Page 18 of Kash
“You can wait for your orgasm, boy,” I say, a look of wicked delight in my eyes. “Daddy is in charge now. And somethingtells me that this is the best way for me to make sure that you’re a good little skater boy…”
“Argh. Crap,” Spike says, slapping his hands into the ground in frustration.
I chuckle and offer Spike a hand to stand up.
“But don’t worry, your time willcome,” I laugh. “Forgive the pun.”
“Whatever,” Spike replies, a sly smile on his face as he pulls his briefs up over his still hard cock.
“The wait will be worth it,” I say, patting Spike’s brief-covered ass cheeks. “Now come on. It’s time to move. We’re not out of this yet. In fact, we’re probably about to get a whole lot deeper…”
Chapter 6
Spike
The ocean’s a dull roar in my ears as I skate back toward Cresthaven, my board’s wheels humming against the pavement as I kick-push my way onward.
In my mind, my ass still stings from Kash’s spanking last night, a warm reminder of his hands on me, his voice calling meboyin that way that makes my knees weak. And then that moment on the trail, his mouth on my cock, taking me to the edge and leaving me there—fuck, he’s cruel in the best way.
“Daddy’s in charge,” he said, and I’m still reeling, my body buzzing with want even now.
But it’s not just that.
It’s the way Kash looked at me after, like he was letting me in, just a little. Like I’m more than a reckless skater to him now. Or at least I hope that’s what he was thinking.
I shake my head, focusing on the road ahead.
The town’s waking up, the morning light glinting off the diner’s chrome sign, a few early risers shuffling around.
I’ve got a job now—Kash’s lookout.
He didn’t want to agree to it, but I pushed, and he caved.
The thing is, I know every corner of this town, every hidden trail, every spot the cops don’t check. If they’re sniffing around for him, I’ll see them coming.
But it’s not just about keeping Kash safe.
It’s about proving I’m not just some skater boy with a smart mouth. I can handle this. I can handlehim.
The skatepark’s my first stop, the concrete slab by the pier where I can blend in, watch the town without looking like I’m trying.
I drop my board and kick into a 50-50 grind, the scrape of my wheels loud in the quiet morning.
My eyes scan the street—pickup trucks, a delivery van, no cruisers yet.
But those rumors from the diner keep nagging at me. Fugitive biker, cop-killer, five-grand reward. Kash didn’t deny it outright last night, just dodged my questions with that gruff tone of his.
Kash is hiding something big, and I’m in deep now, whether I like it or not.
I land a kickflip, my sneakers smacking the pavement, and that’s when I see them—two guys from the diner, same ones who were talking about the reward. They’re leaning against atruck, cigarettes glowing, their voices low but carrying over the crash of the waves.
“Heard the cops are doubling down,” one says, exhaling smoke. “Got a tip about a guy on a Harley, hiding out on the bluff.”
My stomach twists, but I keep skating, pretending I’m not listening.
They’re talking about Kash. I know they are.
The bluff’s where his cabin is, and that bike of his is hard to miss, even if he’s got it hidden.
