Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I’m so tired of this fucking script, and I should know better. I don’t want to hurt him because he seems like a pretty cool guy, but I’ve enjoyed sex with him so much—too much. I want it again as much as he does, and I’ve had enough sex to know that what we share—this chemistry that’s like a match to a powder keg—isn’t something that I can resist. Because it doesn’t happen very often.
He’s gonna get hurt.
I hardly understand the power of this lust he stirs. At twenty-four, I must have way more experience than him, so I can’t imagine how a kid like him can handle it.
He doesn’t realize it yet, but is that my fault? He knows better than anyone who I am…how I roll. If he wants out of it, he has that choice.
I’m a selfish asshole. I know that.
I know it can’t end well.
I know it has to end at some point, but I don’t give a shit.
“I have a few ground rules,” I say.
“Which are?” he asks as he sets his glass on the coffee table.
“Safe play only. I don’t hook up without condoms. Too risky. I’m not interested in running around with something that you get because you were too lazy to wrap it up one time with another guy.”
“Fine by me.”
“And we stay out of everyone’s faces. That means we don’t chat while I’m at work…AKA while you’re at school. Or at parties. We each pretend the other doesn’t exist. I mean, obviously a wave or an acknowledgment of each other being there isn’t a problem. But no one needs to know our business.”
I don’t think that’ll be a problem for Mark, but it’s a rule worth making in case he starts to get all weird about his feelings the way Keith did. Toward the end, when Keith got desperate, he broke that rule a lot, and it made me look bad.
“No dinners or lunches or brunches. No emoticons in texts. No—”
“I think I get where you’re going with this,” Mark says. “Nothing relationshippy, right?”
“I’m not finished. No kissing outside of sex.”
“A lot of rules for someone who seems so rebellious.”
“Did you need to kiss outside of fucking?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just seems like for a bad boy you’re kind of a prude in your own weird way.”
“You’re hardly the most experienced thing in the world to be calling me a prude.”
“Is it that obvious?”
He’s not asking in a timid way. Matter-of-fact. Like if there’s a problem with what he’s doing, he wants to know.
He’s very direct. Very real. Unusually so.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say. “I was assuming you haven’t been. You’re perfectly fine with fucking. I don’t have any complaints. Just compliments.”
He smiles, and I hate to say it, but it gets to me. Gives me goosebumps.
I’ve never felt that before, and I don’t like it.
“Trust me, if I have a complaint about that,” I add, “I’ll make it perfectly clear. And right now, fucking you is the only reason I want to see your ugly face.”
The way his lips curl, I know he didn’t take that the wrong way. It’s a good thing, too. If he didn’t get my sense of humor, it wouldn’t be long before he ended up like Keith—whining, asking for validation rather than insults…not realizing my insults are the only validation he could expect to get from me.
“So it’s a deal then?” Mark asks. “I’d shake on it, but I’d rather just fuck.”
His expression is inviting. I can’t help but smile as a wicked impulse rises within me. It’s like when I’m recording, knowing I’m doing something wrong.
Something dirty. Something immoral. Something delicious.
11
MARK
I enter my pitch-black bedroom, close the door behind me, and take a few steps in before I feel Tim rush up behind me and wrap his arm around my throat.
He puts his other hand on my waist and moves it up under my shirt, sliding it across my abs.
“Don’t make a sound or I’ll fuck you even harder than I’m already planning to,” he says, his nose pressed against my ear so the fabric of the ski mask he’s wearing scratches against my skin. I asked him to wear the ski mask for this scenario.
I stay perfectly still to let him know I’ll do whatever he wants.
He slides his hand back down to my jeans, pops the button, and unzips my fly before reaching down beneath my briefs and grabbing my cock.
“Getting a little tingle thinking about it, aren’t you? Turn on the light, fucker.”
He guides me to the switch. I flip it so the lamp on the nightstand beside my bed turns on.
It’s been two months since we started fucking regularly, and things have escalated quickly into new realms of fucked up.
I’d seen this too many times in porn. Enjoyed it enough that I wanted a chance to experience it for myself. And who better to be open with about my desires than a guy who’s so unashamed of his own?