Chapter 18
JAMES
I killed the engine and stared at the front of the bank.
It was Monday morning. I was exhausted from a night of endless sexual torment at the cruel, playful hands of Lucas—yet simultaneously floating on a high of ecstasy. Lucas gave me the exact perfect combination of sweetness and cruelness. He worked me up, then denied me release, over and over. The thrill of finally getting to come—and yet knowing that Lucas was going to prolong my agony as long as he pleased—was so damned overwhelming, I could hardly concentrate on anything else.
Let alone going back to work Monday. At my boring bank.
Where Lucas totally wasn’t.
I’m already dreaming of when I’ll get to go home and see him.
Was it unhealthy, the insanely explosive dynamic that ignited between us over the past week? Was it sick, to crave his touch so badly that I sat there in the parking lot with both my hands tucked away in my crotch, feeling the electricity radiate off my dick?
Was it wrong, to want him as badly as I did?
To obey his every command when he felt bossy?
And then to cuddle him in the night when he turned into maple syrup at my side?
Lucas is a drug I am irrevocably, irresistibly, uncontrollably addicted to, and I don’t ever want to stop.
He woke up with me that Monday morning, which was a first, since I was usually first to rise and make breakfast as he slept in. Lucas came with me to the kitchen, the sun still not yet risen, and I made us eggs while he sat on the counter next to me in nothing but his black briefs. His sleepy eyes watched as I cooked, smiling whenever I looked at him, and then I sat on the counter with him and we ate our food holding our plates to our chins like two little boys. I felt half my age whenever I was around him. He gave me new life. He was my fountain of youth.
With him, anything felt possible.
Then he swatted my ass—hard—as I left the kitchen, and when I turned to shoot him a look, he said, “No rubbing one out at the office, James. I’ll know if you did.”
Nine days. Over a week since I had any release.
I was so crazy for Lucas. Or just plain crazy.
When I finally got out of the car and crossed the parking lot to the back employee entrance, Lewis slipped out the doors, pulling a cigarette from the breast pocket of his security guard uniform. He eyed me as I approached, then lit up. “Well, well,” he mumbled as he flicked his lighter closed and let out a swirl of smoke. “Look at what the cat dragged home.”
I winced. I was hoping not to be confronted so soon. “Sorry I missed out this weekend. Really, I wanted to go.”
“Wasn’t the same without you, man.” He took another drag, then let it out. “Quinton and Duncan had no buffer between them. Those two drama queens had at it for a whole hour before we even got our Friday night started. No offense.”
I quirked an eyebrow. What was I supposed to take offense to that time? “Uh, none taken …?”
“I called them queens. Isn’t that a gay slur?”
I rolled my eyes and swallowed a laugh. “Oh man, really, you need to quit worrying about offending me all the time.”
Lewis shrugged at that, then blew smoke out his nostrils. “Well, you’re my first and only gay friend I ever had. So did you get whatever it was taken care of?”
It took me a second to realize he was referring to my lie. “Yes. I did. I got it all …”
I thought about Lucas pressing me to the shower wall.
I thought about his hand gliding down my wet body.
I thought about how achingly hard I felt and how desperately I wanted his lips on mine.
I thought about the crack his hand made landing on my ass.
“… all taken care of,” I finally finished, staring glassy-eyed off at the parking lot.
“You’re gonna come with us next time, though.”
I looked up at him. “Why?”
That might have been the wrong thing to say. He scrunched up his nose at me. “Really? ‘Why’ …? Man, are you avoiding us or something? Already planning an excuse to not go next time? Shit, you’ve been acting weird lately.”
“No, I haven’t. This weekend, it’s just that I had—”
“Yeah, a thing, a ‘personal’ thing. Sure. Whatever you say.” He flicked the rest of his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.
“Lewis …”
“See you inside,” he grunted, then pushed into the building.
Just then, my phone vibrated. I pulled it out and stared at its face. Out of the frying pan and into the flaming pit of lava.
I answered. “What do you want?”
“Oh, screw you,” came Duncan’s voice. “I had to cover your ass, like, twenty times all weekend. You should be kissing my ass.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry.”
“You know how Quinton is when he gets wasted. He went all twenty-questions on me. Grilled my ass as if I knew the real reason you didn’t come and wouldn’t say. The guys aren’t buying it.”
“What’s the big damned deal??” I blurted. “I canceled. Once.”
“You never cancel, James. You’ve gone every single time. It’s our thing. Without you, shit got all weird and out of balance. I had a whole room to myself. Quinton got weirdly weepy about how tormenting it is to have hot chicks in his coffee shop, and how the girl at the front desk was giving him the cold shoulder.”
“She’s into him,” I mumbled, my head already pounding.
“Tell that to Quinton. What a crybaby. And I didn’t have you there to help balance him out. Lewis was copping an attitude. Get it? Copping an attitude? I’m so clever.”
“I just got an earful from Lewis about what a shitty friend I am for not going. I don’t need another from you, Dunc.”
“Dude, Quinton even went once and he had the fucking flu.”
“It wasn’t the flu.”
“Tell me he’s gone.”
I blinked. “What? Who?”
“Your guy. Don’t tell me he’s still with you. He’s moved on by now, hasn’t he? He’s gone, right?”
My silence was his answer.
“James.” His voice turned hard. “You. Me. Ringers. Tonight.”
“Tonight? Why?”
“And you’re bringing him with you.”
My eyes flashed. “N-No. I’m not bringing him. No way.”
“Yes, you are. Tonight. Six o’clock. I’m gonna meet this special man of yours who you got to butt-bump all weekend. It’s Happy Hour Monday. I have to see this dude for myself.”
“No. I’m not bringing him to Ringers.”
“Yeah, you are. It’s my only condition.”
“Huh? Your only condition?”
“Yep. Do it or else I’ll tell the guys.”
I stamped my foot on the ground. “You can’t fucking tell the guys. If you tell Quinton, his big mouth will spill it to his brother, who’ll spill it to my sister Jules, then my whole nosy family will know. The last thing I need is my mother on my doorstep again.”
“Too late. It’s ultimatum time, buddy.”
I scoffed into the phone. I couldn’t believe he was being so unfair to me. “I should never have told you about him.”
“Shut up. You love me. And now you owe me double.”
“Double?”
“You stood me up last Saturday. And now you made me have to deal with the guys all by myself this past weekend. I mean, really, who’s the shitty friend here? You oughta be thanking me.”
I sighed, frustrated. Lucas wasn’t even old enough to drink. And Duncan didn’t exactly know that yet. How was he going to react when he learned that my “special guy” was practically the age of his students? And if he dared spill a word of it to Quinton, then everyone would know.
I was cornered, no matter which way I spun the web.
“Fine,” I finally gave in. “I’ll … I’ll talk him into coming out with us tomorrow night.”
“Tonight. Not tomorrow night. Tonight.”
“Fine. Tonight. It’s a date then, asshole?”
“It’s a date, you cock-whipped dipshit. Ugh, I need to wash my mouth with soap before my students arrive,” he moaned. “It’s just a matter of time before I accidentally slip an f-bomb in class and have thirty-two millionaire moms and dads in my face screaming about corrupting their precious children’s ears.”
“I still hate you.”
“Tonight. Six o’clock. Be there.” Duncan hung up.
I pocketed my phone, sighed, then took the walk of shame into the bank where I passed right by Lewis, who stood in his place with his arms crossed, eyeing me with judgment.
Today was going to suck.
When I got into my office, my phone vibrated. Again.
And it was vibrating with my own house number.
Lucas.
I answered right away. “Something happen? What’s wrong?” I blurted right away.
A tiny chuckle came through the line. “Seriously? Just because I call you, you think I’ve burned down your house?”
I sighed, let out a little nervous chuckle of my own, then took in a deep, steeling lungful of air. “Sorry. I just minutes ago got chewed out by two of my friends already for missing out on the weekend. I’m a little bit on edge.”
“Sure, yeah. You’re a little bit … on edge, aren’t you?”
The second, unintended meaning in those words that Lucas just emphasized grabbed me right by the nuts. I squeezed my legs together and refrained from squirming. “You’re a dick, Lucas.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wants it this way,” he argued back. “I’m just helping you live out your fantasy—by owning and taking care of your most prized possession.”
His words “taking care of” rang with a sinister undertone. His version of “taking care of” involved a lot more torment, denial, and sexual hunger than most people’s definitions would. He kept me in a permanent state of desperately wanting more. It was cruel and evil and drove me crazy.
And yeah, I loved every second of it.
But I could still pretend to resist him, couldn’t I?
“So why’d you call?” I asked him. “Other than to torture me while I’m at work.”
“I want you to do something for me. In the spirit of … taking care of my prized possession.”
I lowered my voice. “Your prized possession is in perfect agony, thank you. It’s right here between my legs, safe and sound.”
“Good. Take it out.”
I froze up. “Wait. What?”
“I said take it out.”
My eyes shot up to the door, then to the small window to my side that overlooked the parking lot. “But I’m—”
“Do it. C’mon, James.” His voice carried a certain authority that gripped me and held on tight. “Take it out of your pants.”
“What are you doing? I … I have a client in five minutes.”
“Do it.”
He was obviously sitting at my house, bored, and wanting to play around with his new toy.
Namely: the toy between my legs.
My face was going red for no reason at all. No one was hearing these words except me and him. “I’m at work,” I whispered. “I can’t just whip it out and—”
“Sure, you can. Your office has a door, doesn’t it?”
All of my insides were shaking with excitement. Of course I wanted to ignore the world and just follow his orders no matter what. Of course I wanted to cancel all of my clients, appointments, and whatever else just to be irresponsible as hell on the phone with Lucas. But there I sat, glued to my chair in fear.
His voice became a touch softer. “Is the door open?”
I clenched shut my eyes. “Yes,” I finally croaked.
“Close it.”
I glanced down at the schedule book on my desk, opened to today’s date. My first appointment of the day was in five minutes, right at the top of the hour. And that was assuming I didn’t have a sudden walk-in to help, too, which almost always was the case every Monday morning when some bozo needed something done on his account and had been forced to wait all weekend.
“Alright,” I hissed into the phone, then came around my desk and gently closed the door. No, it didn’t have a lock. Heart racing, I quickly returned to my desk chair. “Done.”
“You don’t gotta whisper everything.”
“Yes, I do.”
“This is gonna be so fucking fun.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Is your dick out?”
“Lucas, I swear …”
“I asked is your dick out?”
I peered down at my pants, still buttoned and zipped up. “No.”
“Why not? Get that little fucker out.”
“What’re you calling ‘little’?”
“You have to get it out. You know why?”
I shivered with apprehension—or excitement; I couldn’t tell the difference right then. “Why?”
“Because it’s mine now, sucker.” He laughed wickedly into the phone. “Now unzip your pants and get that dick out for me.”
I was going on nine days of not having had any kind of sexual release, all the while being cockteased (whether intended or not) by the young, gorgeous Lucas. I was drunk with horniness, and so dizzy with desire that I felt compelled to do a hundred different risky things I would never normally do.
Like undoing my pant button—Pop.
Unzipping them—Zip.
And letting out my already hard, throbbing cock.
“It’s out,” I whispered, staying low in my chair so as to keep my cock hidden behind the desk. If someone were to sweep right in unexpectedly, I could reasonably hide myself. I hope.
I could not say the same at all, of course, for my completely flushed, beet red, ecstasy-drunk face.
Lucas’s voice deepened. “Now, I want you to give my dick a long, slow stroke. From the base to the tip. A looong, slow stroke.”
My dick. That’s what he said. My dick.
He owned me for sure.
I wrapped a hand around my swollen cock—fuck, my fingers are cold—and ever so slowly gave it one long, excruciatingly sensitive stroke. It made me squirm, a whirlpool of excitement spinning in the pit of my stomach.
“Mmm,” he moaned, his deep, rich, sultry voice sounding like his real mouth was right by my ear, tickling it with each of his words and his moans. “Damn, boy. You’re really, really, really hard for me, aren’t you?”
“So fucking hard,” I whimpered.
“You wanna give it another stroke?”
“Badly.”
“Go ahead. Do it. I’ll let you.”
His little moments of sweetness—I’ll let you—teased my mind so expertly that I had to wonder whether it was intentional. He always played with me, batting me around like a cat’s toy.
I gave my cock another long, slow stroke. “Oh, fuck …”
“Driving you mad, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” I was out of breath. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Stroke it again.”
The torture was endless. I wanted to jerk myself off so badly, yet felt deeply compelled to obey his every command. That was part of the fun for me—the denial, whether it was self-imposed or directly enforced by Lucas himself. I had to do only as I was told.
“And again,” he commanded.
I stroked again.
“And again.”
On and on, he coached me as I gave myself one excruciatingly slow stroke after another. Every part of my body desperately wanted my hand to move faster, but Lucas—even over a phone call in my ear—did not allow it.
“Tell me, on a scale of one to fuck-you-Lucas,” he asked, “how desperately horny are you?”
“Fuck you, Lucas,” I breathed, practically singing.
“On a scale of one to I-hate-you-so-much-right-now-Lucas, how badly do you want to come?”
“I hate you so much right now, Lucas.”
“Good. Right where I want you. Now let go.”
Despite every cell in my body screaming in protest, I let go of my raging hard dick, then stared at it as it bobbed in the air. The poor thing danced before my eyes with my every heartbeat.
“I want you to imagine something for me, James.”
I stared at my dick, out of breath, as Lucas spoke softly yet firmly into my ear. It made me drowsy with lust, the way his voice slithered right into my gut, hypnotizing me.
“Imagine,” he went on, “that my lips were right there in front of you. My lips you love so much. Can you see them?”
“Yes,” I whispered, desperate for those lips to really be there, to be in front of mine, to kiss me softly. I had only just left my house an hour and a half ago, and already I missed Lucas so badly.
“Imagine my lips being right there … right in front of your dick.”
“Oh, God …”
“And I open my mouth, slowly. I let out my tongue …”
“Lucas …” I couldn’t stand it. It was torture, his words.
“I run my tongue—slowly, slowly—up the length of your big, fat dick.”
“Oh, fuck, I’m dying, I’m dying.” My cock was throbbing so badly, it was like I’d never let go of it. I almost could feel my hand sliding up and down its length still. I desperately wanted to jerk off.
“Imagine it, James. You imagining it?”
“Fuck yes.”
“I put my lips right there at the end. I kiss it.”
“Kiss …”
“Then I open my mouth, James. Can you picture my mouth? I open it right up …”
“Yes, yes, yes …”
“Can you really picture it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And I wrap my lips tenderly around your big, round, swollen cockhead. It’s in my mouth, James. Your cockhead. In my warm, wet mouth. It’s all mine.”
“All yours …” I could literally feel his mouth around my cock.
“I go down—slowly, so fucking slowly—as I swallow inch … by inch … by inch … by inch.”
I was so hard and throbbing so badly, I was genuinely afraid that I could come just from his words and the sound of his voice.
I was seconds from coming, and I wasn’t even touching it.
How does Lucas have such power over me?
“I’m sucking you so slow, yet it’s just enough to get you off, isn’t it?” he asked—and I could hear the crooked grin in his words. “You could get off like that, couldn’t you? Barely any stimulation. Just my hot breath … my sexy lips … my wet tongue …”
It was like he was in my head. “Fuuuck …” I hissed.
It was too much. I was going insane.
I was already insane.
“Imagine it, James. Imagine finally shooting, after nine days. Imagine finally letting it all out right there. Imagine filling my mouth up. Imagine all of that release …”
“Oh my God.”
“Imagine how good it would feel. Don’t you deserve that?” His voice was toying, teasing, mischievous. “Don’t you deserve to feel that good, James?”
“Yes,” I moaned, squirming. One flex of my dick, and I feared I would explode all over my clothes. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He let out a long, deep breath into the phone. Then his tone of voice abruptly changed. “Good. Now zip it up.”
I let out a sudden breath of exasperation. I sat up in my chair with alarm. “What??” I blurted out, forgetting to whisper.
“Pack my dick up, James. I’m done playing with it, so I want you to zip it up.”
I literally could’ve come hands-free with just another word or two from Lucas—and his permission, of course. I had never been so close to the edge of orgasm, then so cruelly denied. “Lucas.”
“Five minutes are up. It’s time for your client.” He let out a dry chuckle. “See? I pay attention. I look out for my man.”
I was still catching my breath. My cock wasn’t deflating any time soon; that much, I knew. “I think I’m gonna cry.”
“I think I’ll cut some tree limbs today. Shirtless. Gettin’ all … sweaty. Working in the … hot sun all day long …”
“You’re gonna make a grown man cry.”
“Then I think I’ll rub one out in your bathtub later. You know, to reward myself after a hard day’s work. Mmm, that’ll feel so good … rubbing one out.”
“Oh my God.”
“The release I’m gonna feel. Oh, it’s gonna be sweet. I’m horny and need to get off. Do you know that feeling at all?”
“Lucas …”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t love me.” Lucas let out a laugh, then hung up.
I was left there holding my phone and staring at my cock, which still throbbed with urgency. I kept trying to picture his lips in front of it while his last words echoed in my ear. Don’t pretend like you don’t love me … like you don’t love me … like you don’t love me …