Forsaken Desires (The Deepest Desires 2)

chapter seventeen

Knox

I have a dick in my mouth right now.

Not just any dick either. Aston Walker’s fucking cock has made a home in my mouth.

How the fuck did I end up in this position? And why do I fucking like it so much?

I’m so painfully hard, I couldn’t keep myself in my pants any longer. The second my palm gripped my throbbing length, I swear I saw stars. Never has anyone made me as riled up as he does. Never have I felt as animalistic and primal in my need for someone the way I do with him.

It makes no fucking sense.

What is it about him?

Although, just looking up at him, I answer my own question. He’s sinfully sexy, with his deep, longing, green eyes, and perfect fucking button nose. Hell, even his bottle blond hair drives me absolutely fucking crazy. It contrasts heavily with his dark brows and facial hair, but it works so well for him.

His smirk emanates raw sex appeal, and his filthy mouth is enough to drive a nun to sin. Pair all of that with his confidence, and I realize I never stood a chance. I can fight this until I’m blue in the face, but there is something—some force or magnetic pull—that draws me to him. Like a moth to a flame, I’m entangled with Aston.

Continuing to work him with my mouth and tongue, I feel so out of place. Clearly, I’ve never given head before, and I have no idea if what I’m doing is good, but based on the way he’s biting his lip and white-knuckling the desk, I’d say I’m doing okay.

He takes his cock out of my mouth, and I’m confused for half a second until an evil smirk crosses his face and he says, “Suck my balls.”

He’s stroking himself leisurely now, and the sight is arousing as hell. He’s far bossier than I figured he’d be, and while I can’t bring myself to admit it or show it, it does things to me. Never in my life did I think being ordered around would turn me on.

Still, I’m not going to just lie down without a fight.

“No fucking way, Walker,” I grumble, crossing my arms. Which probably looks ridiculous, since I’m on my knees and my achingly hard cock is still out.

“Wasn’t asking.” He strokes his cock upwards, which puts his large, heavy balls right in my face.

This fucker.

Apparently, my brain and my mouth don’t communicate worth a damn because I flick my tongue out, regardless of the fact that I just told him no, and lick across his sac.

“Mmm, you’re so fucking hot when you listen.”

“Fuck off.”

“It’s adorable, really, that you’re still pretending you aren’t into this.”

Saying nothing, I just scowl and look away.

“C’mere,” he says, lightly tugging on my sweatshirt, indicating to stand up, so I do. Acting like the obedient boy I never knew I was.

Infuriating.

Now face to face, Aston grabs me by the neck, pulling me in and crashing his lips on mine. His tongue aggressively spears into my mouth and there isn’t an ounce of doubt in the way he kisses me.

My hands fly up to wrap around his waist of their own volition, and I open my mouth more, allowing him to deepen the kiss. I’m so utterly consumed by him, I can’t even think straight. My brain is short-circuiting, and my hips are rutting into his like a pubescent teenager finding sexual contact for the first time.

Both of our cocks are still out, so with every thrust of my hips, my dick rubs against his in the most delicious way. The sounds coming from my throat are embarrassing, but I simply don’t care right now.

Reaching down, he pumps my cock a few times before breaking our lips apart. Then he takes both of our cocks in his hands, tip to tip, and I watch in sheer amazement as he starts to encase my cock with his foreskin.

Has he fucking done this before? With someone else? Where else would he learn how to do this?

We look like one of those Chinese finger toys when he finishes covering my cock with him, and all previous thoughts leave my mind as I take in what he’s doing to me. Jacking us together, blanketed by the foreskin, the sensation and suction are so intense, I have to reach behind him and grip the table, resting my head on his shoulder.

“What the fuck, man. How does this feel so good?”

Laughing huskily, he says, “I don’t know, but it sure fucking does.”

I let out a deep, throaty groan, barely able to make coherent thoughts, let alone words. “Foreskin for the win,” I moan. Unable to even get embarrassed by that right now.

Continuing his salacious strokes, he uses his free hand to tip my chin up, resuming our earlier kiss, yet this time it’s softer, more passionate. His tongue stroking mine and his hand on my cock builds to a full-body sensation that’s too fucking much. Whimpering into his mouth, I don’t have any time to tell him before I explode.

Stars and fireworks flash behind my eyes, an earthquake of pleasure soaring through me, all the way down to the tips of my toes, and hot cum fills the foreskin pocket he’s created.

Ripping my lips from his, I look down and take it all in. My release triggering his, he audibly growls, beautifully falling apart right before my eyes. His eyes roll back, fluttering behind his lids, and beads of sweat line his forehead, absolutely and shamelessly spent.

Spending a few moments to catch our breaths, I finally look up and meet his eyes. The look I’m met with is enough to make my legs feel weak all over again. I know, without a doubt, that this just changed everything.

There’s no more denying or hiding from this feeling, this carnal urge, and fuck, I don’t know how to handle that.

Every single part of me is screaming to run and panic. It’s a true effort to not do just that, and by the look on his face and the way his eyes roam all over me, I can tell he’s waiting for me to flee.

Pulling apart, he saunters across the room to grab some paper towels. Handing me some, he cleans up and tucks himself back into his pants, and I do the same. The silence and tension are palpable, and I feel like I should say something, but I haven’t a clue what.

Luckily, he breaks the suffocating silence. “Surprised you haven’t run away or punched me yet.”

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t always run. I recall you were the one to bolt last time, so stones and glass houses and all that.”

“You practically do,” he says with a chuckle.

“Whatever,” I grumble. “So, you spend a lot of time in here?”

It’s a stupid question, really. He’s an art major… obviously he spends a lot of time in here.

“I do. Both for class and personal. I enjoy it.”

“Can I, uh… can I see some of your work?” I can feel my face warm as the words leave my mouth. Jesus Christ. Why the fuck do I behave like this around him?

His brows pinch together. “Right now?”

“I mean, sure. We’re already here. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. No biggie.”

“No, no. I can. Come over here.” He heads toward a row of storage cabinets, opening one that I assume is where he stores all his work. He pulls out a gray portfolio type folder, setting it on the table, before grabbing an easel from the cabinet that’s holding a large, white piece of paper. It looks freshly painted on, which is probably why it’s not in the portfolio. I can’t see what’s painted on it ’cause he has it turned to the side, but it’s vibrant, whatever it is.

Opening the folder, he pulls out several pieces. Some are painted, some look drawn with possibly a graphite pencil. All of them are stunning. I’m in awe of his talent. I knew this was his major, and I knew he was an artist, but this… this is impressive.

There’re drawings of different animals, paintings of the campus and the mountains back home, a few portraits. The details on these are incredible.

“Aston, these are fucking amazing.” I’m basically gawking. I couldn’t hold back my reaction even if I wanted to at this point. Dragging my eyes from the pictures up to his face, I’m surprised to see him look so sheepish. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek and his skin is tinged with a flush of pink.

“Thanks,” is all he manages to reply as he puts the pieces back in the portfolio.

My attention shifts to the easel and my breath catches in my throat as I take in the painting.

“What’s this?” My voice is cracked and quiet, and I don’t dare look at him. I can’t bring my eyes away from the painting.

“Oh, uh.” He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice is shaky, unsure. “It’s nothing. Something I’m just working on for one of my assignments.”

It’s not nothing.My heart is pounding so hard, I can hear it in my ears. It’s not fucking nothing. It’s a painting of the baseball fields at night. The sunset is off to the side, the sky a brilliant shade of cotton candy, and the bleachers are visible in the bottom of the painting… as are two sets of feet. One of which are wearing black combat boots, like the pair on my feet now. There’s also a hand holding a joint. Smoke is billowing around the bottom of the picture, but my gaze is hooked on the hand.

When I was a teenager, one of the first times I was burned by a cigarette, it was on my left hand, on the skin between my thumb and index finger. I’ve had a scar there ever since. And in this painting, the hand holding the joint has a scar in that exact same spot.

This is us. He painted us.

Looking over, my gaze connects with his, and my tongue is coated in chalk as I try to swallow. My eyes sting and I’m overwhelmed with the wave of emotion that’s washed over me. The color has drained from his face as he, I’m assuming, knows that I’ve figured it out. Figured out that he painted us. Painted me with such extraordinary detail.

He clears his throat once more, moving to put the easel away. “It’s no big deal. An assignment.”

I know he’s full of shit, but I can’t help the pang of… something… disappointment, maybe, at his nonchalance. But I don’t know why I’d feel disappointed. Man, I need to get a handle on my damn feelings before things get really outta hand.

After several long moments of us standing there, we finally grab our backpacks and make our way out of the room. I’m going to have to meet Katie soon for lunch, and she’s going to be able to read me immediately, I just know it.

“Wanna smoke?” he asks me as we walk out of the art building. He still sounds timid, but at least the color has returned to his face.

“I’m down. I have to leave to go have lunch with Katie in like twenty minutes, though.”

“The girl from the party that you’re always hanging out with?”

“That’s the one.”

“You guys seem pretty close,” he utters, looking away from me.

“Oh, yeah. She’s just a friend, though.” This feeling, whatever it is, is gnawing away at me, making me feel like I need to specify this and drive it home. “I’ve never really had a friend that was a girl, but we’re just friends.”

He chooses now to side-eye me, a sly grin tugging on his lips as he studies my face. The way he’s watching me makes me wish I never would’ve said any of that. He probably didn’t mean it like that. He probably doesn’t care if I’m fucking her or not. I mean, why would he?

“Dope. She seems like a cool chick to be friends with.” He shoves his hands into his pockets as we make our way toward the field.

Walking there in comfortable silence, I notice how nice it is for February. The sun is out, and I almost don’t need my hoodie. I can’t fucking wait for spring. This cold shit sucks.

We pass several students on our way there, but luckily the field is empty, like always. I wonder where we’ll smoke once baseball season starts.

We? Since when is there a ‘we’?

This is not good.

We make our way to the bleachers like we did last time, with him taking a seat on one row, and me on the one below him.

Pulling his phone out, I can tell he’s on his Spotify app. I’ve noticed he prefers to listen to music when smoking, which is fine by me. 100 in A 55 by Pop Evil is what he starts with—good fucking song—and he lights up the joint. His eyes flutter closed as he inhales, letting the smoke fill him.

I hate how much I notice everything about him now, or maybe I always did, and I just denied it to myself. Like how in the sun, his face is dusted with the faintest freckles across his nose and cheeks. When he smokes, his eyes become an even more vibrant shade of green, almost like seafoam. His top lip is much smaller than his bottom one, but it gives him the most adorable pout.

What I notice, and that I probably hate the most, is the way his facial hair scratches my face when he kisses me… and how I like it.

Taking the joint from him and inhaling deeply, I hold it in until my lungs scream. Blowing the smoke out, I glance over at him and find him already looking at me.

“What?” I ask him, hating how shy my voice sounds right now. I’m not this coy, malleable guy I always seem to become around him.

“Nothing,” he responds with his signature pretty boy smirk.

“Can we not talk about it… Not right now at least?”

“Fine with me, Finny.” Taking the joint from me, bringing it up to his lips, he winks at me.

Cue major fucking eye roll.

All I Needby August Royals comes on next, and fuck, I can’t even deny he has immaculate taste in music. Just another annoying little tidbit about him, another way we’re actually more alike than not.

“Why do you call me JT?”

I laugh a little at that, because yup, knew that was coming one day.

“Justin Timberlake.”

He actually coughs on his smoke at my response. “What? I look nothing like him.”

“Kinda.”

“How?!” He looks outraged, which makes me laugh more.

“Bye, bye, bye,” I sing and move my hands like they do in the music video.

Throwing his head back, giving me a perfect view of his prominent Adam’s apple, he erupts with laughter.

“Bro, you’re wack. Horrible comparison.”

“Say what you want, it’s sticking. Now give me the joint, JT.”

“Shouldn’t share my weed with you anymore,” he mumbles, fighting a smile, but handing me it anyway.

Fuck, this shouldn’t feel so easy and comfortable.

Taking one last drag, I pass it back to him as I stand up. “I should go if I’m going to meet Katie on time.”

He eyes me for a moment before he responds, “Okay.”

“Uh, yeah. So, thanks for uh…”

“The orgasm and weed?”

Feeling my face heat up, I look away and say, “Was going to say the weed, but yeah, that too.”

He stands up, walking a few steps until he’s standing directly in front of me. Placing the joint between his lips, he inhales and leans toward me until his lips threaten to touch mine. As I figure out what he’s doing, I part my lips slightly, and he blows the smoke into my mouth.

Inhaling on his exhale, I close my eyes and take what he gives me. His scent is everywhere, and it’s making me dizzy. Being this close to him is like a drug all on its own, like I can’t think clearly, which probably explains what I do next.

Closing the small distance between us, I mold my lips to his. I feel his body stiffen right before his hand goes to cup my neck. Sucking his bottom lip into my mouth, he groans and I shudder.

His tongue makes its way into my mouth, tasting like strawberries and weed, and it’s my turn to groan into him.

The kiss is quick and pretty tame, compared to what we’ve done before, but when we pull away, my gaze hesitates to meet his. I don’t know why I just did that, out in the fucking open, but fuck it.

Bouncing on the balls of my heels, I look everywhere but at him. “So, yeah, gonna go.”

“Alright, Finny. See ya around.”

“Yup, bye.”