He grips my jaw, thumb caressing the corner of my lips where a trace of tomato lingers and then smears it across my mouth. “Clean it up, love. Every drop.”
I lick my lips, my tongue scouring each traverse of my upper and lower. The sauce tastes infinitely more savory under his command. The acid of the tomato melts from the saliva released from my mouth, the aromatics drifting into my nasal cavity.
“Good boy. You love listening to your Captain, don’t ya?” Charlie enquires, as a feral lust overtakes his pupils.
I shake my head vigorously up and down. My heart pounds in my chest, a rush of adrenaline jolting me awake. I love it when he takes control and orders me around. That’s what I’ve always needed. Someone to hold the reins, to strip me bare, and make me provemyself. To command me, push me, make me work for their approval. Hear them praise me.
You’ve done a good job pleasing me… I’m proud of you. You good boy.
“Well, you stay put, love. You are going to be putting that tongue to proper use.”
“Yes, sir.” I whimper. My cock already bursting against my jockstrap. It's pounding from the look of control in Charlie’s eyes. I stay still as he leaves the bedroom, rumbling around the kitchen, making a racket with the pots and pans.
I lower my hand to jerk my cock, finally giving in after being teased mercilessly by Drew earlier today. It’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t be turned on by that piece of shit. He's Charlie’s brother for heaven's sake. But the way he spoke to me was shamefully hot. His words and fingers were controlling me, as if a blade was held to my throat.
I hate that it lit me up. Hate that my body betrayed me before I could even tell him to fuck off. That arrogant smirk when he caught me hard in my shorts. His satisfaction seared itself into my brain. The thrill of venturing under the surface of the forbidden.
Would he be easy to satisfy? Or was that the first trial to enter his hell?
I told myself it was anger, disgust, and that's partially true. But there was desire and curiosity aching to be exploited.
The truth is bitter: if he’d told me to spread my cheeks right there, I would have willingly complied. Taken his prick with glee and screamed like an opera singer in the last act.
I can’t be around him again. Just remembering his words makes my cock twitch. He didn’t care if I was Charlie’s. He didn’t care ifit was so wrong—on so many levels. Drew looked at me like I was a specimen to skin. A trophy he was going to hang above the fireplace for the rest of his days.
But fuck, I wish Drew would be the one teasing me right now. Maybe if I close my eyes, I can pretend. Strip away the ink, and he and Charlie are the same face. Same body. I could blur the lines long enough to convince myself it isn’t betrayal.
My hand tightens, my precum beading at my tip until it slicks my fist. Shame and desire blend together in my gut, a filthy knot I can’t untangle. It’s heavy and clumsy inside me, slow to dissolve, like a slab of cold butter pressed into warm brownie batter. Stubborn and unrelentingly difficult to blend. But oh-so sweet in the end.
Just how Drew would feel with his prick buried in my guts. The weight of him stretching me raw, his forearm jammed across my mouth to gag the sounds ripping out of me. Ordering me to run my tongue over the black ink etched into his skin, to worship the filth branded into him.
Come on, Lover Boy. Show me what you want. I’m not going to force you.
His voice rings through my skull, dark and taunting. Occupying too much of my headspace. I moan out at the picture of it. Precum spilling faster, drenching me in my shame. God help me, I want it—I want him.
The hinge creaks.
Charlie steps back into the bedroom, the pan of sauce balanced in one hand, wooden spoon in the other. The scent of tomatoes and garlic rides with him.
He glances down at my fist pumping my cock, then back up to my flushed face. A smug grin overtakes him. “Well, love,” he drawls, tapping the spoon against the edge of the pan with a sharp clack, “looks like I’m not the only one cooking tonight.”
I stroke my cock harder, licking my lips as I nod. Hearing Charlie's words, but imagining them Drew’s. A whimper slips out, soft and pathetic from my mouth.
Charlie steps closer, voice lowering to a growl. “You couldn’t wait, could you? All wound up from practice. From whatever filth’s lodged in that head of yours. And now…” His eyes flick to my leaking cock. “…here you are, spilling for me anyway.”
The shame inside me is palpable, stings a tad, but edging me on all the same. My body jerks for him, eager to please. Give him the show he wants, even if my mind isn’t on him. Stroking for the taunting voice of his brother.
He pours a spoonful of marinara on his chest, lukewarm sauce streaking between the cut of his pecs and the fuzz of his hairs, eyes shifting on me. “Lick it up, boy.”
The command cuts through me. My cock throbs in my fist, precum spilling over my knuckles. Shame and want fusing together. I crawl forward without hesitation. Blood rushing to my face as I graze my tongue in between his muscular pecs. The sauce is tangy and aromatic. The best fucking marinara I’ve ever tasted.
He grips my hair, holding me against him, smearing more of the mess across his chest. “Don’t miss a drop,” he murmurs. “You’ll clean me spotless.”
My tongue drags lower, chasing the sauce as it runs towards his navel. Each lick hungrier than the last. My breathing matches his, my whole body bent to his command. To his desire. And still, in the dark of my head, it’s Drew’s voice I hear repeating the order, taunting me with every filthy lick.
My lips smear red against his skin, desperate for every drop of sauce and warmth. Tongue growing greedy as the taste of him seeps through the tang.
“Good lad,” Charlie mutters huskily. “That’s it, clean it up.”
