Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I’m good at reading people, it’s kind of my thing, so I try to get a read on why the hell he just did this, but the whole not looking at me isn’t helping…and probably the alcohol isn’t helping in that department either.
“Night, Dax.” Without another word, he walks away.
“Thank y—” I haven’t even finished the words before he’s halfway down the lawn.
Although, I guess him walking away is the least surprising part of tonight, and as my blurry, drunken vision catches him tucking his hands in his pockets and heading down the fraternity row, all I can think is, What…the hell…was that?
1
Miles
Fall Semester
“Oh, fuck, yeah…oh…” Tatum calls out as I shove him against the floor-length mirror. With his hand against the mirror as he pushes that ass back toward me, in the reflection, his eyes roll back the way they usually do when he’s really enjoying himself, which is pretty typical when he’s with me. Not to brag, but I know what I’m doing with this cock, and the way his body vibrates with each stroke assures me it’s hitting everything it needs to. With a smudge of purple paint smeared across his cheek, his lips curl into a sexy smirk as I keep drilling away.
We’ve been going for over half an hour.
On the floor by the piece I finished painting.
On my bed.
On the desk.
And now against the mirror.
It’s even better than usual, maybe because neither of us got enough action over the summer. But I can’t fuck all day, even if that feels like a good idea right now. I don’t let up my pace as I say, “As fun as this is, you know I have to be in class.”
Tatum’s eyes crack open, his smirk curling into his dimples like he’s got something wicked on his mind. “Hey, if you have to come, then just come.”
I grunt. “You know I’m not letting you out of here until you blow.”
“Then I guess we might be here all day.” His quirked brow issues a challenge I’m more than up for.
“Oh, we’re playing dirty now, are we?” I reach around and grip his shaft, stroking, while his abs—also lined with drying acrylic paint—contract.
Tatum grips the side of the mirror, moaning, but then chuckling. “You know it’s not gonna be that easy.”
I’m almost offended by how he’s acting like I’m new to this. And by this, I mean getting him off, which only gives me more reason to remind him who the hell he’s fucking. Really, that’s probably what he wants, but damned if I don’t fall for it every time. It’s the fucking sadist in me that enjoys torturing him.
As his body rocks with mine, his ass gripping me firmly, I lean close, tucking my face against his neck. His cock throbs in my grasp. “Fuck, you really are too easy,” I tell him.
“Shut up.”
Although, the way he says it, all breathy, with his eyes sealed shut, I know he doesn’t really want that.
“You need to be fucked hard, but then something real sweet…”
Tatum’s not like me—the fuck-and-go type. He likes a little intimacy. The sort of stuff that makes me retch just thinking about it, but I’m willing to test my limits if it’ll prove I know his weakness. I nestle my nose against his neck, grazing my lips against his smooth skin.
“Isn’t this getting awfully close to kissing?” he asks, since he knows that’s not something I do with him. Not that I’m weird about kissing when I fuck, but he’s my buddy. I don’t know, somehow that feels weirder than having my cock in him.
“You gonna bitch about it? Yeah, that shut you up like a good, obedient boy.”
I open my mouth, taking a gentle bite of flesh, trailing my teeth up toward his ear. When his ass tightens even more, in that way that lets me know right where he’s at, I speed up my movements, gripping his side as I hammer against that prostate.
His climax is familiar—all shivers as he calls out my name. I pull back, placing my hands against his shoulders as I pump to my own satisfaction, my orgasm tearing through me so powerfully that my muscles twitch as I shoot into the condom.
As I recover from the intensity of my release, I open my eyes, seeing a very proud bottom’s reflection watching me in the mirror, a broad-ass grin stretched across his face.
“Such a dork,” I tell him, thrusting a few more times.
“I’d say that’s a good way to start the year,” he jokes, pushing his ass back, fully taking my cock once more. “You sure you don’t want a kiss for how good you fucked me?”
“I want you to apologize for taking up so much time this morning.”
“I was just here to record you making the magic.” He motions to the finished piece on the tarp by the bay window of my apartment. It’s one of my abstracts, a purple, blue, and white ode to the fucked-up shit in my head earlier—and that’s best represented in the abstract because maybe it’ll be less frightening to people than what I’m really thinking and feeling, this side of me I can never show anyone. Not even my friend.