Shattered Glass(78)

“Remember to use protection,” Darryl sing-songed.

“I don’t have my gun,” I answered idiotically.

I followed Peter heedlessly, or more specifically, my penis followed blindly. How many blow jobs can we fit in before Rosa and/or Cai get here?

In the bedroom, Peter slammed the door with his foot and shoved me against the wall, pushing my blazer over my shoulders.

“We need to talk.” Oh, shut-the-fuck up, self! We didn’t need to talk. We needed to suck, or fuck, or do things that I had been waiting a week and half to do. Things I had been waiting my whole post-pubescent life to do! Things that had to do with stuff coming in my mouth, not words coming out of it.

“Say, ‘Suck my dick, Peter’. That counts as talking,” he said, devouring the thoughts from my head with every press of his tongue and lips against my neck.

We needed to talk. I had no idea what to expect from Rosafa, or how to take care of Cai. I wanted to know what Darryl had meant about Peter having something like a sugar obsession. I wanted to know about—Oh, fuck. Peter’s tongue teased between my now-opened shirt panels, leaving a hot trail down my chest and stomach.

My hands delved into his hair, releasing the herbal scent of his shampoo and cinnamon—a scent I was sure he sprinkled on. I inhaled it deeply, using the wall to push my hips to his mouth. “Suck my dick, Peter,” I echoed.

He scraped his teeth along my side. “Now say, ‘Please’, Austin.” His fingers pried at my belt.

“Please, Austin,” I grinned, pushing him further down, until he was on his knees.





My Ex-Girlfriend Was Right—Men Do Suck

His lips closed over my cock. My grin quickly disappeared under a gulping breath. I automatically closed fists around his hair, guiding his head, my gut twisting with the same heat of his mouth.

“Fuck,” I breathed, quickly sucking in another swig of air. In a state of rhapsody, I looked down, watching his fucking porn-star mouth work over my cock. My thumb grazed over his cheek where long copper lashes rested. He blinked them away, a sea of blue open to my gaze. My head fell back, eyes closing with that image while I exhaled in bursts.

I tried to remember anytime I had felt even the smallest fraction of this pleasure. Nothing came to mind. It wasn’t just the sex, it was Peter. It was the image of Peter with his perfect red lips gliding up and down my cock, and his deep blue eyes, gazing up at me with a fascination I could read clearly.

“Peter,” I moaned, stroking his hair, bleeding it through my fingers. He yanked my hips hard, burying my cock in his throat and twisted his head in such a way that my legs threatened to give way. My hands flew to the wall for support. He shoved my ass hard against the wall, licked around the head, drove me crazy with his tongue, and then swallowed me again. I saw stars.

Thrusting forward with every slide of his tongue, my breath stuttered, held, stuttered again before I was just panting every exhale. His tongue ring clipped over the ridge of my cock. “Fucking…fuck.” I jerked in his grasp. My knees trembled, and pleasure expanded from my groin like tipped bottle of heated oil. The intense wave of heat tore through my body. I tensed, grabbing Peter’s hands, crushing them as I shot into his throat. He didn’t stop sucking—making my body jerk with his tongue ring bumping up against my sensitive head. I laughed breathily, pushing him away and sliding down the wall to sit with my knees near my chest.

“Christ…I can’t…That was…”

The doorbell rang before I could finish. Or maybe I couldn’t have finished anyway. I was spent—in every way.

“Good?” Peter laughed, placing his hands on the floor at either side of my hips and leaning forward to my ear. “Hope you took notes. There will be an oral quiz later.”

“Notes? Fuck. I don’t think I could repeat that if I had a video and step-by-step instructions.”

Video…mm.





Chapter Fourteen





Understanding Everything—Unfortunately

I was smiling while quickly throwing on clean khakis and a shirt. I felt like I finally had a handle on decoding Peter’s actions. Little things were coming to me, each with a depth of understanding.

So far, I knew he shut off when he felt frightened, angry or confused. I imagined that had to do with his having been a hustler and lived in a household run by a mafia enforcer; or a combination of those two. In each circumstance, having the ability to turn off sentiment was essential. All the moments of warmth he showed me were a little more momentous because I knew this tidbit about him.

Today I got another piece in the Peter puzzle. He used sex to express gratitude and elation—or his version of them. Maybe also to avoid painful or uncomfortable subjects?