Chapter 54
Inside, the room is sparsely furnished—one large bed, a nightstand with a phone, a huge mirror that dwarfs the small dresser beneath it, a lamp that’s already on. “I see you’ve been here,” I say as I close the door behind me.
Damien shrugs and the bag slips off his shoulder to the bed. “Once or twice,” he admits.
I so didn’t need to know that. “I meant—”
He gives me a saucy wink I’ve seen before, through the lens of his webcam. “I’m kidding,” he says, but I don’t quite believe him. With a pirouette turn, he flops onto the bed and leans back, checking me out.
I glance about the room, searching for something to focus on, something safe, something not Damien, but he’s like a vortex in the center of my world. No matter where I look he’s there, in the corner of my vision, watching me. Where’s this nervousness coming from? This isn’t me. Online I’m so much cockier, so much more different. Trying to keep that in mind, I ask, “Like what you see?”
“I can look at you online,” he replies. He shakes his long hair behind him and says, “Come over here and let me touch you already.”
“What’s in the bag?” I want to know. He doesn’t answer, just reaches out and snags the waistband of my jeans to reel me in. I laugh as he thumbs open my fly. “You’re all about jerking me around, aren’t you?”
My zipper parts beneath his insistent hand. “I can jerk you off,” he offers, a slight smile toying with the edges of his mouth. He has a wide mouth, much larger in real life than I imagined it to be, with strong teeth that flash when he grins and a tongue that’s pink and tempting. I want to kiss him again, feel that tongue against mine, and I surprise both of us by climbing onto the bed above him. His hand rubs at the front of my underwear as I lay him back, my mouth seeking his, but he waits until he’s against the bedspread with no where else to go before he gives into me. It’s a rough kiss, desperate. Damien rubs my erection through my briefs, sending shivers of pleasure shooting through me with each stroke, and I hump against him, my legs splayed on either side of his hips, my weight bearing down into the palm of his hand. Some very small part of me is aware of his other hand fumbling at the bag beside us, unzipping it blindly, reaching inside for whatever he’s got in there, and for a brief second I wonder if he has a fetish I don’t know about yet, if he’s pulling out a huge dildo he plans to ram into me, or maybe whips and chains. But the reason we agreed to meet like this, the reason we even started talkingonline, is because he’s a bottom and I’m not. He’s been adamant about that from the start. Behind my closed eyes, I can see the line of text from his instant message: when we hook up just remember i’m the one getting fucked brandon, alright? i’m dying to have that thick cock of yours shoved so far into me i can taste it in the back of my throat.This two days after I sent him a webcam shot of my dick, something I’d never done before, but look where it got us?
Damien works down the front of my briefs, exposing my cock and tucking the material below my balls. I break away from him long enough to get a look at whatever it is he’s taken out of the bag, only to find myself blinded by the sudden flash of a camera. I push away from him and roll off, hurt. A camera? While we’re—“Damien!” I cry, scrambling to the edge of the bed. But I misjudge the distance, the pants around my hips don’t give me much movement, and I fall to the floor in a horny, aching heap. My underwear bites into the tender skin below my balls and I struggle to pull it into place, but I’m too hard and too close to coming to be able to force myself back into the confines of those briefs. A camera. To take pictures of what, us? Me? For who? If he’s posting this shit online…he rolls to the side of the bed, looks down at me, that damn grin still in place. As I fight with my clothing, I spit out, “Fuck you.”
“Brandon,” he starts. A gentle hand smoothes over the top of my head but I shake it away. It settles on my shoulder and I scoot out of reach. “Listen to me,” Damien says, his voice low and comforting. “Brandon, it’s not what you think.”
“I think you’re fucking sick,” I tell him. Somehow I get to my feet, but my hard shaft points directly at Damien’s face and when he takes a playful bite at it, I turn my back to him. “What are the pictures for, your blog? I’m not some show-off camboy like you.”
“You sent me that pic of your dick,” he points out.