Page 12 of Enemy
“Nothing’s stopping you from touching me. Smelling me. Tasting me,” Road goes on as I take in the many scars on his body, before again focusing on the cock he’s now stroking in a fast rhythm. I try to match it, and when I listen to his raspy breathing, it almost feels like we are in the same room.
“Your skin,” he goes on, lazily rubbing his cockhead. “I still can’t get its taste out of my head. Or that spicy cologne you use. Makes me want to drink your sweat and blood like it’s whiskey.”
Um. Okay. I had no idea this dumbass, who I’m pretty sure can barely read, has such a way with words.
I don’t care if he can hear me jerking off. I let the compliments melt me and stroke myself as I watch that stiff tool in his hand. And yes, I do want to lick it, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I keep wondering how good of a kisser you are too. Maybe I should test you and only then push you to your knees so you can warm my cock with that pretty mouth,” Road whispers, and his hand starts moving faster.
“I’m not kissing you, fucker,” I whisper before I can bite my tongue. Fuck. Why do I let him rile me up?
“So you just want a pump-and-dump kind of thing? I’m game, if a bit disappointed,” he says, and each loud breath he takes makes the skin of my nape tingle.
I don’t know what’s hotter, imagining him kissing me, or the vision of being just an anonymous body he fucks. I shouldn’t like either, but I’ve got goosebumps. I moan and jerk off faster. If he hears it, he hears it. Fuck it.
My eyes are glued to the phone and his big hand moving over his dick, cockhead pointing at me as if he wants to come all over my face, and I don’t hate it. For the firsttime in years I’m letting myself explore this attraction beyond quick fantasies and it’s like getting my tank filled with the right fuel after trying to use water.
My hips are working up and down as I fuck my own fist, entranced by the man stroking himself for our mutual pleasure. I wish there was a way to leap through the screen and emerge on the other side, so I can press my mouth to his dick and suck in the head. I bet he tastes like danger and betrayal, but I no longer care, chasing my mounting release while he gasps.
“I’m gonna come soon, Clyde, and I’m going to paint your skin with my cum…”
“Yeah… cum…” I utter, glad he can’t see me. I’m too horny to be ashamed but I bet that post-nut clarity will hit me like a freight train. Right now, I’m busy imagining I’m there with him and he holds my head as he fucks my brains out. Because yeah, Iwantto give him head. Because I’m gay as fuck and nothing sounds more delicious than swallowing his spunk.
I come with a groan, biting my lips, but even then, I don’t take my eyes off his cock. A shudder goes through me. The orgasm is so much more intense than from just a random jerk-off session. It’s like he’s here with me, and when he finishes, and white streaks shoot up his abdomen and chest, my pleasure reaches its peak. I’m not even touching him, and this is already the most erotic experience of my life.
Fatigue takes over, and I slump against the wall, not yet ready to clean myself. He gathers some of the cum from his skin and shows it to the camera. “You should clean it up for me.”
My brain emerges from the fog of arousal and I have to face the reality of what I’m doing in this dingy restroom. I’m a fucking member of the Hell’s Butchers MC. I can’t be sucking off another guy. And especially not if said guy is the enforcer of the Vulture Hollow MC. He’s toying with me, and will one day use it against me.
I tear my eyes away from the cum dripping down his fingers and turn off the connection.
I’ve already shown him too much.
I zip up my pants, knowing what I have to do. There is only one way out of this mess. It’s either him or me. We can’t continue like this.
I type in my message, trying to be as curt as possible. He has to understand I mean business.
[Abandoned garages North of Oakdale road. 2AM tonight. Come alone. Knives only. We finish this.]
I have to take several deep breaths because my heart rattles like mad. I could die tonight, but that’s the violent path I chose years ago when I decided to prospect.
Chapter 7
Road
Iwipethevaporfrom my bathroom mirror and stare at my reflection. The burn scar on my face is now healed, and while it did fuck up the switchblade tattoo around my eye, I keep being told it makes me look even more like trouble. Sexier.
Does Clyde find it sexy too, or is he only interested because I’m the one gay man he knows? I grab my best cologne and spray it across my chest then down the abdomen, creating a treasure trail for him to follow. Because, surely, he doesn’t actually plan to fight me when we meet?
Was“knives”a way to say“bare dicks”without leaving a paper trail, in case someone got into the burner and read his message? After all, he did come while watching me jerk off. I could sporadically hear the crackle of his breath, but knowing a man was on the other end of the line pleasuring himself as he watched my body was giving me the biggest hard-on of my entire life. I came so hard and fast, because how could I not when the short call aroused me more than anything I’ve ever done with a girl?
If I ever had any doubts about my real sexuality, the video call axed them for good.
I dress in my best jeans—made of black denim and showing off my hips and ass just right—and a dark red tank top, because my arms are one of my best features. Like everything I own, they go well with my leather jacket, which has a casual vibe due to the hood and faded gray color. I choose my fanciest belt buckle, with several pieces of amber embedded in the abstract design, and leave my cabin, knowing I need a distraction.
Dinner time is about to end in our community kitchen, so I rush down the path, heading for one of the largest buildings on club property. During this place’s time as a summer camp for kids, it served the very same function. Granted, it surely didn’t have weird taxidermy on display, nor photos from motorcycle club events, but I can’t imagine the food back then was as good as what Rhonda is serving. Many people are involved in preparing the meals, of course, but she’s still the boss of pot-and-pan land.
Creep’s having his meal on the roof, and while he waves back, he’s gone the moment I stop looking at him, likely disappointed he’s been spotted. Inside, lots of people who have already finished eating are gathered in groups, chatting or playing games, but the kitchen’s not closing for another fifteen minutes, so I head straight for the counter.
