by Monty Jay
But Rook pulls me back into us, making everything else besides him disappear. He grabs my chin between his fingers, holding me there.
“On your knees, slut.” The mask makes it hard to see his expression, but his voice leaves no room for disagreement. I can practically see his eyes burning through the disguise. “And don’t get back up until I’m finished.”
I can’t tell him right now. I can’t break up with Easton right now either. But I can do this, and I want to make it up to him. I want to give him this.
So I do as I’m told.
I creep down in a squatting position, dropping to my knees one at a time, the cold tile stinging my skin. I keep my eyes up, staring at him through the mask because I know how much he loves it when I look at him while he fucks my mouth.
“Like this?” I ask innocently, licking my bottom lip, waiting for his answer as my palms run up his thighs.
My mouth waters eagerly. The challenge of making him feel good, the opportunity to receive his praise, makes my toes curl. I make quick work of his button and zipper, dipping my hand into his jeans.
Kneading his stiffened cock through his boxers, I tease both him and me. Touching it reminds me of what it feels like inside of me, stretching me out, massaging my walls until I’m left a puddle of bliss.
Chills rack my spine as I pull him free, and my body hums as I admire him. My tongue tests the waters, flicking against the vertical barbell jewelry that only adds to his sex appeal. The distinct veins swirling around his shaft throb as I take my time.
“Sage still not letting you smash?” I hear echoed outside.
“That uppity bitch has barely let me touch her.”
“Skank is probably screwing some other dude, man.”
Rook’s hand falls to my head, sneaking to the back of it to grab a chunk of my hair to hold on to. My skin is warm and tingling as I listen to them talk shit about me all the while I focus on pleasuring him.
Seductively and without moving my eyes from his glowing face, I spit onto the angry, red head, using my hand to smear my saliva up and down his length. I lube him all up so he slides down my throat smoothly.
“Maybe he’ll fuck the bitch out of her,” Easton jokes, making the guys around him cackle.
My scalp burns as Rook twists his wrist, pulling tighter on my locks.
“You going to fuck the bitch out of me?” I ask, my voice a whisper for only him to hear, eyes wide, trying to get him to focus on me so that he doesn’t kill the entire Ponderosa Springs’ offensive line.
I’m used to their crude comments; their words do nothing to me. My only focus is on making Rook feel good, showing him just how little I care for the man outside of this stall. How much I care for him.
Showing him how worthy he is of this.
I’m down on my knees where I could easily be caught, not caring as long as I get to make him feel good.
My palm curls around him at his base, pumping up and down while I open my mouth to take him inside. I engulf him fully, swirling my tongue, tracing the grooves.
He pulls me off him before I can do anything else, bending at the waist so his face is near my own,
“I don’t need it to go anywhere. I know how to handle the bitch in you.”
A blush heats my cheeks, just before I feel him press my head down towards his hips. He pushes his cock past my lips, into my mouth, and down my throat, catching me off guard completely. His piercings tickle the back of my throat, making me choke quietly, but it doesn’t seem to faze him because he holds me there.
With no mercy in sight, he shifts his hips back as he places his other hand in my hair, stroking forward once again, creating a sloppy sound as he crams his cock into my mouth.
His head is tucked into his chin, that neon from the mask illuminating our space. Even without seeing his eyes, I know they are staring straight through my own. My throat constricts around him, pushing him out with resistance, and my gag reflex kicks into high gear.
“Relax your throat, baby. Let me in.” He groans lowly, using both hands to shove me farther down his shaft until my nose is buried into his pelvis. The girth forces my throat to expand, painfully pressing against the soft tissue of my windpipe.
My breaths through my nose come out shaky as I wince, my eyes squinting as I focus on not making any noise so those outside of this stall don’t hear me. I swallow around him, suctioning him with my lips, creating an airtight vacuum.
“That’s it. Such a good slut for me.”
As difficult as it is, it feels so good. Feeling him stretch my mouth, feeling him rooted inside of me, watching him seek pleasure from me.
I’m so selfish, because I will take all of this. Everything he gives, I will take, take, take. Because it might be all I have in the end.
Every time I try to catch my breath, he steals it with another hard thrust into my mouth, and I have no choice but to take it. And it only gets worse as the seconds tick by. His hold on my hair burns with the force, and his strokes become violent.
I struggle to breathe, desperately trying to keep my gags quiet. Although there’s nothing I could do about his soft groans of pleasure and the wet noise of his cock filling my mouth.
Finally, fate decides to give me a break, because I hear the group of guys start to file out of the bathroom. When the door shuts, I choke embarrassingly loud, pressing my hands into Rook’s thighs and forcing him out so I can catch my breath.
A trail of spit from my mouth drips from his shaft, leaking down my chin and onto my chest. I can feel the heat from my flushed cheeks, my eyes rimmed with tears that freely fall from the force of his thrusts.
“Did I say we were done, Sage?” he taunts, pushing me backwards so that my head and his hands press into the stall door.
My reply is void. I’m unable to speak once he returns to my mouth, pushing deeper inside me than I thought possible. My head against the door gives him a backboard to drive into so that his thrusts are harder, and I have nowhere to pull back to.
I twist my head back and forth while his shaft chokes me, flattening my tongue so that it massages the underside of his length, lapping at the bulging vein every single time I force myself down.
It’s chaotic euphoria. The kind of painful ecstasy that makes you question your sanity.
My eyesight is blurred with LED lights from his face covering, hazy with tears as he continues to find pleasure. Fully ignoring the ache in my throat and jaw, my body begs me to take a break at the very least.
This is how it always happens with him. He pushes, pushes, pushes until I’m unable to function. There are no breaks. There is no easy with him.
He takes me to the complete verge of incomprehensible pleasure every time.
I want this.
I want to make him feel good so if we don’t make it, maybe he’ll think about this while he’s in the shower, stroking his cock to the image of my face as he fucked my mouth in this bathroom stall.
I want this pain.
Knowing that in the days to come, I will remember it.
I’ll think of the hurt, and my thighs will be slick with heat, because we remember the things that hurt us.
The number of grunts and moans pouring out of him is enough to keep me going through the ache. I gag and sputter around him, my throat tightening as I bring my hand up to rest on his abdomen. I can feel his stomach seizing, his vicious thrusts turning sloppy and out of control.
My other slippery hand cups his balls, eliciting a hiss from him as he sucks air in between his gnashing teeth.
“Fuck, baby.”
With my name on his lips, he shoves deep into the back of my mouth, pouring his release into my throat. I swallow greedily, sucking until he’s finished with me. I can feel his legs shaking slightly as he cradles the back of my head.
He pulls himself from me, allowing me to inhale deeply for the first time since this started. I rest my head against the door, my shoulders falling as I relax the muscles in my jaw.
I hear him lift
the mask from his face, exposing those bright eyes, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. He tosses it on the floor behind us, reaching down and scooping me up into his arms.
My body naturally winds around his, hugging him close to me while he pushes my back into the door, holding us there.
“Now when you leave, I want you to kiss Easton goodbye so he gets a nice taste of my come, then you’re going to go home and wait for me to sneak up so that I can eat, yeah?”
Chills rush down my spine, cool heat tingling between my legs.
“I missed you too,” I snicker, my voice raw and scratchy.
“I did miss you. It’s just…” he whispers softly. “Can I keep you?” And my soul breaks because of it.
I want him to keep me. Always. To stay here, right here in this disgusting rave house bathroom because it feels more safe, more right, than anywhere else I’ve ever been.
I didn’t believe there was a soft side to someone like Rook prior to getting to know him. I always thought he was just burnt edges and scorching insults. Until I saw the person he was before this place turned him into something evil.
He’s not evil.
He laughs and he smiles. He jokes and literally has a higher GPA than me. He hates the rain but loves the fog it leaves because it reminds him of smoke. He hates when I write on the inside of his cigarette packs, but I catch him smirking when he reads them.
He is a human who was hurt by the world. And all I want to do is be the reason he believes in it again. Even if I can’t do the same for myself.
Even if we don’t make it out together in the end, he needs to know that he deserves more than suffering.
He deserves happiness.
There’s still something he’s hiding from me, something in his past that makes him feel damned. I can feel it, that he still keeps pieces of himself in the shadows. It keeps him from fully giving in to me, but I don’t care.
And maybe that’s what’s so scary about all of this.
That I don’t care if I have his secrets.
I just want him. The him that makes me feel alive and real.
He pushes me to face life as I am and not as others want me to be.
When I’m with him, it’s like knowing every day that tomorrow the birds will sing.
My fingers wrap around the strands of hair at the base of his neck, playing with them softly.
“You can keep me, Rook.”
It’s in this moment I realize I would do anything for him. So much so that I’m going to tell him about the arrangement, see if he can help me so that Rose won’t be just as trapped. Anything he asks, I would do it.
I want him. I want to be with him and not just for another few weeks.
And that’s the real power you could have over someone.
Easton has blackmail, which is something I could overcome in time. It isn’t permanent or long-lasting.
But love—God, what a hold to have over someone. That is a true downfall.
It’s why I stayed away from people for so long, why I was mean and bitter, keeping everyone at bay so they’d never get the chance to know me.
Because I gave the world a chance as a child, and it destroyed me.
I promised myself I wouldn’t allow this to happen again. I wouldn’t let myself get hurt, to trust someone the way I trust him.
I promised myself, and I have broken it, because now I think I’ve fallen in love with the devil.
Rook
“Where’s Thatcher?”
I walk up to the table tucked away in the corner of the cafeteria, glancing over at Rose, who is sitting down beside me.
“Sup, Rosie,” I say as I ruffle her hair.
She grins up at me, showing me her face. “Hey, RVD.”
The more my fingers and eyes discover her sister’s body, the more different they look from each other.
“Sick or some shit, holed up in his house. He’s pissed about it,” Alistair answers before chomping into an apple like it had talked shit to him earlier.
“He’s just having one of his germaphobe moments. He’ll get over it.” I pull my hood up on my head, sinking into the chair and tossing my feet up on the table, tucking my hands behind my neck.
“Speaking of where people have been, where the hell have you been lately? You weren’t at The Graveyard this weekend.”
I know that I’m going to have to tell them soon what I’ve been up to, why I haven’t been around as much, and I also know it’s going to need to be before graduation, which means telling them while she’s still dating Easton.
What a shitstorm that’s going to be.
However, I’m not going to announce it without Thatcher being around or at school. I’ll tell them when we’re alone; that way, if one of them blows up about it, it’s not a huge deal.
Like I’d told Sage, I’m not afraid of them finding out or their reactions.
Sure, they’re going to be fucking pissed at me for keeping it from them, but they’ll be even worse when they find out why.
“I was going, but then I smoked the wrong strain and passed the fuck out in my bed. Just wasn’t feeling it this weekend, dude.” Lies—I was fucking Rose’s sister in the back of her car outside of my house. “Don’t act like I never see you assholes. I practically live at Silas’s most of the time.”
“Better be glad my dad is immune to you wearing your boxers in the kitchen every morning,” Silas butts in, and I laugh.
“He only tolerates me because your kid brothers love me. Your mom on the other hand.” I suck my teeth. “She hates me.”
“My dad tolerates you because you’re my friend, and my mom doesn’t hate you. She hates cleaning up Nerf bullets around the house after you’ve gone to war with Levi and Caleb.”
I was admittedly jealous of Silas when we first met. I think that’s why when we connected, it made our bond that much closer. He had a great family, which seemed to be this uniting force between myself, Alistair, and Thatch. Could his life really be that bad? I mean, all things considered, he had everything—a loving father who wasn’t ashamed of his mental illness and would fight to give him whatever he needed just to make him happy, a mom who thought he walked on water, and two brothers that looked up to him. Not to mention they were loaded.
Where did he fit with us? How could he possibly relate to what we’d gone through?
I’d found out a few years later when he was diagnosed, officially, with schizophrenia.
It wasn’t that he understood; it was that we were the only people who understood him.
We knew what it was like to have demons eating at our lives, our hope, our flesh. We understood how real his hallucinations felt because we lived it. Even though his were fictional creatures that appeared in his mind and ours were humans wreaking havoc on our lives, we could still relate.
And that was something no one else could do.
Not doctors, not psychologists, not even his parents, who desperately tried.
I’ll never forget the day he told me about what it was like, how sometimes, especially at night, these intangible mist figures appeared. How they would tug at his feet and whisper in his ear. How no matter how many times he would shut his eyes and tell himself it was just a dream, they’d still be there every single time he opened them.
There was no night-light or bedtime story that could keep his nightmares away. They were with him always.
That was the same time I told him the truth about my mom. He was the only one who knew about it or had even heard me speak about it out loud.
We were inseparable after that.
“I wonder if he knows he looks like a douche canoe or if he just doesn’t care,” Alistair announces, looking beyond me. Silas quirks a grin, just enough to change his features.
I turn my head to see behind me, greeted with the sight of Easton walking inside the cafeteria with his arm slung around Sage’s shoulders, holding her as if he’s meant to be there. As if it’s his right to.
“Next time your dad pays his mo
m a visit, tell him to mention that Easton is too old for his mommy to be dressing him,” Silas adds.
It’s funny to me that Easton still has no idea that we’re aware of his mother’s extracurricular activities. I’m almost tempted to use it against him, just to watch him shake with fear of his perfect family reputation being destroyed.
Because if the truth came out, the Sinclairs would be the only ones who cared. As if Alistair gives a fuck what his piece-of-shit family did or who they fucked.
My molars grind together, jaw tightening to the point it’s almost painful.
It doesn’t matter how long we’d been together or how many times I’ve watched this exact scenario play out before, the sharp sting of annoyance never dims. Every time, my territorial hunger for Sage only grows stronger, and I had warned her I was done waiting.
I can feel my palms sweating as I look at her, that fake smile dazzling the room, forcing every male to stare and every girl to roll their eyes in jealousy. That plaid skirt number is doing wonders for my imagination.
A schoolgirl coming to confess some more sins, it would seem.
Rolling my tongue and biting harder on my match, I can practically taste her juices dripping into my mouth as I ate her beneath that flimsy material.
Wanting her sexually isn’t abnormal for me. The protective need to keep her to myself is though.
I can’t help but wonder if Easton knows her secrets. If she acts out plays in her underwear for him or eats Skittles until her stomach hurts around him. If he knows her dreams and the things that scare her.
Against my better judgment, I care about her. I want her.
And because life loves reminding me how vicious it can be when you’re not paying attention, all of my worries are absolutely true.
Because as I continue my admiration of the girl I should never have trusted, I see her finger decorated with a shiny diamond ring that promised her forever.
“I wish she could see how much better she deserves, but talking to her about it is like talking to a hungry piranha. I just hate the fact he’s going to be my brother, even if it is by marriage.”
