The thought makes me sick, my stomach contorting. The heavy sludge of vomit creeps up my throat.
“Are you about done?” he asks, deadpan. I force my eyes away from his crotch, bypassing the oddly shaped welts near his groin to meet his steely gaze with a bored one of my own.
“I’m done when I say I’m done,” I tell him, molars grinding together at his attitude.
“Well, hurry the hell up. I’m cold.” His skin is pimpled with gooseflesh from head to toe. He tries to cross his arms over his chest, but I snap out against it.
“Put your fucking arms down.”
Abel eyes me, big mouth pursed in aggrievance before it quirks up in a small smirk.
Go ahead, little runt. Push me.
He dramatically holds his arms out in front of himself, water dripping from the tips of his fingers,showcasinghimself. My eyes never leave his, steel gray and devious, filled with untold secrets.
“Show me your pussy.”
Abel balks, face burning crimson. His arms fall to his sides, crisscrossing over his midsection. I step forward and yank them down. His skin is slick and warm against my palms as he wriggles around, fighting against me.
“Shit!” he yelps, grappling at something for balance as his feet lose traction. I wrap my arm around his lithe waist, hauling him against me. His legs kick in the air, wet tendrils of hair slapping my face as I drag him out and back, until I slam into the wall.
We both let out groans from the impact, both our chests heaving. Abel fights my hold, thrashing and grunting. I constrict my arm, sliding my fingers along his ribs, delving into the sharp, hollowed-out spaces between. His small, bare ass rubs against my dick, only covered by my thin, athletic shorts, and it takes me far too long to realize he’s doing it on purpose.
I dip my head down, sinking my teeth into his bony clavicle. “Knock it off,” I growl.
“Let me go,” he counters. Now, he’s full-on grinding, arching up and back so my length glides between his cheeks. I’m hard enough my dick has its own heartbeat.
My fingers wrap around his throat, applying pressure and pulling back until his Adam’s apple molds to my palm and his hair soaks into my shirt. I peer down at him, over his pale lashes, elongated nose, and fat, wet lips.
I lower my head, obscuring my vision in the recesses of his neck. “I said I want to see your fucking pussy. So, you’re going to bend over and give me what I want,runt.” I press my digits against his pulse point, feeling the heavy, rapid thump of his carotid.
Abel’s still now, breathing heavily. I can feel every inhale through the expansion of his ribs against my forearm. “Don’t pretend to be shy now. Remember…” I sneer directly into his ear, skimming my lips over the pierced flesh, tongue flicking out against the sharp metal, down to the heavy stone in his stretched lobe.
“This is what you fucking wanted. And you get it the wayIwant to give it—not the other way around.” I catch my teeth on one of his piercings, snagging it before pushing him away. He stumbles into the wall opposite us, hands splaying wide over the light gray paint.
“So, spread those cheeks and show me what’s mine.”
Abel’s head thuds against the wall, white hair falling against his face. Water hangs heavy within the tendrils, steadily dripping to the floor beside his feet. I rove my eyes over his bare back, raking down each knobby vertebrae, scarred skin stretched tight over bone, barely enough elasticity for it to be possible.
His ass is small but repulsively round and surprisingly smooth. I reach out to brush my fingers over his washed-out skin when I catch myself. Gritting my teeth, I lean back, clutching the counter as tightly as I can.
“Show me.” My eyes follow a bead of water rolling down his shoulder blade.
“Please,” he whines, shifting on his feet.
Abel’s lighter bumps against the meaty part of my palm. I pick it up and flick it on, waving the little flame around. “Please make you, or pleasedon’tmake you?” It clicks off.
He shudders. “Because you and I both know you want to. This whole “please, don’t”routine is pathetic when I’ve already seen how desperate you are.” His shoulders hike with a sharp intake of air as he hesitates. And then I watch, disgustingly entranced, as his long, scarred fingers glide over his smooth skin, the tips brushing between his cleft.
My heart thumps heavily in a painfully slow arrhythmia, then stops. I can no longer feel it moving, but the weight of it is there, choking me. My eyes are pinned wide as Abel flexes. The shadows in his crease slowly unveil to the harsh light.
I can’t breathe.
Every nerve and vein, searing and fervid. Every tendon and muscle, rigid and atrophied.
His skin is hairless from the top of his crease down to his balls, a small, tight line running right down the center. His hole is small, wrinkled, and so fucking pink. I choke on air, spit flying into the back of my throat when it puckers, cinching even tighter before relaxing back to what it was before.
Abel turns his head, the tendon on the left side of his neck extending as he looks over his shoulder, wet hair plastered against his face. “Do you like it?”
