23
Trevor might have gone too far.
Oh, shit.
Just before the teeny-bopper in a popped collar reaches me, Ben intercepts him like a beast. Grabbing two fistfuls of Lukas’s black polo, he slams him into the wrought iron fence at our side.
“I’ll make this really easy for you, kid,” says Ben in a voice so level and calm, it’s twice as unsettling. “You take us to your car, hand over the phone, and Cyber Punk Slayer—”
“Cyber God Slayer 99,” I whisper gently to him.
“—will restore access to your little play money mommy and daddy give you.”
“Fuck you,” hisses the teenager, struggling to no avail against Ben’s hold. “You ain’t got nothin’ on me. You two are full of shit.”
Ben lets go of Lukas’s shirt and sweeps a hand between the boy’s unsuspecting legs, grabbing hold of something else. Lukas lets out one tiny squeak, his eyes bulging.
Ben presses him to the fence, the teen’s balls gripped tightly through his thin khaki shorts. “Correction: I have your nuts. Both physically and metaphorically. The phone is now mine. The videos are now mine. And you are now mine.” Ben glances over his shoulder at me. “Hey, Cyber. You want to pull out your phone and get ready to send that incriminating message out to the police, and to every single contact our little friend Lukas here knows?”
“W-W-Wait,” stammers the teenager.
My eyes flash just for a second before I shove a hand into my pocket and, fumbling slightly, produce my phone. I straighten my posture, once again assuming the cocky role of super hacker, then hold the phone up demonstratively, like I have any idea what the hell I’m really doing. “Cyber God P-Punk is ready.”
“In ten seconds,” Ben states, “if this dipshit doesn’t hand over the phone, I want you to send out that message.”
“W-W-We could both sell the vids,” Lukas suggests quickly. His words come so fast, spittle comes out with them, his lips as wet as his desperate eyes. “Share the profits. Half, half.”
Ben starts to count. “Ten. Nine. Eight.”
“Thirds, then! Third for you, third for C-Cyber, third for me!”
“Seven. Six. Five. Four.”
“Just ten percent for me! Greedy punks!”
“Three. Two. One.”
“I’LL GIVE YOU THE FUCKING PHONE!” the teenager screams, nearly thrashing against Ben’s hold. “Don’t press that button!!”
Ben, his grip still firm on the boy’s balls, leans into him. “So we have a deal, then?”
“Deal,” blurts Lukas, his bottom lip trembling. “D-D-Deal.”
Ben lets go of him, takes a step back. “Take us to your car.”
With just a quick walk around the corner, Lukas’s ritzy, sleek white, unblemished BMW—literally the least inconspicuous car one might imagine showing up to such an exchange driving in—comes into view. Lukas opens the passenger door, pops the glove box, then pulls out a phone with trembling, sweaty hands.
“Prove it’s the real phone,” commands Ben.
Lukas’s face tightens with anger, but he complies, unlocking the phone with a code, then pulling up the video in question. I’m right at Ben’s side when Lukas shows us the screen: it’s a big thumbnail of a video showing a teenage girl looking into the camera with a finger at her mouth, and she’s wearing just a tiny red slip. There’s no chocolate in the thumbnail, but I imagine that comes later in the video, and neither Ben nor I care to watch it.
Ben pockets the phone, then leans into Lukas so close, Lukas backs against his BMW in fear. “I want you to know, you are very lucky tonight that I’m such good buddies with Cyber here,” Ben tells him, his voice low. “He’s going to honor his promise of unfreezing your accounts … but he’ll still be watching you, Lukas. He’ll keep an eye on your every move. If you fart, he’ll know.”
“Okay, okay, okay, okay,” Lukas squeals, his hands in the air.
I cross my arms again. “Not sure about farting,” I interject, “but he’s definitely shitting himself right now.”
“Now go home and try to do something more productive with your time,” states Ben. “Maybe you can try something that doesn’t involve exploiting your ex-girlfriends’ sexuality, or making dumb deals with total strangers on the internet, or perpetuating every damned Beverly Hills brat stereotype that exists.”
Lukas’s lips quiver when he grumbles, “F-Fuck you. Fuck you both,” then slams shut the passenger door, whips around to the driver’s side, slips inside, then cranks the car into drive. Ben and I step back as he tears off, his obnoxious engine rumbling like the throat of a great white dragon until the darkness of the street swallows him up.
After the teen is long gone, Ben turns to me. There are about a million questions in his eyes, the first of which he asks: “Who in the hell are you, and what did you do with the shy, timid Trevor I left my home with?”
His words warm my heart. I’m still riding the rush all of that action gave me, but to be honest, I’m relieved as hell that I can be myself again. “I don’t even know where any of that came from,” I confess, laughing over my racing heart. “I just … got inspired, had an idea, and went with it.”
“You sure went with it alright,” Ben agrees with half a laugh himself. We start to head back to the car. He slips a hand into his pocket on the way, pulling out the phone. He gives it a little toss. “All that trouble over this hunk of metal and a pair of idiot teens.”
I bite my lip, then lean into Ben as we walk, my body up against his. “That would be two crotches you’ve grabbed tonight.”
Ben grins, amused. We arrive in front of his rental. At once, his face hardens suggestively. “Get in the car, intern.”
I tilt my head. “Intern? You really think you can still boss me around? It is not office hours,” I point out, crossing my arms, “and so therefore—”
Ben swings a hand around and swats my ass, hard, then cups it firmly and pulls me against him. In a low, deep voice, he growls, “Get in the car, Trevor. I am going to have my way with you, I am not going to hold back, and then we are going home.”
I try to respond defiantly, but all my resolve crumbles at the feel of his hand gripping my ass so powerfully. I can’t fight him.
And I don’t want to.
When we’re back in the car, Ben jerks it into drive, then burns rubber. He doesn’t even use his phone to direct him, knowing just where to go. I watch him half the time, the hard and needy look on his face turning me on so much. A week ago, I might have been terrified by his show of strength. It might have even scared me away for good.
Something inside me must be changing. Instead of fear, I feel security. Around Ben and his powerfulness, I feel safe. No one—especially no punk teenager in khaki shorts—can possibly mess with me when Benjamin Gage is around.
Just before we reach the airport, Ben pulls off onto the side of the road, startling me.
I turn to him, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
He slaps a hand onto my crotch, earning a grunt of surprise from me, before he turns my way. “I can’t wait a second longer.”
“But we’re on the side of the—”
He doesn’t care, clearly. His seatbelt pops off followed by my own, and he’s all over me. My pants fly open. His fingers work my shirt off with such animal determination, all I see half the time is the fabric of my own shirt trying to escape my body.
Just when I gasp for breath, his mouth covers mine, stealing away any chance I had of getting air.
My breath is his now.
In the next instant, my seat falls backwards—he’d gripped and pulled the reclining lever—and then he’s on top of me, drawing a line of kisses over my chin, down my neck, across my fast rising and falling chest, then slowly through the ridges of my abs. When his mouth arrives at the bulge he’s made of my tight black briefs, a determined scowl of desire spreads over his face.
There’s something in his scowl that is immeasurably hot.
It’s like he’s about to attack my cock, and I’m going to like it. His eyes assess me like a piece of meat. His hands, which slowly crawl down my sides and cause me to squirm, explore me with invasive, wall-stripping pleasure.
I am at his total mercy right now.
The old Trevor would never have let anyone tear him open like this on the side of the road in the middle of the night, exposed to the world, exposed to the night, exposed to a man he—in truth—still doesn’t know awfully well.
A stranger named Benjamin Gage.
A stranger who just whisked innocent Trevor away on a jet across two time zones.
This is totally not me. I don’t know who this new Trevor is, and I feel no semblance of the old one in me anymore. I am brave. I am reckless. I feel like I’m still wearing the skin of some other person I’m not.
And what the hell city are we in again?
When Ben slips his hands under the band of my underwear, I forget everything I’m thinking. I gasp under the cool touch of his fingertips. Ben grips my briefs with force and pulls them down my thighs, freeing my achingly hard cock.
Is this really happening? Are Ben and I really about to have ourselves some roadside hanky-panky?
The answer: red and blue flickering lights flooding the car.