Chapter 53
For one breathless moment, his tongue enters me. I lean back against the warm brick, not caring who sees us here outside the mall, with his hand on my stomach, one finger tracing my navel, as he licks inside my mouth. He fills my senses and tastes like cherry lollipops, his scent a mixture of patchouli musk and the sweet sting of pot. He weakens me. I fumble at his waist, finding one of the belt loops on his black jeans, then rub my hand up under his black tank top, over taut skin to finger one erect nipple, hard as a nugget of gold in my palm. In public!my mind screams, thrilled. The hand on my stomach slips lower, sneaks beneath the waistline of my jeans, his thumb still circling my navel as he kisses me again and again. I sigh when he pulls away, and gasp each time he delves, hungry, deeper into me.
Then he straightens, his hand now tugging on the zipper of my jeans as he stands back. I can’t seem to catch my breath and I pray that he doesn’t ruin this with some flippant remark like the ones he tends to make online, when he thinks I’m getting too serious about things. About us. “Brandon,” he murmurs in a raspy, smoked out voice that I feel in the back of my throat. There’s a teasing glint in his eyes that makes me anxious. “You sexy thang.”
I laugh, trying to break this tension, but it doesn’t work and I have to avert my gaze from his. “Damien,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else. He’s so damn intense. Somehow the webcam photos failed to capture that. We must look a fright, two Goths like smudges on the bright day, standing so close together that there’s no doubt about what we’re both here to do. As if the bulge at my crotch wasn’t a clue. I’m painfully aware of Damien’s hand just inches above where I want him to be. “So you want to go somewhere else?” I ask.
“Get in the car,” he says, and pulls me along after him by the zipper of my jeans.
* * * *
The leather interior of his Camaro is black, like the rest of the car. Damien holds the door for me and I sink into the passenger seat, lowering myself down, down, until I feel like I’m sitting on the sidewalk. I’ll have to roll myself out when we stop. As I buckle in, the door slams shut. With a few wide strides, Damien reaches his side of the car and falls in beside me. He catches me in another kiss while I’m bucking the seatbelt, and laughs as the engine roars to life. “What?” I shout over the sudden blast of music, half-smiling, ready to share the joke. But he shakes his head, shifts from first to third without hesitation, then zooms out of the parking lot. His hand strays from the gearshift to my thigh, and his fingers tap against my dick as he keeps time with the music. Each beat shudders through me. By the time we’ve cleared the mall, I’m hard.
We don’t speak. Funny—we’ve said so much to each other online that we’ve saved nothing for when we finally meet. He keeps his hand on my thigh and shifts gears with the other, steering with his knee when necessary. Over the pounding music, he says my name. “What do you have in mind?” I ask. His hand eases into my lap to pluck at the zipper of my jeans. I laugh, my stomach more than a little anxious at his touch. Did I say I’ve done this before? I lied.
“I know a place,” he tells me, as if that’s explanation enough. I don’t ask how he knows or where it might be. Instead I watch his hand work in my lap, and after an eternity, I finally talk myself into placing mine over it. He turns his hand over, his grip warm and confident. I like the way his black nail polish looks, like little glossy squares where his nails are. His fingers curl around mine, holding me fast, and my dick strums with desire just a thin layer of clothing away. Before I know it, we pull into the parking lot of a rundown motel that looks like it caters to truck drivers and prostitutes. From the way Damien drives past the office, I figure he stopped already and got the key before picking me up. We pull around behind the motel and coast to a stop at the end of a long row of rooms. Damien extracts his hand from mine and yanks up the parking brake. “We’re here.”
I clamber out of the Camaro, an exit much less graceful than Damien’s. While I’m straightening my shirt, trying unsuccessfully to stretch it down enough to cover the obscene outline of my dick in the front of my jeans, Damien comes around the back of the car and hooks one of my belt loops on his way by. There’s a black messenger bag slung over his back. “Props?” I ask as he leads me to the door of our room. His smile intrigues me. Suddenly I wonder if there was anything I should have brought, but other than the handful of condoms shoved into my back pockets, I can’t think of what else we could possibly need. Lube maybe, but the condoms are heavily lubricated and I’m sure there’s a free mini-bottle of lotion in the bathroom just waiting to be put to good use.