Forsaken Desires (The Deepest Desires 2)

chapter fifteen

Knox

I refuse to unload why seeing Aston with that fucking tool would piss me off as much as it did. That’s a problem for a different time. A time where his large hands aren’t gliding over my chest, exploring every inch, while simultaneously devouring my mouth with his.

In the very back of my mind, I know I should stop this. I know I’m going to regret it, but I can’t. I can’t bring myself to put a stop to this because I fucking need it.

I haven’t been able to get his mouth off my mind since the library incident, as much as I hate myself for it. He’s crawled under my skin in the most sordid way, and I can’t cleanse myself of him, no matter how much I try. He’s an itch I can’t fucking scratch. A habit I can’t kick. I think about him more than I don’t, and at this point, it’s downright obsessive.

Aston Walker is wreaking havoc on my nervous system, seeping into my bloodstream, and just for tonight, I’m giving in to the temptation. Giving in this one time, scoring my fix, then detoxing myself of him starting tomorrow.

His lips are deliciously soft and moving with expertise. And when his tongue spears into my mouth confidently, he tastes so fucking good—like bad choices and the sweetest sins.

Cupping me through my pants, he leaves a trail of kisses along my jaw before he gets to my neck. Nipping and sucking hard enough to leave a mark, he reaches a sweet soft spot behind my neck, sending chills throughout my entire body, and I have to suppress a groan. His touch, his kisses, light me the fuck up and I feel drunk off him.

Not having a single clue what I’m doing when it comes to this and men, I awkwardly trail my hands down his chest until I reach his impressive bulge. With timid hands, I squeeze gently, eliciting a mouth-watering moan from his lips.

Hands going to my belt, he pulls back enough to look me in the eye. His hazel eyes, glossy and heavy, explore my face, trying to get a read on me, I’m sure.

“If you’re going to freak out and leave, do it now, Knoxy boy.”

“Shut the fuck up and get on with it, Walker.”

His lip raises slightly on one side, and he lets out a chuckle, working my belt open. Never breaking eye contact, he gets my pants down my thighs, only letting go to do the same to his.

The eye contact, the lust, the anticipation, is all too much. I’m in over my head, I know it, but I can’t pull away.

Palming me with his warm, calloused hand, he strokes me firmly, working himself with his other. Then he brings our cocks to rest on one another’s, stroking us together, and the feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. His velvety soft yet steel-hard cock rubbing against my own makes my toes curl.

“Fuck, dude,” I mutter, eyes rolling back.

“You like that, baby?” Holy shit, his voice is husky as hell, sounding like pure gravel and sex.

“God, yes. Don’t fucking stop.”

Tightening his grip, he strokes us faster, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room. Using his free hand, he wraps it around my nape, pulling me to him in a bruising collision of our lips. His tongue immediately darts into my mouth, taking ownership, effectively destroying any thoughts left in my mind.

It’s downright embarrassing how close I am to blowing already. He’s had his hands on me for barely any time at all, but he lights me up like no one ever has. That thought alone freaks me the fuck out, but not going there.

His increased breathing, along with his now erratic stroking, lets me know he’s as close to the edge as I am. Gripping my hands on his hips, I pull him even closer to me, not allowing even an inch of room between us. Sucking my lip into his mouth, he bites down on it hard enough to draw blood, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes me. The pain mixed with the pure pleasure happening below the waist is enough to send me over the edge.

“Gonna come,” is all I manage to get out.

“Me too,” he moans out, tightening his grip on us. “Come for me, Knoxy.”

His request sets me off, and I blow hot streams of cum all over us, moaning embarrassingly loud.

“Oh, fuck. That’s right, let it all out, baby,” he coos, seconds before his own release takes hold of him. Watching his cock pulse and explode all over mine, paired with the downright erotic noises coming from him, is way hotter than it should be. I can’t look away.

Catching our breath, we sit there holding on to each other for a few moments. Unable to meet his eyes, I shove away from him in search of something to clean us up. Finding a box of tissues next to the bed, I grab a handful, handing him some. As I tuck myself back into my pants, I already feel the internal panic start to set in.

Fuck.

Readjusting his own clothes, he looks over at me. His face is void of any recognizable emotion; I can’t tell at all how he’s feeling. I thought for sure I’d find him smug or gloating, but I don’t see any of that.

Instead, he shocks the fuck out of me, turning and walking out the door without a word or a second glance. Not that I wanted to stay and hang out with the guy, but I thought for sure I’d be the one fleeing the scene of the crime.

I drop down onto the bed and put my face in my hands, focusing on regulating my breathing, because I’m freaking the fuck out now.

Why… Why the fuck did I do that?

This is the second time I’ve initiated sexual contact with him. I can’t even blame him, because it’s all on me. Even though he was egging me on, I’m still the one who sought him out up here. I’m still the one who barged in here when he was with Travis, like a fucking lunatic. I’m still the one who threatened Travis.

And for what?

Because he was up here with Aston?

He has every right to be. I have no ownership over him. I don’t even fucking like the guy.

But then, why when I saw Aston dancing with him, touching him, kissing him, leading him upstairs, did I rage like a jealous fucking boyfriend?

I gotta get out of here. Out of this room, out of this house.

After I’m sure I have everything, I leave the room, heading down the stairs and straight for the front door. Not bothering to look for anyone or even let anyone know I’m leaving, I make my way home.

Taking out a cigarette, I light it up, desperately needing something to do to try and occupy my mind. It’s futile, though. The memories hit me like a freight train.

“Need to talk to you, boy,” Dad says, coming into my room and shutting the door behind him.

Him coming into my room is never good. Ever.

Palms starting to sweat, heart racing a mile a minute, I squirm on my bed in anticipation of what this could possibly be about.

Not wanting to set him off, I keep my mouth shut and make room for him on my bed. “Be seen and not heard” as he always says.

He doesn’t look angry, instead he looks perfectly content, but looks can be deceiving with him. He’s like one of those panda bears; they look sweet and nice, but mess with them wrong, they’ll fuck you up. That’s him.

After several agonizingly long seconds of staring at me, he finally speaks.

“I was using the computer in the media room today, trying to look something up, and you’ll never fucking believe what I came across in the browser history.”

Blood turning to pure ice, I freeze. Feeling like I’m going to pass out, I have to remind myself to breathe.

“Porn,” he spits out, laced with venom. “Which isn’t that unusual for a 14-year-old boy, I suppose.”

He stops there, for dramatic effect or seeing if I’ll speak up and admit anything, I’m not sure. I don’t dare speak, though. I’m afraid if I move a muscle or open my mouth, he’ll lay me out flat.

“No,” he continues. “This wasn’t any regular porn though, was it?”

Not knowing if this is rhetorical or a genuine question, I still remain quiet.

Big mistake.

Back handing me across the mouth so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised if my teeth got knocked loose, he shouts, “I asked you a fucking question, boy, and I expect an answer.”

As he’s yelling, I can smell the whiskey permeating off him, making me want to gag. This is a lose-lose for me—if I don’t answer him, he’ll hit me again, but if I do answer him, he’ll most likely hit me again, or worse.

I try my hardest to keep my voice steady when I finally respond. “No, sir.”

“You’re goddamn right it’s not. Imagine my shock and disgust”—he spits out the last word like it’s poison on his tongue—“when I find faggot porn on my computer.”

A whole body shiver runs through me, and I’m visibly shaking at this point. I don’t know where he’s going to go with this, but it can’t be good.

I wonder, for a split second, where my mom is.

“I didn’t raise no cock-loving son, did I?”

Again, probably not rhetorical, and unless I want to go back to school Monday with a black and blue face, I need to answer him.

“No, sir.” My voice isn’t as steady that time, despite my best efforts.

“So, then, what would be the reason for finding it, boy?”

“I was… I was just curious, sir.”

“Curious,” he says the word like he’s never heard it before. “Thought so. Well, I got a fix for that.”

“A f-fix?”

“Yeah, boy. A fucking fix for your homo-curious problems.”

As he says that, the bedroom door opens, as if someone was listening on the other side. Thinking it will be my mother, imagine my surprise when some woman I’ve never seen, in a leather skirt so short, I’m surprised her vagina isn’t hanging out, and a black tube top that her tits are almost busting out of, comes walking in.

Looking from him to her, back to him, I sit in confused silence.

Not understanding what this is, not one bit.

“Son, this is Tori. Tori, this is my son, Knox.”

“Hello, Knox,” she says in a voice that I’m almost certain she thinks is sexy, but it isn’t.

“Uh, hi,” is all I can manage.

“Do you know why Tori is here, boy?”

“No, sir. No, I do not.” But I’m sure you’re going to, so kindly, tell me.

“Well, you’re obviously confused and need a real woman to clear the air for you. Show you what you’re missing. Show you the way of life.”

I’m going to puke.

“It’s about time you become a man, Son. We’re going to fuck the faggot out of you, make you a man I’m proud to call my son.”

The bile rises and threatens to spew out of my mouth.

Tori walks toward me, in her way too tall heels, with a smile on her face—again, I think she believes it’s sexy… It isn’t. Dad gets off the bed and she takes his place.

Jerked out of my memory by a car horn blaring behind me, I fight back the pathetic tears threatening to fall. No way in hell am I giving that disgusting bastard any of my tears, any of my emotions.

Not anymore.

Rolling up my coat sleeve above my wrist, putting out the cigarette on my skin, I grit my teeth through the pain. Desperately needing to get my mind off the nightmarish memories, get my mind off tonight and the pleasure I took in divulging in Aston.

It can’t fucking happen again.

I need to steer clear of him.

******

The thought of skipping class this morning is appealing as fuck.

I want more than anything to take the cowardly way out and run from my problems. I spent all day yesterday replaying what happened with Aston and me.

I’m fucking ashamed of how weak I am, giving into the slightest bit of temptation. Why can’t I find a chick to obsess over? Life would be so much easier if that were the case.

Maybe that’s what I’ll do.

I’ll go on Tinder and try to find a girl to occupy my mind.

Grabbing my beanie before I leave the house, because it’s cold as shit out right now, I start my walk to campus. I’m cutting it a little close and may even be a little late, but fuck it. I’ll be elated when this class is finally over, and I pray I don’t have any classes with him next semester. I can’t handle another four months of this.

Halfway there, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Taking it out, I see it’s Katie. Shit. I haven’t talked to her since the incident happened. She’s going to figure it out. She’s like a goddamn shark… sniffing out even a drop of panic.

Katie: Hey, dickhead.

Katie: Are you avoiding me?

Katie: Better not be *angry face*

I can’t help the chuckle that falls from my lips at her messages. She’s so fucking shamelessly needy.

Me: Not ignoring you.

Katie: Don’t believe you. Meet me for lunch today.

Me: No.

Katie: Yes, bitch. Not taking no for an answer.

Me: Where?

Katie: Your house. We’ll order in.

Me: Fine. You’re annoying. See ya later.

Katie: You love me. Byeeeee. ;)

How are the elevators in this building still out of service? It’s been over a month. Now I have to hustle my ass up all these stairs, with only two minutes to spare before class starts. This professor already hates me, and I’m fueling her fire. Funny thing is, she loves Aston.

Flying through the door, I see everyone is already here, because of course they are. Apparently, nobody is as much of a fuck up as I am. I don’t even need to look at Professor Panty Wad to know she’s giving me the stink-eye.

Suddenly hit with a wave of nerves, I make my way down the rows until getting to my seat, right next to the man I don’t want to be thinking of. Making the mistake of looking up at him, I’m hit with the most intense stare. It’s loaded with questions I don’t want to answer, emotions I’m ignoring myself, and something else I can’t quite place.

Fixing my face to what I hope is a scowl, I take my seat beside him, getting my laptop out and powering it on.

“Alright, class, I hope you all had a nice weekend,” Professor Panty Wad says, walking to stand behind her podium. “This week is the start of our next group project.”

Fuck me all to hell.

“This assignment requires a lot of research, a lot of outside of the class focus, so please plan accordingly. The due date is Sunday by midnight.”

Groaning, I peek at my partner, but he’s giving nothing away on his face. He sure is good at that lately. Where is the usual smugness?

The professor goes over the assignment in detail and what is expected of us, then she excuses us to go work on it. Our outline is due Wednesday, so we need to get started on it now.

Joy.

“So,” Aston drawls, turning in his seat to face me, “want to head to the library to get started on this, get it out of the way?”

Searching his face to see if I can detect any of his cocky behavior, but not finding anything, I warily agree. Sliding my laptop back into my backpack and tossing it over my shoulder, we make our way out of the classroom. The library is about a ten-minute walk across campus. We start the trek there in complete silence.

The silence isn’t doing me any favors, because of course, I’m recalling the last time we were in the library together. The way he sought me out when I got up, tried—and succeeded—to provoke me, the way he went down on his knees so lithely, opened his mouth, and swallowed me like he was starving and I was his only nourishment.

If my semi is any indication, today is going to be a long fucking day.

I may not survive.