Boy in the Club a boy & billionaire novel - Rachel Kane Page 0,15
moment I do, at least at this single moment in my life where anything I do will be a mistake.
I take his hands from my cheek, and I bring them down, under the ludicrous loincloth. His breath quickens, and so does mine, as he clasps what he finds there.
“Oh god,” he whispers.
Everyone who comes here knows what they want, and knows what they’re getting. There are no surprises at the club. It’s absolutely transactional. Like a restaurant. The boys are on the menu. There’s no secret. Yet this man is acting like every moment is unknown, a shock. He’s got one hand cupping my balls, drawing them gently down, his other on my cock, running his thumb along the base, and acting like he never in a million years expected to encounter this. His surprise is like candy to me. It’s sweet and I want it over and over again. He’s not jaded, he’s not a cynic. There’s no cruelty in him…at least not towards me. I sense something in him could turn cold, yes. There’s that side of him, you know it just by looking into his eyes. There are times when he is a hard man, and you do not want to be an enemy in those times.
But now his eyes are wide and then suddenly narrowed, and he pulls on my shaft, and I can’t keep my eyes open when he does that, the room goes dark for me, I think I might come just like this, and that would be something, a first, because I’ve never come at the club before, unlike nearly every other guy here. But I could do it now, come in his fist, come because of his eyes, because of his lips. I want to tell him he can do anything to me, even though I know in this place that is the most dangerous thing you can ever say to someone.
My hips buck, my body out of my own control for a moment. I have to master myself. It’s not going to do me any good to come in thirty seconds. I’ve got to get his clothes off. I’ve got to see him. I want him, on the bed, or up against the wall. Want to wrap my legs around him and take him, just to see what his eyes look like the first time he enters me.
His fingers know just what they are doing. That hand, the one that was cupping my balls, I can feel his fingers creeping back further, over the skin between my balls and my ass. He knows just where to press. My legs aren’t going to hold me up much longer if he does things this way. I have to lean against him, my arms over his shoulders, and even though he’s fully dressed, I can feel the strength of those shoulders, the breadth of them, he’s like a sturdy wall to lean against. So I lean. I put my weight against him as his fingers find my ass, as they explore me, as they discover.
There’s no lube and it’s rough and it hurts and I want it.
He knows. When I gasp and stiffen against him, he knows, and his hand grows more gentle but no less insistent. His other hand isn’t even jacking me, no, its just squeezing, letting go, squeezing again, and now he’s inside me with his finger and I don’t know how he did it and the whole world contracts and I press my face against his throat and I whimper and there is no stopping this, and I wish I could stop it because I don’t want to come yet, I want him to keep going and going, I don’t want this to be over, but it’s too good, whatever is happening to me, it’s so unexpected—
There are tears in my eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s from pain or pleasure. I’m whimpering like I’ve been kicked in the ribs. My body is not my own, it’s his, at least for the moment, and I come.
I come and I come and I come.
It’s all under the cloth, and it’s getting everywhere, I can see if I open my eyes that the cloth is dark where my cum is soaking through, and I don’t care.
It’s all over his hands and I don’t care. It keeps coming.
There’s not another lung-full of air left in the room, I have breathed it all, and now I’ll never breathe again.