Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

God how she’d wished both men were naked. Gumby would be gorgeous with his lean muscles corded and straining while the heavier, thicker Screw would be the picture of power, even on his knees.

When Gumby’s body stilled, Screw stood. They now maintained an intense eye contact. The air grew so thick with tension, Jazz felt it in the hallway.

What now? Would Gumby freak? Had he done this before?

Jazz bit her lower lip.

“Um, I can return the favor,” he said as he reached for Screw’s zipper. Though the words came from Gumby’s lips, he sounded hesitant.

With a harsh chuckle, Screw stepped out of Gumby’s reach. “No thanks.”

“What?” Gumby frowned.

“What are you offering?” Screw folded his muscular arms across his chest.

Still frowning, Gumby said, “What do you mean.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do to me?”

“I’m gonna…return the favor.”

“What? Suck my cock? Jerk me off? What?”

“I…uh…”

Screw snorted. “I just swallowed your cum and you can’t even fucking say it.” With a shake of his head, he took another step back, then another.

He spun toward the door, kicking Jazz into gear. With a sharp inhale at the look of fury on Screw’s face, she darted farther down the hallway, pressing herself into a dark corner. Screw yanked the door open so hard, it slammed against the wall.

Jazz held her breath, but he didn’t emerge into the hallway right away. Instead, he must have turned back to Gumby. The silence weighed a thousand pounds. She didn’t dare exhale and within seconds, dizziness swamped her. But it didn’t last for long because the moment Screw spoke, she sagged against the wall, a deflated balloon.

Nothing had changed between the two men who seemed to hate each other despite their attraction.

“I’ll take care of myself,” Screw said in the most caustic tone she’d heard from the man. “Not in the mood for pussy tonight.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

WHAT THE FUCK had he just allowed?

Gumby leaned heavily against the wall, alone in a room where Screw had just sucked him off like his life depended on it. He’d had his share of blow jobs from both men and women, but fuck if he’d ever had one like that. Seemed as though Screw couldn’t get enough of Gumby’s cock. The man appeared to derive as much pleasure from sucking Gumby as he got from the hot suction of Screw’s sinful mouth.

Maybe he’d been right about that angry fucking.

Any time in the past he’d gotten a blow job from a guy, it’d been in a dark corner of a seedy club or out in a back alley behind the place. Also dark. And always far from his hometown, where no one would recognize him. No one would stumble upon him and discover his secret. And no one would get hurt. Traumatic memories tried to worm their way into his sluggish thoughts, but he forced them away.

He’d fucked a few guys over the years too, but once again, no eye contact. Hell, he just bent them over the nearest surface and went to town. If he couldn’t see their face, he didn’t have to acknowledge the fact he was fucking a guy.

Which was utterly stupid. Men felt different. The strong contours of their back. The lack of curve in their hips. Strong, hairy thighs against his. All the traits that attracted him to men were the things he pretended to ignore.

Yeah, he was a damn head case.

The need he had for men never went away. No matter how much he denied it. Ignoring it never worked either. So he managed it with the occasional encounter, but soon after, the urge to feel a man beneath his fingertips would rear its head once again, causing him to drive hours out of town to find a nameless, faceless man to slake the lust.

Lust he couldn’t even admit out loud. Lust he always wrote off as some physical anomaly born of stress or some other bullshit excuse.

Didn’t take a trained psychologist to figure out he couldn’t admit he was bisexual because of his upbringing. Because his piece of shit father pounded his own disgust into Gumby both verbally and physically.

You want a cock, you reach down and yank your own like a normal fucking man.

If I see you look at that faggot one more time, I’m gonna make you wear a fucking fairy costume to school.

I find out you’re on your knees for some pansy and I’ll shoot your fucking knee caps off myself.

That last one had been accompanied by a brutal beating responsible for two missed days of school. Over and over, Gumby’s father drilled into him his hatred for homosexuals until Gumby shoved that part of his life so deep, he’d sworn it’d never see the light of day.

Little did he know at that time, his body had a way of making its needs known. Now, in his mid-thirties, five years after his father’s passing, he still couldn’t find his way out of the closet. Some lessons lingered.