“Why did you have a semi?”
“‘Cause I need to fuck. Throw your head back.”
I obeyed him only to feel him rinsing my hair. When his dick grazed me, I almost lost my balance. I put my hands on his chest to steady myself as he gripped my forearm in support.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore.
The words kept repeating in my head as Bazooka pushed a sponge into my hand.
“Wash yourself, Luz.”
“Huh?” I was officially brain-dead because all the blood in my body was rushing down south.
“Wash your chest. Your dick. Your ass.”
I did what he said, in the order he said it. For once in my life, it felt good to be obedient. It felt good to be good. The relief of not having to think about things felt good.
As I washed my crack, he washed his dick. I watched him do it. He watched me do it. I watched him operate the heavy machinery between his legs, desperate to touch it. Desperate to touch him. To fall on my knees in front of him and just suck, suck, suck.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore.
When I started to stroke my aching dick, eyefucking him, Baz grinned and reached for my hand.
“That’s not allowed, Luscious Lucius. Here… do me.”
He gave me his sponge, but I barely had the strength to grip it.
“Are you torturing me on purpose?” I said hoarsely.
“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, sounding amused.
My thoughts, too.
I washed his chest, biting my bottom lip until he pulled it from under my teeth with his thumb. I let my dick graze his thigh, watching his reaction, but I got none. His swollen shaft was leaking precum, but he behaved as if he wasn’t aware of it. Either that, or he had the self-control of a Tibetan monk, and I hated both possibilities equally.
In a moment of weakness, I leaned in and kissed his chest. I pressed my lips to his wet skin and dragged my tongue over his nipple, feeling dizzy. He let me do it only to grip my hair and make me look at him. His grey eyes were filled with warmth, and there was no refusal in them.
“How about…” I said, only to pause because my throat wasn’t working properly. “How about you give me next year’s birthday kiss in advance, just in case I die or—”
Before I could finish the sentence, he cupped my face and pressed his lips to mine. He pushed me backward until my back hit the wall, and then we were chest-to-chest and dick-to-dick. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back with everything I got, praying: God, please let this mean something. I burned, even under that stream of water, I burned. To feel his throbbing dick against my belly was torture. To feel his lips on mine was my undoing. When he slid his thigh between my legs, I started to hump it because I had no control left. He let me do it, holding me so I wouldn’t fall while I fucked myself on him. A few embarrassing moments later, I came with a shout. My eyes watered as my dick started shooting cum, soaking us both. I could see it hitting his abs and pubes, and then I sort of blacked out. Bazooka gently massaged my ass until I finished, holding me pinned to the wall because my knees gave out. Only when I sagged against him, panting, did he release me and kiss my forehead.
“Wash yourself. Go to bed.”
He left the shower first, and he left hard. It made me want to slam my fist into a wall, but what good would it do? Clearly, he wasn’t interested in me like I was interested in him, despite the fucking boner. He could have been thinking about Officer Vile for all I knew. And what the fuck was this? A charity? Fucking pity? Did he feel sorry for me? Oh, fuck him. I was done.
While I dried myself with a towel, I could hear him rummaging in the kitchen. The doorbell rang, presumably because our food had arrived. As if I cared about food. I was angry and hurt and officially done with this fucking day.
Once in my room, I crawled into bed and curled into a fetal position, staring at the wall. It was how Bazooka found me five minutes later—buck naked and pathetic. He climbed into the bed and lay down beside me, his front to my back. His chest hair tickled me; his body heat scalded me. His crotch cradling my ass told me he was still hard underneath his boxers. I was hard, too. Again. I wanted him. I would sell my soul to the devil to have him. Why was he even here? I had to know, so I rolled over on my back and looked at him. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were kind and his smile was tender.
“Bazooka—”
“I won’t fuck you, Luz.”
His words made me wince. They made me mad. They made me desperate.
“Please,” I whispered, raising my head to kiss him. “Pl-please.”
He dodged my lips but nuzzled my nose with his. “What do you want, sweetheart?”
