Wicked Lies Boys Tell

He’s a fiery, beautiful god. Carved to perfection. I could stare at his body for days on end and never get bored.

With incredible patience, he slowly inches his way inside of me. The burn is much worse than his fingers, but not anything I can’t handle. Having him like this makes it worth it.

Heavy breathing. Flushed cheeks. Clenched jaw.

He’s barely holding back. I can tell he’s desperate to fuck me into submission. Instead of giving into those baser instincts, he bottoms out and then prowls toward me for a kiss. The moment his lips meet mine, I groan in pleasure. This makes his dick throb. He hisses and then thrusts once, hard. My fingers fly to his biceps and I grip him so tight, he’ll probably bruise.

“Fuuuuck,” I hiss.

His hot breath mingles with mine, our lips dancing across each other’s, as he says, “Am I hurting you?”

Fuck yes, this hurts.

Burns like a motherfucker. My dick aches for him to relieve it from its misery.

But do I want him to stop?

Hell no.

He must sense the want rippling from me because his mouth crushes to mine. His kisses are frenzied and chaotic. When his hips begin to thrust wildly against me, I try not to lose my mind to the madness only he can create. He reaches between us to grip my dick, stroking in tandem with his thrusts.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Feels fucking foreign and fucking weird and fucking amazing all at once.

“Penn,” I croak against his mouth.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, his voice breathy.

“Jesus!” I cry out as my cum spurts without warning from my dick. Pleasure chases away the pain. I spiral into ecstasy with my best friend grunting out his own release.

He makes a garbled sound as he comes. His dick seems to swell to a painful size within me. All I can do is hold on. As soon as he finishes, he slides out of me, before falling next to me. He buries his face in my neck.

“That was the best moment of my entire life,” he breathes hotly against my flesh.

I turn away from him, smiling because it tickles, and my stare locks on the open door. A chill settles in my bones. We shut the door.

We shut the door.

We shut the d—

Crash!

Penn jolts upright, his wide eyes darting to the door. “Who the fuck opened the door?”

Another crashing sound.

Neither of us waits around. Both of us scramble off the bed, hunting for clothes. With a pinch at his tip, Penn tugs off the condom filled with his cum and ties it into a knot. He disappears into the bathroom and yanks on his jeans without underwear. I throw on some shorts and rush out of my room.

As soon as I make it into the kitchen, to the source of the sound, my chest hollows out.

Dad.

He’s not on a flight to London.

No, he’s here and he probably just saw…I can’t even finish that thought.

His arm swipes out and he knocks a canister of sugar by the coffee pot onto the floor. It shatters, exploding sugar everywhere. Then, with a roar of fury, he yanks the coffee machine from the wall and throws that onto the floor too.

“Dad!” I bellow. “Calm the hell down!”

Penn’s heat is behind me as he looks past me at my dad raging in the kitchen.

Dad swivels around, his face beet red with anger, and points a finger our way. “You,” Dad hisses. “You sick motherfucker.”

“Leave him alone,” I snap.

Dad’s lip curls up in disgust as he rakes his gaze down my front. Cum is still smeared across my lower stomach. This seems to infuriate him again, because he kicks the coffeemaker. “I was talking about you, Copeland. You’re the sick motherfucker here.”

I tense, feeling the impact of every single one of his words. Penn pushes past me and squares his shoulders at my dad.

“Bryan,” Penn growls. “You’re out of line.”

My dad sneers at him. “Me? I’m out of line? My flight’s canceled and I come home to find the neighbor fucking my son. No, I’m not out of line. I’m disgusted.”

Dread washes over me. Like so many times when my dad was saying hateful shit to me, I’m left tongue-tied and upset. I’ll think of a thousand comebacks the moment I’m back upstairs. But in the face of his blatant dislike for me, I can’t formulate any words.

“W-what w-we did—” I utter, trying to explain this explosive thing to my father.

“You know,” Dad interrupts. “When I thought you’d knocked up Leah, I felt kind of proud of you. Like my fucking son was sticking it to those assholes.” His lip curls up. “But you’re just a whore like your mother. Fucking everything in sight. I bet if you still had that dog, you’d fuck that too.”

Penn shoves Dad so hard, he stumbles over the coffee pot and nearly knocks his head on the counter. He recovers quickly, face red with fury. “He’s not a whore,” Penn defends me, his tone icy.