Page 40 of Deviant
“Goddamn it. Colt—” My voice cracks. “I’m not—I can’t?—”
He pulls off with a wetpop, strings of spit connecting his lips to my cock as he looks up at me through dark lashes, eyes blown black with lust.
“You’re going to come for me, cowboy.”
Then he’s back on me, hand pumping in time with his mouth, tongue swirling under the head on every upstroke. Then his other hand slips behind my balls, fingers tracing the crease of my ass, pressing just against the rim. Not inside, just circling, teasing.
I choke on a sound that’s half sob, half moan.
“Don’t … don’t you fucking dare?—”
He presses harder. Just enough pressure to make every nerve scream. My thighs shake. My grip in his hair turns brutal.
“Colt…please?—”
“Please, what?” He pulls off again, stroking me slowly with his fist. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop until I’ve got you coming down my throat like the good boy you are?”
Shame burns hotter than the pleasure.
I hate him.
I hate myself more.
I don’t answer with words.
My hips buck forward instead, hard and helpless, fucking his hand, his mouth—chasing the edge I shouldn’t want.
He laughs against my skin then swallows me again, his fingers still teasing that forbidden ring of muscle.
My whole body locks, back arching off the tree. A broken, guttural, “Fuck! Colt—” tears out of me as I come, spilling down his throat in thick ropes. He doesn’t pull away, though. He takes every drop, swallowing around me.
Only then does he ease off, licking me clean with soft, almost tender strokes that make me twitch.
He sits back on his heels in the dirt, lips swollen, chin wet, eyes never leaving mine.
Still hard in his jeans. Still watching me like I’m prey that just ran straight into his jaws.
I can’t look away.
My legs give out and I slide down the trunk until my ass hits the ground, jeans still tangled around my thighs, chest heaving.
“Still think you’re straight, Golden Boy?”
“That didn’t mean anything. That was…It was just…It didn’t mean anything.”
Colt is still on his knees in the dirt looking up at me, looking like a man who just took exactly what he wanted and is in no particular hurry about what comes next.
“Whatever helps you sleep.”
“I mean it.” I push off the tree. “Don’t read into it. Don’t make this something it isn’t. It was a moment and it’s done.”
I get my jeans up, hands moving fast, not looking at him. I move with the mechanical efficiency of a man trying to rebuild a wall with whatever rubble is left. Belt buckle. Button.Zip. I press the back of my head against the tree trunk for one second and stare up at the dark canopy and breathe.
He stands then, slowly, brushing the pine needles off his knees with an unhurried calm that makes me want to put my fist through something.
He tilts his head. “Next time, I’ll take my time—edge you until you’re crying for it. Until you’re begging me with that pretty voice.” His tongue drags slowly across his lower lip. “And therewillbe a next time, Rhett. We both know it. You can walk away tonight and tell yourself whatever story gets you through, but you’ll be back. Because now you know what it feels like whensomeone actually makes your dick throb, and you’re never going to be able to unfeel that.”
I scoff in disbelief and walk away.
