Endangered Species Endangered Species (Time Served #1) - Onley James Page 0,16

his hand around his own cock, moaning as he began to bounce back on Cy as he worked himself into his tightened fist. “Oh, fuck. God, you’re so big.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” Cy managed, his hand still convulsing around Webster’s throat in a way that he definitely didn’t hate.

Now that his body had adjusted, he wanted more. “You can go harder.”

Cy huffed out a surprised laugh against his ear. “Oh, can I?”

“Fuck. Shut up, and fuck me.” Webster meant it to sound harsh. Instead, it sounded more like begging than he wanted to admit, but, thank God, Cy seemed on board with it. He altered his angle slightly and lifted Webster’s leg to an almost painful stretch, but then he was drilling into him hard and fast, each blow glancing off his prostate until the noises coming out of Webster’s mouth would have been embarrassing if he could even form any thoughts other than “hnf” and “ah” and “Oh, God, don’t stop.”

This time, when Cy put a hand over Webster’s mouth, it was needed. He couldn’t stop himself from babbling as Cy fucked him. “Shh,” Cyrus said around an exasperated laugh. “I’ve got maybe another sixty seconds in me without those sexy fucking noises you’re making.”

It was too late for silence; Webster was coming hard, babbling behind Cy’s palm as he milked every last drop of cum from his dick.

“Oh, fuck,” was all Cyrus managed, and then he was following, gripping Webster to him tight enough to leave bruises as he filled him up, his whole body shaking with his release.

As soon as Cyrus’s hand slid free, Webster muttered, “Wow,” his chest rising and falling rapidly, both of their bodies slick with rapidly drying sweat and cum. Webster started to shiver, and Cy pulled the blanket up. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Covering you up. You’re freezing.”

“Aren’t you going back to your bunk?” Webster asked, realizing almost immediately how that sounded.

Cy laughed. “Damn, that’s cold, Nicky.”

“I just meant, if they catch you in my bunk, won’t we look a little too…cozy?”

“I’m not going to stay the night. Just give me a minute. I’ve never gotten to do this before.”

“Do what?” he whispered.

“Like, hold somebody after sex,” he said. “Not that I’ve had sex with anybody I’ve ever wanted to hold in here,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Were you a virgin when you got here?” Webster asked. “Not that it's any of my business.”

Cy laughed. “Nope. Remember Sarah McClintock?”

“My babysitter with the frizzy red hair and big boobs? You had sex with her?” Webster wasn’t sure why the idea made him want to claw the girl’s eyes out. She was probably married with six kids or living in a trailer making meth like the rest of the people Cy and Nicky had grown up with.

“Well, I mean, if you can call me getting it in and then immediately blowing my load into the condom, then yeah, I guess so. But it did pretty much seal that I was not into girls. She smelled really nice, though, like gardenias.”

Webster nodded. “Yeah, she did. Her boobs were really soft, too, like throw pillows.”

They both laughed, but then it died, and Webster suddenly felt this wave of panic. “I really hope I don’t fucking die in here.”

“I’ll never let that happen.”

“Don’t let them know that,” Webster begged. “I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

Cy didn’t answer, just dropped a kiss on Webster’s temple, and it felt…desolate somehow, like they were both helpless to stop whatever came next, and no matter what they said, there was nothing either one of them could do about it.

Cyrus moved from one kennel to another, cleaning up after the dogs and putting food in their dishes. Most days, he took his time, working with Rose after he took care of his assigned chores for the week. But his focus was elsewhere. He’d left Nicky to deal with the other inmates, and Cy was sure the jokes were rolling in. While the actual sex between them had been only as rough as Nicky wanted, Cy had left his mark. Literally.

Fingerprint bruises marred Nicky’s cheek from where Cy had pretended to silence him, and there were handprints on his left forearm and throat. Looking at those marks, the marks Nicky had wanted him to leave, they produced a strange spike in his body temperature. They made him want to strip Nicky naked and trace every scratch, burn, and bruise with his tongue. It made him want to bury