Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,30

white sheet. “I came in your mouth, you know,” Max said, running his thumb lightly along Crane’s shaft. “And you swallowed.”

Clenching his jaw, Crane stared at the last image projected on the wall—in it, he had Max’s cock so far down his throat that he had tears in his eyes. He let out a small moan and put a hand over his face, blocking out the image… But he couldn’t block out the memories that were starting to come back.

Max slowly moved closer, stroking Crane’s shaft through the thin sheet, and leaned down to blow warm air over his cockhead before rubbing his lips on it. “You liked it. I swear. I didn’t push you into anything. You wanted it,” Max whispered. He began kissing up Crane’s stomach and chest, and Crane made a strangled noise, halfway between a groan and a whimper. Max’s tongue found his left nipple and lapped at it gently, the sensation echoing in the pit of his belly and melting into his balls. “Doc, you keep pushing me away… But then you pull me back to you. Over and over.”

Teeth grazed Crane’s nipple, and he furrowed his brow, holding his breath. He blindly cupped his hand around the back of Max’s head but didn’t stop him, didn’t push him away. His nipple tingled cool when Max’s tongue abandoned it to lick a trace up his neck, stopping to tease the sensitive spot under his jaw.

“You want me, Dennis…” Max murmured against his skin.

“Huhh.” There was a lovely euphoria uncoiling inside Crane’s chest, and his cock felt like a throbbing beacon of pleasure in Max’s grasp. The little psycho had indeed drugged him it seemed, but right then, he couldn’t bring himself to care. It just felt so good.

Max nibbled along his jaw, and Crane lifted his hand away from his eyes but kept them closed. Softly, almost tentatively, Max’s lips touched Crane’s a breath later, and Crane whimpered as a terrible, gorgeous burst of joy shuddered through him. Max hummed against his lips, his mouth hot as he coaxed Crane to accept his tongue.

Groaning, Crane wrapped his arms around Max, crushing him to his chest as he poured frantic passion into their kiss. He slid a hand down Max’s back and slipped it into his boxers, fingers following the furred cleft of his ass until he found the delicate pucker, so familiar by now. Breaching it with a fingertip, he shivered at the sound of Max’s moan and broke away from the kiss.

“Yes, I want you… God, I want you…” He was nearly panting with his need. It was madness, but it was a beautiful fucking madness indeed.

9

The Good Little Wife

Crane gasped as Max pushed back against him, forcing Crane’s cock deeper. He’d lost count of how many times they’d fucked over the weekend—he couldn’t help but wonder if at least half had been drug-fuelled hallucinations. Could he climax so often? It didn’t seem possible, yet here he was, once again, pleasure building, tightening his balls, moments away from blowing his load. He gritted his teeth, fingers digging into Max’s slender hips as he thrust and thrust, his breath harsh and regular like some steam-powered metronome.

“Jesus,” groaned Max, his skin so sweat-slick that his back glowed and glistened in the projector’s blueish cast. “Doc… holy Jesus.”

Up on the wall, a scene was playing out between three men. The one on his knees was young, couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and his eyes were squeezed shut while a muscular masked man with black barbed-wire tattoos laboured to force his massive cock into his ass. The third man was off to the side, not visible in the frame, but it was he who was calling the shots. His voice was calm, even detached, and he spoke in a refined British accent.

“Miguel, you’re going to have to relax. You’re not making this easier. Do you want the money or not?”

The young man let out two rapid breaths and nodded, but when Tattoos tried to push his cock into him again, he made a low keening noise and inched forward on his knees to get away. Tattoos swore under his breath, his cockhead an angry maroon, poking from his clenched fist. Crane figured his cock was nearly as wide as a beer can. Tattoos glanced in the direction of the man off-screen, his face unreadable behind the black cloth mask.

“Turn him over. At least then he’s not able to run from it.”

Tattoos nodded and easily flipped the young