Page 76 of Dangle

He pulled away from my neck, pushed me up to sit on the counter, his full attention glued to my mouth as fingers traced my lips. His thumb pressed against my chin, forcing my mouth to drop open. Two of the tracing fingertips slid inside, over my tongue, only stopping when they could go no further.

“Close.”

I obeyed instantly. The command gave me an idea of what the Marine in him sounded like as the word washed over me with a wave of lust coming along in its wake.

“Now, imagine it’s my dick.”

Oh, fuck. Yeah, I liked dick. I loved it. In my ass, in my mouth, between my thighs or ass cheeks. The smell, the taste, the weight of it. I loved it all. I especially loved sucking Slone’s cock. So, I sucked; the saltiness of his flesh heightening the need gnawing at my insides. His free hand pinched and twisted my nipple. Hard. And held it there.

“Stop.”

My brow pinched, but I stopped sucking and massaging his fingers with my tongue.

“You’re such a good boy, brat. Cockwarming isn’t about sucking my dick. It’s not about getting me hard, or getting me off. It’s a way for you to serve me. It’s a way for me to tease you. Sometimes, I’ll want you on your knees while I cook. Other times, when we’re in bed, I’ll prep you, sit you on my dick, but won’t move. You’ll never know when or if I’ll fuck you.”

The thought of being that for him had my cock pulsing in the gym shorts of his I wore. I whimpered, and he smirked, glancing down at my crotch. I couldn’t see for myself, but I knew what he found there, my dick stiffening until it tented the shorts over my lap.

“Such a beautiful, cock-hungry, little slut for Daddy. And here I was, worried you wouldn’t like it.” He licked at my mouth around the fingers still stuffing it full before trailing sucking, biting kisses across my jaw to my ear.

“You’re Daddy’s little pervert, aren’t you? You want me to use you, don’t you?” he asked, and I nodded, whining with need.

“Hmm, Daddy’s personal cockwarming, cum dumpster.”

That did it. I came in his shorts, moaning and groaning like the slut he called me. But I didn’t suck, not once. I held his fingers in my mouth like the good boy he said I was.

TWENTY

Afew weeks later, finals over, grades posted, and texts from my parents sat unread on my phone, I found myself in my favorite place on earth—sprawled across Slone’s chest. Today he half-lay, half-sat, slouched back into the corner of the enormous sectional sitting in front of his massive television. The screen flickered asThe Last of Usplayed.

Neither of us seemed to be really paying attention to the show. Slone’s breathing had evened out to where he was moments from dropping off to sleep. And I, well, this spot put me in a tranquil place that allowed me to think about my future without spiraling. I had one year left before the Warden’s rights to me ended. It was fucking scary to get this close to my goal and not get there, but the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t know if I wanted them to extend a contract. They’d jerked me around for three goddamn years. If they didn’t sign me before then, I’d be a free agent. That brought with it several worries, but also a smidgen of control over where I ended up.

Sighing, I pushed the thoughts of the Wardens and the NHL away and settled further into Slone’s embrace.

“Why didn’t you call?” he asked in a soft whisper that spoke volumes.

What? Oh, shit. The conversation we should’ve had that first day in this loft, that with every moment I spent here felt like home.

“I didn’t have your number,” I said with a rueful sigh.

“Trey, it was on the note I left for you.”

“Was it?”

“Yes. Written at the bottom under my name.”

I tried picturing it, but it wouldn’t come. “All I carried out of the loft in Nashville was my phone.” All my other possessions had been at the hotel I was supposed to stay in with the boys.

“Shit. I hadn’t considered that,” he said, his voice doing that trailing-off thing that spoke volumes about how much more he wanted or had to say.

I feared what might come next. I could have easily found his number. I could’ve texted Aiden or Coach Storm, but I hadn’t. Instead of waiting for him to point out all the ways I could’ve gotten the number, I realized we needed to be honest and open with one another if we wanted to make our dynamic work.

“I was scared.” The words broke free before the thought had fully formed. Even though it sat in the back of my mind like a living, breathing thing every single day. Every hour. Every minute. Every second. It sat there. Lived there. From the moment I lost sight of him at the airport to when I saw him downstairs.

“Of me?” The inflection and tone in his words startled me. As did the shock that painted his face when I looked up at him. “You thought I would hurt you?”

“No,” I said quickly to assure him. “No, Slone. I didn’t mean it like that. Yes, I was afraid, but not…not physically. And not of you. More like…”

The air grew still. Tense. It stretched and pulled until it snapped. “Like what?”