Chapter 7

“I don’t know. Go ask him.”

“Oh, hellno.” Downstairs I heard the

door open again and more harsh voices drifted up through the floor

boards. I wasn’t going down thereto complain about being

hungry. I could barely speak to Mr. Pierce when he was alone, but

among his friends? Shyeah. No.

Prodding Mikey with my toe, I said, “You go

ask. He’s your dad.”

Mikey shrugged me off. “You ask. He likes

you.”

The words were a jolt of electricity shooting

through me. My dick, which had finally begun to soften, now

hardened again, doubling in size and pinching against the front of

my jeans. “He doesn’t,” I said, only because I wanted to hear Mikey

tell me yeah, he does, he likes you like that. I tried to

keep my voice level and failed miserably when I asked, “Did he

really say that?”

Mikey made a dismissive sound and shook his

head. “You’re over here, aren’t you? If he didn’t like you, he

wouldn’t let us hang out.”

Absently I ran a finger down the zipper of my

jeans, savoring its press against the erection sheathed within. My

eyes slipped shut, my mouth opened slightly, and I forgot Mikey was

in the room with me—I forgot everything but Mr. Pierce downstairs.

Mr. Pierce, who Mikey said liked me…

Too late, I noticed Mikey lean forward to cut

off the game. He turned, saw me copping a feel, and grimaced.

“Dude! Gross!” He tossed the video game controller at me but it

only struck my shin before falling to the ground. “Get a room, will

you?”

With a grin, I joked, “I’m in a room. You can

leave. Or hey, stay and watch. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Before he could think I was hard for his dad,

I grabbed the Hustlerand began flipping through the pages,

massaging my cock through the front of my jeans as Mikey watched.

From the corner of my vision I saw his eyes widen at my audacity,

and I let a guttural moan escape my lips as I humped my hand.

Tugging on the zipper pull, I inched it down a little and purred,

“Want to see what I’m working with here?”

That earned me a punch in the knee. My foot

kicked out on reflex, catching Mikey in the ribs; the next thing I

knew, we wrestled together on the floor, fighting as poorly as we

had in the video game. Mikey might have been bulkier than me, but I

was quick and knew just where to strike to hurt him. As he rolled

above me, I kept my back to him, my erection painfully pinched

between my body and the floor so he wouldn’t feel how hard I was

still. As he tried to hold me down, one of my arms pinned behind

me, I arched my back and pushed my ass up against his groin, hoping

to throw him off. I felt my zipper ease open, releasing the

pressure at my crotch, and I knew my briefs tented through my open

fly obscenely. My face was buried in the carpet, and every time

Mikey shoved me down, the tip of my dick rubbed over the short

Berber rug until it felt raw and wet. An uncompromising hardness

pushed between my buttocks—Mikey’s own cock, as stiff as mine was

at the moment. As if angry he was so turned on, Mikey yanked my arm

up higher, threatening to pop my shoulder out of the joint.

Turning toward the door, I gasped for breath.

“Uncle!” I cried, slapping the floor with my free hand. “Get the

fuck off me, will you? Uncle already. Unc—”

The door flew open and Mr. Pierce stood

there, towering above us. Suddenly Mikey was gone and I scrambled

to my feet, shoving my dick back into the front of my jeans and

wincing as it painfully returned to its confines. “What the hell’s

going on up here?” Mr. Pierce demanded, his gaze flickering from

Mikey to myself and back again. “I told you kids to keep it

down.”

I felt like I was five years old all over

again, chastised for playing too rough. “Sorry,” I muttered,

zipping up my jeans. I couldn’t meet Mr. Pierce’s eyes so I stared

at his socks instead. One small toe peeked through the beginnings

of a hole and I felt a flush of excitement at that hint of skin so

I shoved my hands into my pockets to push down my raging cock. “He

was trying to break my arm.”

“He called me a queer,” Mikey shot back.

My face grew hot. “I did not! I didn’t—”

“Grow the fuckup,” Mr. Pierce barked,

silencing us both. Lowering his voice, he leaned down in front of

Mikey and glowered at his son. “How old are you again?”

I could smell Irish Spring and Old Spice waft

off Mr. Pierce, a heady perfume that warmed my lungs and stirred my

blood. From the corner of my eye I glanced at Mikey, who couldn’t

look his dad in the face. When he didn’t answer immediately, Mr.