I stare at his cock hidden under a thin layer of black. My teeth grind together, and I swallow. He’d kill me if he knew I was here, so why does the thought of touching him without his knowledge stir the shadows?
Fuck it.
My heart hammers harder as I pull his underwear halfway down his thighs to reveal his soft cock.
After one final look at his face to ensure he’s still asleep, I palm him and tug the length while holding my breath. It doesn’t take long for him to grow hard, his hips chasing my touch.
I love the feel of his dick in my hand. It’s bigger than mine, but not by much. His eyes move rapidly beneath his lids as I stroke his length until he hovers right at the edge. I keep him there, suspended, swiping my thumb through a bead of precum.
His chest expands on a ragged inhale, and he fists the sheets as he cranes his neck. Is he dreaming about me?
I rip the mask off, toss it to the floor, and take him in my mouth.
The moment my lips stretch around his dick, his hips shoot off the mattress, and his cum fills my mouth. I swallow every drop, my heart pounding so hard that I’m growing dizzy.
When his breathing evens out, I suck him down one final time.
Even now, as he throws an arm over his eyes, I wish he would look at me. But he’s asleep, and I stole a part of him like a thief in the night.
I straighten up and trace my thumb over his mouth.
My heart swells as I whisper, “One day, you’ll beg me to kiss these perfect lips, big brother.”
Jackson doesn’t answer on the fifth ring, and Blaise isn’t replying to my anonymous text. I arranged to meet up last night—I ghosted him, expecting to hear him throwing open the front door and stomping up the stairs, but it’s now the next morning, and he isn’t in his room. It was supposed to piss him off, some payback for thinking he “knows” me so well. For thinking I need his help or reassurance over my dad or everything else going on.
He doesn’t have a place in my life. He’s the fucking poisonous stepbrother I was given, the world’s favor for surviving Malcolm Carter.
Who does he think he is to not reply to me now? He’s not even gracing my masked self with a reply, and it enrages me.
I’m getting fucking annoyed, with a hint of…something else.
My cheek hurts, and I think Blaise nearly cracked a tooth when he hit me, the fucking asshole. Maybe ghosting him as the masked man was a bad idea?
On the eighth attempt to call Jackson and getting nothing, I shoot him a text asking where he is, and if he’s with Blaise.
My lungs halt when he replies with a winking emoji.
A fucking wink emoji.
The fuck?
Does he have Blaise on his knees right now, fucking his face and he’s enjoying it? Maybe Jackson lets Blaise kiss him. After all, I pulled away.
Is this his version of payback?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Jackson has said multiple times that he loves nothing more than to fuck his cock into a tight hole, preferably the back one. Blaise wouldn’t let him do that to him, would he?
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.
I stare at the ridiculous response while my hands fail to stop shaking, the roaring in my ears drowning out anything around me. What does it mean? I send a few question marks, waiting and waiting and fucking waiting, but as fifteen minutes fly by, he ignores me. Instead of being anonymous in my burner, I pull up Blaise’s contact on my normal phone and type, my heart pounding faster than I care to admit as I pace the floor.
Me: Where the fuck are you?
I’m in two states of unsureness. One side, Blaise obviously likes cock and so does Jackson. I know, from previous conversation, that Jackson thinks Blaise is hot and would fuck him. But Blaise wouldn’t go near him, right?
Maybe with me, he’s just exploring the basics and seeing if it’s something he’s actually into before he fucks off to someone he can really…
