by Todd Gregory
I don’t know anything, I reminded myself. Jean-Paul taught me nothing, nothing at all, about being what I am now, what he created of me. Why was he so careless ?
I vaguely became aware of someone walking up behind me, but I didn’t turn and look. Whoever it was came around the bench and sat down next to me. “Are you okay?” a male voice said softly. A warm hand came down on my bare shoulder.
The contact sent an electric shock through me.
I turned my head and was more than a little startled to see Quentin sitting there. He had put on a pair of khaki shorts and a blue tank top, and he was slouching down, his legs spread out widely in front of him. A gold cross on a gold chain hung around his neck. “What are you doing here?” I asked, not quite sure I was completely comfortable to be alone with him—even in public. He seemed to ooze sensuality, and I could make out his nipples through the cotton of his tank top. They were hard.
“I saw you walking,” he explained, slouching down a few more inches on the bench. “I like sitting out on my balcony, and I saw you. You seemed upset about something, so I came down. I saw you walking across the square, and I followed you here.” His knee brushed lightly against mine, and I again felt that strange electrical current pass from his skin to mine.
“Why would you care?” I asked, shifting slightly away from him on the bench. The last thing I needed right then was to be hit on by the twin of the witch who’d almost killed me two years earlier.
Even if he was incredibly sexy . . . even though I wanted him to hit on me, I knew this was a mistake. I knew I should probably just get up and walk back to the house, sit inside dutifully and listen to Rachel play the piano while we both waited for Nigel to come back.
He shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t, but for some reason I do. I can’t explain it. If you want me to go away and leave you alone, I will.”
“No,” I said automatically, without pausing to think. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I find watching the river to be incredibly calming,” he replied. “I like to come down here whenever I need to think, sort things out, you know? I think maybe it’s because no matter what happens to me, this river is going to keep flowing by here, just like it always has. The river is eternal.” He smiled at me shyly. “If you need someone to listen—”
“Thanks.” It was difficult not to laugh. Oh, sure, it’s one thing to talk about witches and so forth; it’s entirely another to say, Oh, yeah, by the way, I’m actually a vampire, and the real reason we came to talk to you was we’re trying to figure out whether or not your dead brother—you know the one, the one you think embraced darkness—might have put some kind of curse on me before he died. And oh yes, I’m the reason your brother died. I’m the other one everyone thinks died in that fire, along with your brother. And no, I don’t know how Jean-Paul worked that. I just know that somehow he did.
“So, you’re some kind of expert on the supernatural?” Quentin asked, his knee brushing against my leg again, making me shiver slightly. “It’s so nice to be able to talk to someone about all that shit, you know, someone who isn’t going to think I’ve completely lost my mind or am stupid or superstitious or something.” He laughed. “Everyone up in Bayou Shadows believes my grandmother’s a witch, you know. They really believed my brother and I were too. It made life kind of hellish for me growing up.”
“Bayou Shadows?”
“It’s this little Podunk town on the edge of the swamp where I’m from.” He rolled his eyes. “They believe in all that kind of stuff up there. There’s supposed to be a family that has the rougarou curse up there too.”
“Rougarou?” I started to ask what that was but stopped myself. I was supposed to be an expert on the supernatural—and one had to assume an expert would know what that was. “Really?”
He rolled his eyes. “I told you, crazy shit. It’s a town full of superstitious people, believe you me.” He shook his head. “You don’t know how glad I am I got out of there.”
“Actually, I bet I do know,” I replied, relaxing a little bit and slouching down on the bench a little more. “I’m from a little rural town too. I grew up in the hills in northwest Alabama. You want to talk about backwards places? The whole time I was a kid, all I did was pray I’d get older so I could get the hell out of there. Although we didn’t have superstitious people who believed in witches and stuff. What we had was way worse.”
“What could be worse?” He looked at me.
“Fundamentalist Christians.” I winked at him. “I’d much rather grow up around people who think witches and rougarous are real than the self-righteous.” I shook my head. “You know the type, I’m sure—the ones who are convinced they are the only ones who know what God really wants, and if you don’t do exactly as they say, you’re going straight to hell.” I shivered as a cool breeze came off the river. “You can imagine what that was like for a gay kid.”
“We had some of that in Bayou Shadows too,” Quentin commiserated. “There was a horrible little church there called the Church of Repentance. Talk about a bunch of whacked-out nutjobs. You know, they actually used to talk about burning my grandmother at the stake, and they were serious.” He rubbed his forehead. “One of the preacher’s kids tried to beat me up one day when we were in grammar school. I kicked his stupid little bitch ass.” He laughed. “No one ever tried that again, let me tell you. I imagine Stevie Hebert is running that stupid church now. He used to make me wish that I actually was a witch, you know?”
“Yeah.” I laughed along with him. The truth was, just being around him made me feel better. There was something about him that was calming, that seemed to put me at ease. “Thanks, Quentin.” I allowed my knee to brush against his again and wondered if he, too, felt the electricity when our bare skin touched. “You’ve made me feel better, and I appreciate it, man.”
“No problem, bro. Why don’t you come back over to my place?” He peered into my eyes. “We can open a bottle of wine and talk some more.” His tongue darted out and licked his upper lip.
I nodded, and when we stood up, our arms brushed against each other. Our eyes met, and there was no mistaking the desire in his. I smiled back at him and reached out, taking his strong hand in mine again. We walked back to his apartment, hand in hand. Every so often, as we walked, we lightly brushed against each other. I followed him up the stairs inside his building, watching the way his round, beautiful ass moved, my cock beginning to stir to life inside my jeans. He unlocked his apartment door, and I sat down in the chair I’d taken earlier. He opened the wine and poured us each a glass, handing me mine. I took a sip. It was good.
He pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it into a laundry basket before sitting down on his bed. He smiled at me. “Your partner was a little on the intense side—she really made me nervous.” He made a face. “Sebastian’s been dead now for over two years, and I still haven’t been able to shake him, you know? It’s so weird. My grandmother. . .” He paused.
“What about your grandmother?” I leaned forward. I stared at the deep valley in the center of his chest, the trail of wiry copper hair trailing from his navel to his shorts, the bulge in the front.
He sighed. “She thinks he hasn’t moved on, if you can believe that. She thinks he’s still tethered to this world somehow and can’t move on.” He rubbed his eyes. “She thinks I can help him move on and wants me to come back up there so she can do a ritual. I don’t know. I mean, I don’t really believe in that shit, but at the same time it kind of scares me.”
“Why don’t you?” I asked. “What can it hurt? If you don’t believe in any of this, and if it makes your grandmother feel better . . .” I let my voice trail off. “I mean, where’s the harm? Sometimes we should just do things, you know, for the people we love. Isn’t that what it’s all about?”
“I never really thought of it that way,” Quentin said slowly. He got up and refilled his wineglass and walked over to the window. “I’ve spent most of my life running a
way from all this stupidity, you know.”
He stood there, his back to me, facing the cathedral. The huge shadow of the statue of Jesus cast by the spotlight on the back of the building seemed to be almost beckoning me to get up from my chair and join Quentin. I couldn’t help staring at his broad back. It was beautifully sculpted underneath his tawny gold skin. His shoulders were thick and capped with perfectly shaped muscles, and his back tapered down to a narrow waist. There were two dimples in his lower back just above where the curve of his perfectly shaped ass began. His khaki shorts were loose, and as before, I could read UNICO on the waistband of his underwear. There was a small patch of dark gold curly hairs in the center of his back just above the shorts. The shorts hung down to his knees, over defined, thick calves.
I got up and walked up behind him. I leaned against the frame opposite him, but we were still very close. I could smell him—a mixture of cologne and sweat that seemed deeply masculine and remarkably sensual and arousing.
He was more muscular than Sebastian had been, and Sebastian hadn’t exactly been a ninety-eight-pound weakling.
I wanted to kiss his thick, sensual lips, put my hand on his muscular chest.
But I wasn’t completely sure if my attentions would be welcomed, if he could feel the electrical current flowing between us. I swallowed nervously.
He looked at me and smiled. “Would you be interested in coming up to Bayou Shadows with me?” he asked. “Watching the ritual might be interesting for you—in your work, I mean.”
My work? I gawked at him for a moment before remembering Rachel had introduced me as an expert in the supernatural. “Would you like me to?” I asked quietly.
“I think I’d like that very much, Cord.” He reached over with his free hand and traced his index finger along the side of my face. “You’re a very beautiful man.” He took another step toward me until we were so close we were almost touching.
I licked my lower lip and placed my left hand directly onto his chest. His skin was silky and incredibly warm, almost feverish, to the touch. I could feel his heart pounding beneath, and I was glad I’d fed so deeply from the stripper the night before. The hunger wasn’t there, and there was no worry I might lose control with him and sink my teeth into his neck.
But I couldn’t help but wonder how his blood would taste.
He leaned closer, and his chest pressed against mine. He placed his lips against mine. He tasted of wine, and I opened my mouth and allowed his tongue to slip inside. I closed my mouth around his and sucked on his tongue as he pressed his hips against me, and I could feel the enormity of his erection through our clothes, its need and urgency.
I put my left hand on his ass. It was hard and solid, and I let my other hand drift down, our mouths still pressed together, and grabbed hold of his erect penis. He clenched his ass and pushed against me, and I raised my left leg and wrapped it around his, pulling him deeper and closer into me. His hands cupped my ass and lifted me almost effortlessly until I was up on my toes. He was so strong, and desire raced through me, desire and the need to be naked with this remarkably beautiful man.
He pulled his head back and smiled, his eyes half closed. “I wanted you from the moment you walked in here this afternoon,” he confessed in a low voice. “All I could think of when I saw you was how badly I wanted to fuck your pretty little ass.” He squeezed my ass again, and I bit my lower lip, my eyes closing. “I knew it was hard as a rock, just like the rest of you. You are so beautiful . . .” His voice trailed off as he stepped back from me. He walked back into the apartment, undoing his shorts and stepping out of them as he headed for his bed. His red underwear had ridden up slightly into the crack of his big muscular ass, exposing hard smooth cheeks that only heightened my desire.
He turned as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and I could see the head of his enormous cock sticking out through the waistband of his underwear. He smiled at me and lay back, beckoning me forward. I pulled my shirt over my head, dropping it on the floor as I walked toward the bed. A cool breeze came through the open doors and kissed my skin. I shivered slightly as I undid my shorts and slid them down until I stood naked before him. I stepped out of them and put both of my hands on my hips. My cock strained up against my stomach.
He smiled at me. “You’re even more beautiful out of your clothes than you were in them,” he whispered, licking his lips.
I knelt between his legs and grabbed his cock with my hands. I leaned down and flicked the head with my tongue. His body trembled.
“That’s nice,” he breathed. “Oh, yeah, baby, that’s good.” His voice deepened. “You want to suck that big dick, boy?”
I looked up at his smiling face and replied, “Oh, yeah.”
I slid his underwear down and off his feet, tossing them over my shoulder. I ran my tongue from the head all the way down the underside of his cock until I reached his thick balls. I took one of them into my mouth gently, sucking on it before gently letting it slip between my lips and taking the other one inside as well. I spit on my left index finger and traced it down from his balls to the entrance between his muscular ass cheeks. I tapped his hole with my fingertip, smiling as his entire body began to slightly tremble with anticipation. I let the other ball slide out and ran my tongue up the underside of his mighty cock again. A drop of precum oozed out of the slit, and I smeared it with my right index finger as I slowly began working the left finger inside of him. I looked up at his face, above the rippling abdominal muscles and the thick slabs of his chest. He had a nipple in each of his hands, twisting and pinching them. His eyes were closed, and he pursed those beautiful red lips.
I took his cock into my mouth, tightening my lips around it as my tongue continued to lick and toy with the head. I slid my mouth slowly down the big shaft, stopping about halfway down as my gag reflex involuntarily reacted. He was so big I wasn’t sure I could take all of him inside of my mouth, let alone into my ass. I’d never seen a cock this large outside of Internet porn. Jean-Paul, Clint, and the others were all nicely endowed, but nothing on this scale.
Even Sebastian, whose cock had been thick and long, paled in comparison to his twin.
I closed my right hand around the base of the massive thing and continued working the top with my mouth as I started stroking him with my hand.
“Oooh, baby, that feels so good,” he whispered, and I felt his hand on the top on my head. “I want you to fuck me, but I don’t want you to stop that.”
I let his dick pop out of my mouth, and I gave him a lusty grin, relieved that I wouldn’t have to take that monster inside of me. “Baby, I’ll fuck that hot ass of yours into next week.” I winked. “And I bet it’s hot and tight, isn’t it?”
I pushed his legs farther apart and stuck my tongue into his musky hole, tasting him and working the rim with my lips as I moved my tongue in a circle inside of him.
He was gasping for air, his hand still on the top of my head as I continued working him. His ass tasted strangely sweet to me, almost as though it were some strange kind of nectar my body needed, craved, and desired.
I took my mouth off him and slid up his body until we were face-to-face, cock-to-cock. I ground my cock into his as I forced my tongue into his mouth, hoping he could taste himself in my mouth.
He brought his legs up, pressing his ass against my hard-on. He reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube, squeezing some into his palm. He massaged some into his hole and then slicked up my cock before pointing its head directly into him.
“Ride me,” he demanded, his voice urgent. “Fuck me, make me your bitch.”
I grinned down at him and shoved myself as deep inside of him as I could go. I got a few inches inside before meeting resistance, and rather than forcing my way in, I stopped, allowing the head to rest against the obstruction.
His breath was coming in tiny little gasps as I stayed there, half inside, not making a move to go any farther, just teasing him.
I put my mouth next to his ear. �
��You want that cock, don’t you, bitch?” I nibbled on his earlobe.
His back arched upward. “Yes, please, oh God, yes, please I want you . . .”
With a nasty smirk, I started sliding back out of him.
“No, don’t, please—”
“I want you to beg,” I replied, not sure where this side of me had come from. But it was what I wanted, what I needed to hear. I wanted him to beg me to fuck him, beg me to ride that beautiful, muscled ass, to just fuck him and fuck him until he was blowing out a huge load all over himself while I blew one inside of him. I just wanted to fuck him and fuck him and fuck him, but first I wanted this big, beautiful muscleman to beg me to do it. I wanted him to be mine, to own him completely, to dominate him and ride him, to fuck him like no one had ever fucked him before so he would remember how I felt deep inside him, so he’d never forget, so that he would remember when he was alone and tugging on himself, his eyes closed, remembering how my cock felt, how much of a load I shot into him, and make him my willing sex slave, who’d want me to tie him up, spread-eagled so he was defenseless while I worked and teased and toyed with his ass, that big round hard beautiful muscled ass.
And I finally understood how erotic it was to be dominant, to use your cock solely for the pleasure of another man, to drive him insane with desire and pleasure and lust while you pumped him and filled him completely, and I understood finally why Jean-Paul had done some of the things he had done to me.
