Page 129 of Catcher's Lock
“Are we fucking or fighting?” he quips, rounding the bumper to meet me.
“Fucking.” There are way too many goddamn buttons on this shirt.
“Because you made my dick hard at sixteen?”
“Because you’re right about all of it.”
“Okay.” His eyes flash before he pulls the hoodie off over his head, revealing nothing but his inked torso underneath. “Who’s gonna top?”
“You are.”
He crowds me against the door, tossing the hoodie on the roof of the truck behind me and sliding his other hand up my chest to circle my throat. My breath catches as my Adam’s apple bobs under his palm, and I swear to god, he fuckingglows—a luminescent aura of confidence that pours off him in tendrils to lick over my skin, leaving sweat and fire in their wake.
“Tell me why,” he says.
“Because I’ve never seen you like this before—sureof yourself and…”
“Acting like a grown-up?”
“Hopeful. I want it inside me. I want you to drive it beneath my skin so that I carry it around for the rest of the day. The rest of ourlives.”
“Fuck, that’s hot.” His fingers twitch against my galloping pulse, and my mouth forms the shape of a plea. Before I can give it voice, he pops the button on my jeans and shoves his hand in to cup my cock. “Please tell me you still have lube in the glove box.”
“Shit,” I groan, thrusting into his grip. “I had your sister as my copilot for the last few jumps, and I cleaned it out. Everything’s in the ticket wagon back at the lot.”
“Jesus, Rocket. Jeans? Boots? Buttons?” He flicks the open collar of my shirt and gives my dick a punishing squeeze. “No fucking lube? It’s like you didn’t plan ahead at all. Notice howIdressed appropriately for a reunion fuck?”
I glance down at the erection straining the front of his sweats and lick my lips at the wet spot blooming on the gray cotton. “What part ofI need you inside me right nowdo you not understand?” I ask. “Make it hurt. I don’t care.”
“Josha…” When his hand in my pants goes still, I grip his wrist and grind against it.
“I want youraw, Quill. You gonna make me beg on my birthday?”
His other hand tightens on my throat, and he slams me against the truck. “I’m not going to hurt you, no matter how you beg. I’ve done enough of that.”
“Then make it good.” Leaning into his grip, I put my lips to his ear. “I trust you.”
His chin jerks up and his pupils blow to stormy seas, and then he crashes his mouth to mine. I plunge my hands into his hair and my tongue between his lips, feeding him the feral flavor of my hunger until he moans and his hand resumes stroking my cock.
When he’s stoked my blood to beyond boiling, he pulls away, stripping my shirt from my shoulders. I pull my arms free and let the fabric drop, but when I start to turn around, he stops me, sinking to his knees in the dirt instead.
“No.” I shake my head and try to drag him up. “That’s not—”
“You’re not in charge here, birthday boy,” he says, tugging my jeans down over my hips. “You say you trust me? Then stop talking and let memake it good.”
My head falls back against the roof, and I watch through slitted eyes as he angles my cock toward his kiss-stung lips. He runs the flat of his tongue over the head, then flicks my slit with his piercing until I’m soaked with precum.
When my knees threaten to buckle, he takes me in his mouth and rolls my foreskin back with his tongue to suckle on my crown. Wan sunlight glints in his curls as I drag my nails over his scalp, and approval rumbles from his chest, making my cock swell enough to choke off the sound. Unable to resist, I fuck into his tight throat—once, twice, three times—until he gags and saliva drips down my sac.
I start to pull back, but hehooks his fingers into my front pockets and tugs me deeper into his mouth. Ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks, he sucks air through his nose and swallows around my head.
“Holymotherfuckingfuuuuck, I’ve missed that mouth of yours,” I gasp, breaking his no-talking rule as I battle the urge to come right then.
He pulls off to offer me a smirk as he gathers the slick mix of spit and precum coating my length, then drags two fingers over my sac to circle my hole. I spread my thighs as wide as possible in the confines of my jeans, giving him better access, and prop one arm along the roof of the truck. When he nudges at my entrance, I bear down, impatient to have him inside me.
It’s always a shock when he slips past the first ring of muscle—the welcome invasion somehow still laced with illicit thrill after all this time. He pumps in and out of my ass a few times while his tongue circles my head, then withdraws his fingers to swipe more saliva from the base of my dick.
The messy blow job continues as he works me open, humming his approval over my skin as I stretch and yield to his coaxing digits. Stuttering, disjointed praise tumbles from my lips as I melt to pure sensation, hips rocking instinctively to chase the pleasure offered from both sides.
