by Daryl Banner
“Beef bubbles.” I snort against his back, shaking my head in shame. “Really, you outdo yourself.”
His chuckles echo all around us. I cling tighter to his body, my arms embracing his torso as my cock continues to grind and hump his—big, muscular hump.
My cock keeps poking at his hole, then slipping past it, over and over. The sensation of his hole as it slides over my sensitive cockhead makes my breath jagged with anticipation.
“Please,” I beg him, pressing myself against him so tightly.
The soap slips from his fist and plops onto the ground.
He glances down at it, then sheepishly looks back at me over his big shoulder. “I, uh … seriously didn’t intend to do that.”
Never mind him bending over anyway; I push my man against the shower wall and grind my slippery cock between his butt cheeks. Each time my cockhead grazes his hole, it gets that much more difficult to not shove the whole length of it inside.
“You’ve gotten really bossy,” Benjamin notes.
“I learned from the best,” I moan back, one of my soapy hands sliding down his form and slipping its way between his cheeks. I tease his hole with a finger, daring to see if it’ll slip inside.
Then, with surprising ease, it does—right to the first knuckle. Ben moans the second my finger enters him. All his back muscles flex, gleaming beautifully under the running water.
“I’m collecting my anniversary gift early,” I whisper to him, the shower taking away half my words and scattering them across the walls along with the water droplets.
“Prince Trevor is a greedy prince …”
My finger continues to stretch him, working its way in and out of his tight, slippery, smooth hole. My cock is pulsing with so much anticipation, desperate to get inside, that I feel myself leaking all over his ass as I continue to grind against him.
I kiss his backside and up his neck, relaxing him, soothing him just as he soothed me the first night he took my virginity. “You’re beautiful, Benjamin Gage.”
“I’d say the same of you,” he moans, his chest pressed against the shower wall, “if I could see you.”
“Never mind seeing me. You’re about to feel me. Every inch.”
I add another finger to the first. He’s officially humping the shower wall, his eyes rocking back and his lips parting.
“Trevor … fuck. I didn’t expect this to feel so damned good.”
“Just wait ‘til I’m inside you.”
He’s loosened so much, I’m slipping in and out easily. Almost seamlessly, I replace my fingers with my cock, and in I go.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, half a groan, half a hiss.
I start pumping him from behind. I know what he’s feeling because I’ve been on his end before, but I did not anticipate the amount of insane pleasure that I would be flooded with the instant I entered him. The tightness alone is overwhelming, how his ass squeezes and massages my cock with every pump I give him.
He returns every thrust I give him with a hump of his own. I push into his ass, and he pushes his cock against the wall.
It’s one of my favorite pastimes, having any part of me being engulfed by his ass, after all. Face. Tongues. Hands. I guess it was only a matter of time before my cock got a turn.
I pull him away from the shower wall just enough to grab hold of his slippery dick, then start to stroke it slowly at first, knowing how unfathomably hard and sensitive it is.
“Careful …” he warns. “I could blow at any second.”
“I’m counting on it,” I moan right back, my words disturbing the steam that dances in front of my face, “because I want you to blow your load the second I say.”
“You got it, boss,” answers Ben with half an evil grin, dimples popping out of his chiseled cheek.
We manage a rhythm that rocks us both into a state of ecstasy that neither of us are likely to endure for much longer. The closer I get, the closer he gets—I can tell with how his cock pulses in my hand and the unevenness of his breaths.
“Five …” I whisper. “Four …”
“I love you, Trevor.”
I keep pumping his ass with my cock and stroking him with my slippery, skillful hand. “Three …”
“Oh, God …”
“Two …”
His dick already begins to convulse, my man rushing over the brink of no return. “Trevor …”
“One,” I grunt just as my orgasm ripples through me.
We both empty ourselves at once. He cries out in bliss, his moans vibrating the shower walls as he dumps his load all over my hand and the tile below. I erupt inside him, driven crazy by the tightness of his big muscular ass. It flexes and tightens from his own orgasm against my cock, which makes my coming all the more exciting. Our orgasms must last a solid minute, for as many times as we groan and convulse against one another’s bodies.
Then we’re spent, pressed to the wall of the shower as we breathe deeply and collect ourselves. The water slowly continues to run over our bodies, cleaning us and soothing our minds.
When I pull out, Ben spins around and attacks my face, kissing me so passionately that I even feel the muscles of his jaw work.
He pulls away and stares longingly into my eyes. “I love you, Trevor Woodard. Also, happy early anniversary,” he adds with a devilish smirk.
I grin. “I love you, too, Benjamin Gage.” I give his butt a slap, then add, “But I have one more surprise.”
“Is it a cake?”
I don’t tell him another thing. We clean ourselves off under the hot, powerful spray of water, then slip out to dry. Benjamin continues to eye me suspiciously as we throw on some underwear, and by the time we lie on our bed, he looks like a petulant child who refuses to wait for Christmas morning. It’s almost adorable, his impatience when he’s the one so used to being in charge all the time. I should remember to make him wait more often.
“So?” Ben prompts me, lying across the bed and staring at me as I sit on the foot of it. “What’s this surprise?”
I smile and act cool, but really, my heart is pounding. I’m so fucking nervous. Can I do this?
“What is it??” Ben presses again.
I swallow hard, then lift my hands up and clap twice. The tiny tinkling of Lance’s collar is heard in the distance, and before ten seconds have passed, Lance pads excitedly into the room and sits on the floor in front of the bed, staring up at us expectantly.
“Aww,” sings Ben, coming up to the edge to look down at his loyal knight. “You taught him a new trick! You’re so damned good at that.”
I look over at Ben, all the humor gone from my face as I peer into his beautiful eyes. This is the moment, I coach myself.
Ben meets my eyes, notices my expression has straightened, and then his own follows suit. “What is it, babe?”
I take a breath. “This … is Lancelot’s best trick yet.”
Ben squints at me, confused, then takes another look at his dog. “Oh. His collar. It’s new. It’s …”
And then Benjamin leans forward, reaching out to inspect the charm that dangles from Lancelot’s neck. He freezes when he realizes it isn’t a charm at all.
It’s a ring.
I slip off the bed, then lower myself to one knee.
Ben’s eyes, wide and unblinking and stunned, turn to meet mine. “T-Trevor … babe …”
I unclip the ring from Lancelot’s collar, then present it with annoyingly trembling fingers.
“Oh … my … God,” Ben breathes.
I swallow again, my throat dry, my nerves tightening all over as I bring my eyes up to meet Ben’s, which are wet with emotion. “Benjamin Gage …” I start.
“You’re doing this. We’re … We’re really fuckin’ doing this …” Ben looks like he’s about to spill tears of joy or pass out before I’ve even began.
“Benjamin Gage. The day you came into my life … I’d been a total wreck.” I tighten my grip on the ring, my palms sweaty, my heart thrashing against my ribcage. “My life was totally
derailed. I couldn’t tell up from down. I lost my mind every time I saw you. And I have, ever since, been downright head-over-heels stupid for you, Benjamin … and it’s all your damned fault.”
“Oh, babe …”
“Benjamin Gage, my love … ever since that first day I saw you at the club, and then met you for the first time all over again by diving at your feet in that office … I knew it would be my fate: I’ve fallen hard for my boss.”
Ben’s lip starts trembling. For the record, I’ve never seen him like this. He doesn’t cry at movies. He doesn’t sob for anything. And this big muscular man is about to cry. He’s so undone by such a simple act as bending the knee and presenting a ring.
Who knew this would be his weakness?
“Ben, my love, my everything … will you marry me?”
He rushes off the bed so fast, Lance jumps back in surprise. Ben wraps me up in his arms and lifts me off the ground, spinning me around, then sets me down to kiss me deeply.
He pulls away just an inch to answer, “Yes,” to my face, his breath warm and wanting. “Yes, Trevor Woodard. Yes, yes, yes.”
The ring slips over his finger, a perfect fit.
And then he kisses me again, and it’s this kiss that I will, for years and years, remember.
I hope all our kisses compete relentlessly with this perfect, powerful kiss. I hope all the rest of our moments alive try with passionate fervor to compare to this one when the love of my life, Benjamin Gage, kisses me with a ring on his finger.
And I hope, from this day forward, every single breath I ever take dares to be like the one he just stole from my lungs with this kiss—wholly, tenderly, and with all his bossy, stubborn heart.
The End.
*** Did you enjoy “Hard For My Boss”? ***
Keep turning the page if you’d like to read *two* FULL novellas from my Brazen Boys series, which is a collection of nine standalone M/M romances. I’ve included both “Dorm Game” as well as “Straight Up” for your reading pleasure. I hope you enjoy them!
Happy Reading, Always!
XXOO
Daryl
DORM GAME
(Full Novella)
The Brazen Boys
Daryl Banner
Dorm Game: a Brazen Boys story
Copyright © 2015 by Daryl Banner
Published by Frozenfyre Publishing
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced
in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover & Interior Design : Daryl Banner
Cover Model : Nick Duffy
Photo of Nick Duffy by Simon Barnes
[ 1 ]
I’ve found the world’s greatest source of renewable energy, and it is horniness.
He waits for my answer. His eyes are dangerous and bright, two chips of ice in a hard, perfect as porcelain face. The devil plays on his lips and the belt hangs heavily from his right hand like a tail, a devil’s tail. It’s his belt. Somehow that makes this whole thing all the hotter. The sweat on his skin and the dim light shining from the lamp on his desk make his powerful pecs glow, smooth and shining, as he stands over my body tied down to the skinny dorm bed.
“What’s your answer, boy?”
Andrew and I are both twenty and he calls me “boy”. I told him not to do the “boy” thing when he first moved into my dorm, but Andrew isn’t the type to follow orders. He made it clear from the start: he’s in charge when we play the dorm game.
“Tell me your answer, unless you’re wanting the punishment.”
If I had known studying for tests would be this fun, I’d have had him move in the second we met.
“A,” he asks, licking his lips, “or B?”
The right answer will earn my throbbing cock a few teasing, pleasurable strokes from his strong and all-too-clever fingers. The wrong answer …
“R-Read the question again?” I beg.
His eyes narrow. Andrew looks so sexy when his eyes narrow. Especially wearing nothing but those loose, acid-washed jeans sagged just enough to show the black waistband of his boxers, the brand printed in giant green block letters across it. With a voice as hard and unforgiving as iron, he repeats the question patiently to me. He knows how deeply I’m breathing without even listening. I’d swear he even knows my heart rate, my thoughts. He knows the answer in my jagged sighs and can tell whether it’s reward or punishment I crave. His strong jaw working to produce the words of the question, I’m distracted by the beauty of this boy I’ve let into my life, this boy who drips sexuality. He sweats and I’m horny. He rubs a spot on his shoulder and I’m hard in an instant. I’ve wanted Andrew for so long and now I have him.
Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say, he has me. Fastened to a bed, at his total mercy, it’s pretty fucking clear I’m not going anywhere.
The question is about the names of bones in the hand. It makes me wonder about the bones in my hand; the knee-length soccer socks he uses to tie me up constrict my wrists, cramping them in a strangely pleasurable way. I wonder, for as many times as we’ve done this, why the bones in my hand haven’t broken from my pulling on them to escape his playful fingers and less playful lashes.
“A,” I choose when he’s finished.
He smiles coolly, then flips the flashcard. I see the answer circled. “Correct,” he announces, then tosses the flashcard aside like nothing. The belt hanging from one hand, he lazily reaches the other toward my cock, and when the fingers squeeze to claim it, I suck in air. He strokes it once. He strokes it twice, then lets go.
“Don’t stop,” I beg, but I know better than to beg. My every ounce of pleasure is allowed or denied by his frisky hands. Literally. I’m starving to death and my cruel friend offers me crumbs. Why do the appetizers make me so much hornier than the actual meal? But this is who Andrew is and who I’ve become, and we are both expert players of the dorm game.
Casually, he brings the next card to his face. “Ah,” he mumbles. “A question about … arms.”
“I like arms,” I say, wriggling against the binds.
“Oh?” He presses his lips together, clenching, then bends his arms into a perfect double-bicep pose. His veins pop. He grunts. “Like these ones?”
He does this on purpose. Knowing I can’t reach my cock, that I can’t jerk myself off while looking at his perfect baseballs-for-biceps … It’s agonizing.
“I want to cum so bad,” I breathe.
He drops his arms and laughs at me. “Fourteen more to go,” he says, “and then we’ll consider it.”
[ 2 ]
Andrew’s always enjoyed being in control. I met him in an Intro to Psychology class last year when we were sophomores. The prof was a total pushover and half the students slept, even in the front row, but the sight of Andrew kept me awake every day. He’d always sit near the side, elbows propped on the desk so I’d get this delicious view of his flexed triceps and back muscles most of the hour. The way his shirts fit tightly against his back, sucking on his arms, painting his traps and bulged shoulders, I’d find myself nursing a secret hard-on so often that I can count on my hand the amount of classes I wasn’t hard.
It became an obsession pretty quick. I would make sure to get to class super early just so I could excitedly anticipate him arriving. I’d sit in my desk and watch the door like a dog. The rustling of clothes and side conversations happening all around me were bothersome because it all tried to distract me from the sight of Andrew walking into class. When at last he arrived, I’d clench the edge of my desk—my hands
already plenty sweaty—and study what he was wearing. Another tight shirt of some color or another. Tight jeans he squeezed his powerful thighs and thick jock butt into. I wondered what he did in high school. Was he a walking football quarterback wet dream? Cocky captain of the wrestling team? Bored too-much-time-on-his-hands weightlifter? Bully with four older brothers he had to grow stronger than?
Too soon, the class always ended, and all my classmates scattered like my memory of half the lesson I was supposed to be paying attention to. One of these countless days, I found a speck of courage and did what any normal person would do when consumed by a classroom crush.
I stalked him. As I didn’t have another class for three hours, and I was miserably obsessed with Andrew, I went in the same direction he did, which was basically opposite of my dorm where I would otherwise be headed. Seemed his next destination was the math building, not far from the psych hall. I kept my distance and, moments after he went in, I then followed. I was certain he didn’t know I was on his sexy tail.
Once in the building, I saw him disappear into the first auditorium, then realized that, in fact, I did not want to sit through an hour-long algebra class. Also, I was sorta creeping myself out with all this stalking. Feeling a stroke of panic lance down my arms, I gripped my backpack and turned on my heel, vacating the math building for good.
I shouldn’t make a habit of this, I realized. People do not like to be followed. But for the next hour, I found myself helplessly glued to a bench near the exit of the math building. I was pretending to enjoy the sunshine, pretending to catch up on the last psych chapter, but every five seconds I’d glance up at the doors, wondering if I might catch Andrew leaving them. Every person that pushed through the door sent a jolt of excitement through me, even when it turned out not to be him.
Then suddenly, it was him.
I casually gathered my things and began to follow. Again. What the actual fuck am I doing? I continued down the path many, many, many paces behind him, and discovered with relief that he seemed to be headed to the food court. Just so happened, I was hungry as a motherfuck.
