about someone like that?”
He looks like I’ve slapped him in the face, and to be quite honest, sometimes a little spank here and there is required to make someone pay attention.
And I do like my spankings.
“Then why did you let me come on this trip?” he presses in his miserable confusion.
“Let you?” I ask with a good-natured laugh. “Kid, you hid in the back of the fucking truck.”
He scuffs the tip of his sneaker against the grody bathroom floor and I grimace. Yeah, I need to get the fuck out of here and quick.
“So, my turn to ask you something,” I say as casually as I can.
Dexter raises his eyes to mine and it takes everything in my power not to flick the ashes from my smoke into his face. For someone that wants so desperately to be part of ‘the crowd’ he sure does buckle under the weight of rejection rather quickly.
“Yeah?” he asks in a melancholy tone.
I take another drag from my smoke before I grip it between my teeth then reach for the zipper in my jeans. I keep my eyes on him as I pull it down and slip a hand in to grab my dick and get myself hard.
His skin turns a pale shade of white and I chuckle as I remove the smoke from my lips and continue to rub my dick where he can’t see it happening.
Teasing is an art and I’m a fucking Picasso when it comes to it if I do say so myself.
“Aftyn?” he presses, his voice cracking slightly. But his eyes? They never leave where they’re firmly planted watching me and hoping for just a peak or maybe even a little taste.
“Hm?” I ask, my breath hitching slightly. I better stop before I come. But I don’t. I continue to rub my cock because it feels damn amazing—especially when someone is as good at it as I am.
Focus, I tell myself again as I take another drag from my smoke.
I cut my eyes toward the doorway when a man walks in and stops cold when he sees me playing exhibitionist.
“Sorry,” he stammers as he turns and makes a hasty escape.
Pussy, I think with a smirk.
“See that?” I ask Dexter in a thick voice. “That is you in about twenty years. You see something that scares you and you run away instead of taking what you want.”
The look of misery in his eyes spills over onto his face before it’s replaced by bravery. I watch and wait as he squares his shoulders and then takes the few steps between us, closing the gap until he’s so goddamn close that I can smell the sweat on him.
“Well?” I press him as I pull my hand out of my jeans and grip the bathroom sink behind me. “Do you want to be like him, or do you want to be someone with a backbone?”
Taking a deep breath, he reaches a hand forward and I wait.
Seconds can feel like years in situations like this, but patience is a virtue.
The moment he begins to slide a hand into my jeans, is when I remember that I was never a very patient guy.
It takes less time for me to wrap an arm around his throat and shift him so that his back is now pressed against my front and as he begins to struggle, I take another drag from my smoke.
“Maybe next time you should wish on a star that isn’t already dead,” I whisper hotly into his ear.
As Dexter continues to struggle against me, I toss my smoke onto the floor and reach around to grip my wrist and apply pressure. It’ll take some time for him to pass out, then the oxygen will stop going to that pathetic brain of his that thought this was a possibility. After that, he won’t be my problem anymore.
Or anyone’s for that matter.
As he continues his futile little fight, I grin.
Maybe I’m more patient than I thought.
Once I made sure the little prick was dead and out of my hair, I stuffed him into the last stall in the bathroom. I used his body to jam the goddamn thing closed so I know that no one will find him until he starts to rot and by then, no one will ever be able to find me anyway.
I walk over to the sink and scoop up my discarded smoke, flush it down the toilet closest to me, then wash my hands.
Willa is gonna have a fucking fit, but