A long moan rumbles from the depths of me, and my primal instincts rise up. I want to go harder. I yank my dick from his mouth, and it’s the most painful thing I’ve had to do.
“How you doing, Ace?” I use his name softly but with enough sternness to convey that he’d better be honest. I grip his chin. Trust goes both ways.
“I’m good.” I raise a brow. “Really. C’mon, use me, Daddy. I know you want to.”
“You fucking brat. I’m gonna use you, alright. Brace yourself, I’m gonna fuck your throat raw.”
I don’t hold back this time. He wants to be used? He’ll get used. My hips pound a steady rhythm, and he takes it like a champ.
My orgasm hits me suddenly. Something about watching my cock slide in and out of him, stretching his lips, the tears, the redness, him on his fucking knees. Ace doesn’t lose a drop, swallowing and continuing to lick and slurp, even as I’m pulling out, chasing my cock. A long string of saliva beads from his lips to the head.
He’s in a floaty daze as he licks his lips, a white film coating the tip, taking the last remnants of my cum into him.
“That was?—”
“Up.”
Ace fumbles like a baby deer, and I’m too quick to help him. He doesn’t need my help; he’s a top-level athlete. No chance he’s never had to stumble home after a night of too many beers. It’s too late, though; my arm’s under him.
“We need to talk,” I say before he can say anything.
“Oh, now we talk.” He smirks.
“Sit.”
He has the gall to roll his eyes—maybe it’s not too late to spank him after all—but he plants himself on his ass quickly, working out that my mind’s headed in the spanking directionif he’s not careful. Ace perches on the edge, legs spread, cock outlined in his sweats. He flexes and extends his bare toes a few times before digging them into the carpet. A grounding habit, maybe. Or just a nervous tic. Either way, it settles him.
I take a step in, knock his knees wider, invading his space. It’s instinct. Maybe mine, maybe his. I don’t know who started this gravity between us anymore. I tilt his head up with one hand and use the other to fix his hair. He’s fucking ruined because of me.
“Is this the part where you get weird about us again? Having second thoughts?”
I squeeze his chin, shaking my head. How do I explain it to him?
“No second thoughts. The opposite of second thoughts. The thing I feel for you isn’t sweet or soft. It’s not a schoolboy crush and it sure as fuck isn’t gentle.” My voice comes out rougher than usual as I try to get him to understand. “It’s feral, it’s instinct, it’s predatory. Every time I see you lean into one of your little friends like that I—” I exhale through my nose, jaw flexing hard.
Using him to ground me, I rest my forehead against his, closing my eyes for a few heartbeats. I don’t know if I was always this way, or if I became this way because of the training. Being in the ring night after night, there was little choice but to become something close to an animal.
It meant survival.
Hell, maybe that’s what I am now, an animal.
“I’m a lot, Ace.”
“I know, Luke. You’re the King of A lot. That’s what I want. Ugh, this is gonna sound so fucked up.”
I consider him. Is it possible that my fucked-up shit is in line with his fucked-up shit? “Tell me.”
“I want to belong to you like I’m your property.”
Holy shit, really?
Then … we do line up.
Exactly.
I smile the smile that should indicate he’s in big trouble. I’ve caught him, and I’m keeping him whether he likes it or not.
“That’s what I want too, but being mine means you don’t canoodle with others on buses.”
