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He pushed me against the table, his body pressed against mine. “I want you to hate me. I need you to hate me.” Then he popped the button on my jeans and wrapped his fingers around my cock, pumping me rough and hard. “And when you fuck me with your monster cock, I need you to hate me as hard as you can.”
“The fuck is your problem?” he asked, his voice rough. He made no attempt to remove my hand. I thumbed his slit, smearing precome, and twisted my hand back down his shaft so I could pump him again. My god, the size of him. “I want you to fuck me . . . hard. And my problem is that I’m not face down on my bed with your horse-cock inside me, that’s what the fuck my problem is.”
“Look at how you take my cock,” he grunted. “Like the fucking whore you are.”
“Dirty fucking whore,” I said. “You don’t get it down your throat. I want it in your mouth, I want you to taste it. Taste my come, you piece of shit. Suck it out of me.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice hot in my ear. “I’m not done with you yet.” I shivered, goosebumps erupting over my whole body. “Can you take more?” he asked, his hand at my throat, tightening just enough. “Always,” I whispered. It sounded like a prayer.
“Your arse looks so good,” he murmured against the back of my head. “My come running out of your open hole.” He pulled me back so he could rub his still-hard cock against my hole until he was nudging the back of my balls.
“Fuck yes. That’s what you wanted,” I said with a strained groan. With my hands on his shoulder blades, I pushed him down and slammed into him a few times. “Take it like the piece of shit you are. You think you can make me think of nothing else every minute of every fucking day. How much I want to sink my cock into you, up to my balls like I am right now.” I rolled my hips a few times to prove my point and slammed into him again. “All I think about is this,” I ground out. “So you’ll fucking take it like the whore you are.”
I gripped his throat then, squeezing hard enough to make him gasp. His eyes widened and rolled back, a wicked smile on his lips. Still with my hand around his throat, I pulled his head forward, and crushed my lips to his, sinking my tongue into his mouth. Then his body went rigid and he came, spilling come over his stomach and chest. His body milking mine, his pulse throbbing under my hand against his throat, his low groan vibrating under my touch.
“Oh, I’m staying. For no other reason than to piss you off.” “You’ve far exceeded my expectations in that regard.” I snorted again. “I far exceed your expectations in all regards. Otherwise you wouldn’t have propositioned me to be your EWB.” “EWB?” “Enemies with Benefits.”
He seethed. “I hate you.” “I hate you more.
“Are you done?” “Annoying you? No. I could do it all day.”
“You need to learn your place,” I hissed at him, jerking myself. So close already. So fucking close. “And your place is beneath me, taking everything I give you.”
I wanted to stretch him thin, to iron out any knots and troubles, and hold him. I wanted to kiss him, make sure he ate properly. I wanted to make him smile. I wanted to fix him. So I held him tighter and fucked him slower. I lost myself to the warmth of his body, to the feel of him underneath me, to the sounds he made, to the gasps and moans. I lost all track of time. And maybe for the first time, I lost myself. All that existed was him.
His eyes met mine. “So it’s like a work bromance,” he said, nodding. “But the b is silent.”
Oh yeah. I was in deep trouble. Deeeeeep. Like Marianna Trench levels of deep. And you know what? I didn’t fucking care.
I should have kept my mouth shut. I’d forgotten how big he was, how much of him there was to take. I tried to squirm away and he pushed me down harder. “You wanted it,” he grunted. “You fucking take it.”
“Relax, and breathe for me,” he murmured. “Just breathe. I know you can take it. You can take every inch of me. You’re a slut for my cock,” he whispered, kissing my neck. “You fucking love it.”
“Is that my text?” I asked. “Why is my name the pizza emoji in your phone?” He laughed, and so help me god, his smile was incredible, high or not. “Pizza. Nine inches. Deep dick . . . I mean, deep pan.” I scoffed out a laugh. “What the . . . ?” He laughed and he was heavy against me. “’S funny.” I mean it kinda was. I chuckled, stunned. “You need to go to bed. I can assure you there will be no nine-inch-deep dicking tonight.”
“You should be grateful. I wanted to make it the washing machine emoji, but there isn’t one.” “A washing machine?” “Yeah. I put loads in it.”
He calls me the nice boy.” Valentine smirked. “So he doesn’t know you at all.” “Shut up. I am the nice boy.”
I feel terrible.” “You look terrible.” I pulled my hood up and sank back into my chair. “I wonder if there’s a level of terribleness to succumb to before death.” “Well, I’m glad you’re not one to be melodramatic or anything,” he said with a smirk. “Stop being pitiful.” I whined. “Please be nice to me.” “I have no sympathy for self-inflicted wounds.” “But I’m suffering.” “Tequila will do that to you.” I almost gagged. “I will pay you to never say the T-word again.”
“In case you’re as oblivious as he is, he’s got it bad for you. That man is in deep.” I shook my head. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Lleyton laughed. “What time did he leave this morning? Did he cook you breakfast?” Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck. “Oh my god,” Lleyton said. “He’s still there, isn’t he?” Then he roared, laughing. “Tell him I said hi.” “No.” He laughed some more. “My case in point. And for what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. So are the rumours true about his horse-dick?” “I’m hanging up now.” He laughed and I clicked off the call, tossing my phone onto the coffee table. I pouted, and
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