Cabin Fever - Roe Horvat Page 0,10

closed myself in my bedroom and fell onto the bed, face down. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh, my fucking god.

Immediately, I had both hands in my pajama bottoms, squeezing and stroking, picturing Michael’s mouth on me, those lips wrapped around my girth. I came in less than a minute. Sated, I breathed deeply, holding on to the fantasy for a few seconds longer, Michael’s fingers tracing the line of my back…

Suddenly, a vague feeling of wrongness made me tense. Where did I…?

Fuck, I’d left my gun on the nightstand in his room.

I’d left my fucking gun.

On his nightstand.

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell!

It was, no contest, the greatest, stupidest, most amateur mistake of my entire career. I’d forgotten my gun. What was I? Austin Powers? I was an idiot.

Michael fucking Bourgeon.

I waited for a half hour, then went back to his room. He was asleep, wrapped in his blanket like a burrito. I took the fucking gun and left.

I should never have taken this job.

Please, Daddy, I need your cock

Michael

Twelve days. It took only twelve days, but damn, it felt like forever. And when it finally happened, it wasn’t even because of something I planned or did intentionally. I was just doing the dishes to kill some time, humming a catchy tune I couldn’t get out of my head but couldn’t remember the lyrics of either.

With the dish towel in hand, I turned and bumped into Vincent, who just stood there, staring at me. The tension around his mouth had me immediately on alert. I put the dish towel on the counter, never taking my eyes off his face. He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. The frustration in his features and the frail restraint were painfully obvious. After last night, I was past caring if I overstepped some line.

“Did you jerk off after you watched me come?” I ran my knuckles up and down over the tantalizing bulge in his dark jeans.

He pinned his gaze on my lips, his nostrils flaring. Damn. He was gorgeous. Dangerous and powerful. And he seemed to like my mouth. I licked my lips slowly, watching his reaction. His irises dilated. Fuck.

I saw it in his eyes. I won. The air changed between us, and Vincent’s look turned predatory. His face held a distinct threat when he scanned me up and down.

“You think you can get anything you want?” He was growling, his chest rumbling, and it made my erection weep in my sweats.

“Please, Daddy, I need your cock.”

It was true. I needed him. After twelve days of living in one tiny cabin on top of each other, my want eclipsed anything I was able to handle. His scent permeated the space. He loomed over me wherever I went, and I couldn’t stand not touching him anymore.

I took my chance. My heart thrashed in my chest as I sank onto my knees in front of him. I leaned closer and pushed my face into his groin.

“Please,” I repeated. Please, help me. Do something. Touch me…

He was hard. And hell to the yeah, he was so fucking big. I rubbed against him like a cat, dragging my cheek across his denim-covered hardness. A moan escaped my mouth.

A fist grabbed my hair and tightened, making my scalp prickle. He rocked his hips and pressed his cock against my face, the denim chafing my lips. I was groaning with pleasure from just that.

“Up.” He yanked me up by my hair.

I stood, trembling, my cock hard and my ass clenching in anticipation.

Vincent scanned my face for the longest time. He looked into my eyes like he could read my life story in there. I was so helpless with desire I could only stare back and tremble, repeating the same mantra in my head.

Please, fuck me. Use me and hurt me. Please!

Vincent must’ve seen the plea in my eyes because he clenched his jaw and nodded softly. Then his face hardened again like it was a game, and he had decided to play along.

“Turn around,” he said, the anger back in his voice.

God, yes! Game on.

I braced myself against the counter, pushing my ass out a little.

He moved fast. His left hand clasped my throat, and with his right hand, he ripped my sweats down to my knees. Before I could even yelp, his index finger was pressing on my pucker, dry. Oh fuck!

“Do you think I’m stupid, boy?” he whispered. He bit my earlobe, teeth snagging on the gauge, and pressed harder against my pucker.