, “and now you’re determined to live that way. I’m the easy fallback so you don’t have to question that decision. Just like you don’t question any other decision once it’s made. When things start to fall apart, you don’t retreat, you barrel on. There’s only two scenarios for the people in your way. We get knocked aside, or we watch you splinter apart.”
“I can see how it’d be difficult to fight loving the guy you’re describing,” I said. “What’s not to love about an emotionally stunted, single-minded, reckless, unthinking guy like me?” Tearing the tie from my neck, I whipped it to the floor alongside my jacket and exited to the bathroom with a hard slam of the door.
Love? Why did I go there? Why did I think Peter would be right beside me when I chose that route? By all rights love, to me, was a fairy tale. Who had I ever truly loved besides Jesse? Dave, and to some extent, Angelica, maybe?
Shattered Glass Page 29
