Wrath (Sinful Secrets 4)

"I'm...tested," I manage.

"I got tested two days ago," he says, tracing a fingertip over the slit in my head. "Don't do this again, though. Always bring a flavored condom and make the guy put it on you. Okay, babe?"

I nod, and he lets go of me. "Here, I'll show you. Lemme show you how it feels if it's a thin one. I can get you there, and you'll be protected. When you've got a dick like this," he murmurs in his husky low voice, "you gotta keep it safe."

He rips a condom open and he's rolling it over my cockhead.

"See how thin it is?" The thing is white. "I still see your sexy veins." He gives me a lick. "You can't feel it as good, but it's pretty thin, right?"

"Yeah." Another whimper.

"Lemme tell you about being at a bar, in a backroom, freckles. When you're young like you, you got an ass like that and you're on your fifth drink, you gotta stay safe from the old guys, the fucking voyeurs and the perverts and the freaks that could hurt you." He leans down and gives me a warm suck. "Nobody's gonna watch your sweet ass except you. Okay?"

I nod, and he sucks me in, blowing me with such skill that my fucking toes curl despite the condom squeezing me.

"This tastes like marshmallow," he whispers. "And the size?" He smirks. "It's XL."

I don't want to seem too over-eager, but I can't help the way my hips are moving. It's a struggle not to shove myself down his throat.

He keeps pulling off me, teasing me, saying things like, "Oh, babe. You're so fucking close. You wanna get off?"

It's so good. I'm hugging his torso with my legs. My hand hovers over his hair, brushing the well-manicured waves softly.

He pulls off my cock again and smiles for me. It's the smile from before: all sex. "You can grab it and pull."

"What about you?" The words tremble from my watering mouth.

He gives me a small smirk. Then he's sucking me again. My fingers thread into his soft hair, tugging lightly. It's so good that I can't choke out, "Stop," until I'm so damn close, my balls are drawn up and I feel pre-cum pooling in the tip of the condom.

His head comes up, his eyes just the slightest bit wide. I feel his hand on my hip, realize he moved it from under my balls. Looking at his face—despite how polished to perfection he is, I realize his eyes are kind—makes my throat cinch up.

"You not good?" he asks quietly.

A tear escapes down my cheek, and I wrap a hand over my dick. "It feels amazing," I rasp.

"Nervous?"

I shut my eyes and shake my head.

"Too drunk. No." His voice is soft. "Somebody else?"

I nod, and his hand finds mine.

"You're close. Just a few strokes and you're there, babe. I'll get up," he says, doing just that, "and pull my tank off for a towel."

He turns away from me and pulls his polyester Nike jersey off first. Then he pulls the tank top off, revealing a tanned, muscular back. He puts the jersey back on, and I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining Ezra's mouth on my neck as I blow into my own hand.

Eight

Josh

I sit there panting for a long minute before he says, "You good?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

He turns to me. "Don't be sorry. Here." He passes me his shirt, and as I stare down at myself, clad in the condom, I hear something. I look up to find him toeing a small garbage can toward me. "Toss it in there."

I do, and then hesitate before I use his shirt on myself.

"Go for it, freckles. Just a twenty-dollar undershirt."

I aim a wide-eyed look up at him. "Where you get your undershirts?"

He gives me that coy smile again—sort of like a playboy. Or a call girl. "Give it to me when you're done." I frown at his face, realizing—

"Did you...?"

He's got such a beautiful smile. "Did I what, freckles?"

I widen my eyes.

"Can't even say it," he teases. "How old are you? Eighteen?"

"Maybe," I whisper. I pass the shirt to him and he turns around, wiping himself with it.

Then he tosses it in the can.

"You were good, babe. Got me hot enough to come in under a minute. By myself, at that." He holds his hand out for me, and I notice the diamond bracelets on it as he helps me to my feet.

His thumb rubs at my palm, which is nice and sweaty from the drinking. I'm pulling it away when his eyes catch mine.

"You from around here?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"Got a place for the night?"

"I don't know," I manage.

He looks thoughtful. "Stay at my place. I'm not going home. You feel me? If I do, I won't mess with you." He pulls his phone out. He turns it around toward me, showing me an Instagram page. In the top photo, his profile-oriented face is shadowed, but I see the outline of his lips and his nose.