Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
“Mmm. That’s right.” I continued working his prostate with my cock buried deep in him.
“You’re close,” he said, opening his eyes, a sort of villainous expression on his face, like he was proud he knew my body, my movements, as well as I knew his.
“Pretty close if you’ll shut the hell up,” I teased him.
He laughed that adorable laugh of his before the pressure in my balls swelled to the point where I couldn’t handle it anymore. I cursed, shooting in the condom within him. He giggled like a fucking kid, wiggling his ass in that playful way he had of milking me. It made me laugh too.
“You dork,” I told him, still coming as he grinned like having me come in him had made his night.
“You think it’s cute.” He winked as I slid out of him.
I disposed of the condom in the trash and returned to the couch, where Ben was now sprawled on his back, taking up most of it. I knew what he wanted, but I resisted, planting my ass at his feet, if only so he’d have to ask.
“Cuddle me,” he pleaded.
“So fucking predictable.”
“I’m wounded,” he whimpered.
Damn, he knew every fucking way of making me surrender to him.
He rolled onto his side and scooted toward the edge of the sofa, making room for me.
“Fine.” I slid in behind him and slung my arm around him. He tucked that seat that had been milking me not five minutes earlier tight against my cock.
“You’re definitely a shower, not a grower,” he said playfully, wiggling his ass again.
My dick perked at the maneuver. “Shut the hell up, you naughty bottom.” I slapped his ass so hard the sound reverberated throughout the room.
He rolled toward me, all smiles now, a far cry from all those tears earlier.
“This isn’t how spooning works,” I told him.
“Whatever.”
“You feeling better?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine. Doug was an asshole anyway.” He wiped at his face as though searching for one of the many tears that had been on it before I’d done such a diligent job of satisfying my buddy.
“I told you he was an asshole. I just didn’t know he was the keeps-other-guys-bound-to-agreements-he-can’t-follow-himself kind.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t figure out that Barbara was a decoy name in his phone.”
“Hey, none of that. It’s not shitty that you wanted to trust someone. It makes you a good person.”
“Or a sucker.”
“You’re good at that too, but that just makes you even better relationship material, doesn’t it?”
Each laugh since his initial tear-fest assured me he’d pull through this, like he always did.
“Thanks, but it’s not going to help me when I have to see Barbara at school.”
“Just remember that Jon likely doesn’t know any more than you. You guys aren’t the assholes. Doug is. And what a name for one, right?”
“What would I do without you, Scowl?” he said, calling me by the nickname he and Taryn had given me.
“You’d probably still be weeping over that moron and eating a gallon of ice cream by yourself. Speaking of which, I was lured over here with the promise of a few scoops.”
“I gave you plenty of cream. Not my fault you didn’t eat it.”
“Ooh, look at you, being all in a mood. What’s new? Ice cream. Now,” I ordered.
“Yes, sir.” I’d never seen him move as quickly in his life as he got up and practically skipped to the fridge.
I hopped up and joined him, checking the window of his back door. “You sure none of your neighbors are going to see us?”
“If they do, maybe word will get back to Doug and he’ll think I’m this amazing player.” He opened the cabinet, fished out bowls, and set them on the counter with the ice cream. “Especially being with the school bad boy.”
“I’m not the school bad boy. That’s more Wes Kenmore’s thing.”
“Kyle, you are so oblivious. You’re all mystery and confidence. No one, especially a bunch of high school kids, knows what the hell to do with that.”
“I think we both know it has to do with a little more than that.”
He lowered his gaze. We both knew damn well how I’d earned my reputation. And why it was so fucking unjust.
It wasn’t just that, though. I didn’t help matters by not giving a shit about school or making friends, unless they happened to be as cool and bottomy as Ben. Then again, Ben was the only guy who fit that description.
He made two bowls of Moose Tracks with extra peanuts, brownie bites, whipped cream, and a couple of squirts of chocolate-fudge syrup. We settled back on the sofa, and he sat in my lap as we ate our post-fuck dessert.
“I saw that teacher you mentioned, by the way.”
“Mr. Warner?”
“You mean James?” he said, referring to our jokes about the incident that happened on the first day of class. “He’s hot as fuck. I would let him plow the shit out of me.”