I grip his thighs, beg him with my body to let me have just a bit more. “I can’t get enough of you, sir.”
That confession does something to my insides. Makes them a warm, liquid mess. It does something to Darryl, too. If I knew him better, I might understand what.
The energy between us shifts, a tiny crack in the barrier between dom and sub. Darryl’s body softens, even when he drags me to my feet, grip rough. Before I can apologize for speaking out of turn, his lips are on mine. Our flavor mixes together—my spit, his cum, his mouth. It’s the best damn thing I’ve ever tasted.
I rut against him, try and seek some relief to the mounting pressure of the past few days. With one hand, he grabs my ass. With the other, he strokes my jaw in a way that’s almost caring. As if, for a second, I mean something to him beyond the sex and training we’ve agreed to.
A detonation goes off inside me, a depraved longing I’ve too long ignored. I want to be wanted and needed, maybe even cared for, by another man.
No. Not another man. This man.
Just as quickly as Darryl drew me in, he pushes me away. My dick strains against my pants, pulses with the need for him to touch me. It reminds me I haven’t had relief in five days. But the look on his face tells me we’re done. For now.
His tone is empty when he says, “My breakfast is cold. Get out there and remake it. After I finish eating, I’ll think about letting you wash me off of you.”
I cock my head to the side, try and understand why the sudden change of attitude. Did I do something wrong? Not do enough of something?
“Did I fucking stutter?” He’s loud, almost yelling, and I wish I knew what just happened. “Get the fuck out, Castro. Before I throw you out.”
I freeze, not sure what to do. Not sure what’s happening. Are we still playing our roles? If not, I don’t want to leave like this. I can’t stand the thought of him mad at me. Not after we just...
Darryl steps toward me, all aggression, hard muscles, bulging veins.
I back up, hit the door, fumble with the lock. Everything’s blurry, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m not wearing my glasses, or because of the tears burning at the edges I’m determined not to let fall.
Finally, finally, I get the door unlocked. My flight reflexes kick in, and I take off down the hall. I don’t look back before I round the corner toward the kitchen. I don’t want him to see the wet staining my cheeks, or how much he truly hurt me, something no safe word could’ve ever prevented.
It takes me a few minutes to collect myself enough to cook breakfast. I can’t get my hands to stop shaking, but I push through, anyway. When I’m done, I set his plate on the breakfast bar and wait.
I’m not going back to his room, couldn’t bring myself to knock on his door again even if he commanded it. Fuck him. I should throw his breakfast through the window, smash the glass, let the destruction release some of the tension invading me like a virus.
I’m typically pretty laid back. In relationships, I let the woman walk all over me. Always seemed easier than conflict. Plus, I’m a bit of a coward, which doesn’t help.
With Darryl, I’m stronger. I want to be pushed, want to be a better man. What happened in his room takes me right back to my old self. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with the old me. Maybe avoiding the truth about who I am would be easier.
By the time Darryl comes into the kitchen, I’ve convinced myself that this is over. That I’m not gay, not that into men. When he dismisses me, I’ll pack my shit and get out. Maybe I can salvage the rest of my summer vacation, visit my cousin who’s been begging me to see his new place.
Darryl walks up to the counter. I avoid meeting his glare, concentrate on pouring him a fresh cup of coffee, mainly because the tension is too much, and also because I just established I’m a coward.
Warm, strong arms wrap around me from behind. His body heat envelops me like a straight jacket fresh from the dryer. I set down his mug and the carafe filled with steaming hot liquid. My hands shake too hard to hold them.
I try and draw in a steadying breath, but nothing about this feels solid. I’ve been off-kilter from the moment I first stepped foot inside Darryl Cole’s house.
“You don’t know this about me, but I’d never hurt you. Not in that way. Not without your permission.”
I press against the granite countertop, try and absorb the coolness of the stone, hoping it’ll help chill me the hell out. It doesn’t work.
“No, I don’t know that about you,” I say. “I don’t really know anything about you.”
I don’t move, wait for Darryl to say something. When he doesn’t, I tense up, prepare for the moment he throws me out of his life.
“It’s better if you don’t,” he finally says.
“That isn’t good enough for me,” I fire back, and holy shit. Since when did I grow a pair? “If we’re going to do this thing where you train me, where I give you my first time, then I want something in return.”
I push away from the counter, create space between us, and turn in his arms so I can face him. His gaze is intense. Maybe I should’ve stayed where I couldn’t see him.
“That’s not how this works,” he says. “I’m offering plenty in return.”
“It’s how it works now, and you haven’t offered anything of substance.”
Darryl raises an eyebrow. I forge on before I lose what little nerve I’ve got.
“If we’re going to do this, then I want more of you,” I push back, push against his authority. It feels both exhilarating and terrifying. “One night a week, we spend time together. Ask each other questions. Get to know each other. Play stupid board games and watch silly movies. I don’t care. The other six days, I’m yours. Completely. But for that one day, I don’t want a master. I want more.”
Darryl crowds me with the length of his body. Chest to chest. Thigh to thigh. So close, we’re breathing the same air. His scent coats my tongue, invades the lining of my throat, my lungs, until there’s no escape from him.
Not that there ever was.
Darryl’s voice rumbles my chest when he speaks. “I’m sorry, Dominic, about losing my cool earlier. I’d understand if you want to call this off. If you want to leave. What you’re asking, I can’t give.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” I challenge. “I’m only here another three weeks. All I’m asking for is three days.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “You don’t want more of me. You won’t like what you get. I’m damaged goods, a window dressing that looks best from a distance. Our agreement keeps the perfect distance.”
Anger raises my boldness. My fear of rejection harshens my tone. “How the fuck do you know what I’ll like? You don’t know anything about me.” Which is the whole point.
He raises his hand to my cheek to stroke my jaw. I flinch. Something worse than pain darkens his blue eyes. It hurts that we keep hurting one another.
“I know I don’t want you to go,” he says, his lips brushing mine, asking permission. “I know that scares the hell out of me.”
I press forward until our lips meet. Our kiss is quick, an indication of the strain between us. It’s also full of heat and promise.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, don’t let him pull away too far. “I don’t want to go,” I say, and wonder when it became true. When I’d changed my mind. “I don’t want to be treated like another meaningless fuck, either.”
“Dominic—” he starts.
“Darryl,” I cut across him.
He flinches, his eyes going wide. I can’t imagine he wears a surprised expression very often. I’m not about to waste my advantage.
“I want in to your messy. Your ugly. Your imperfect. It’s a hard limit. I won’t do this without it.”
As soon as the words are out, fear takes over. What the fuck am I doing? I just gave Darryl an ultimatum, and honestly, with the way he just acted, and with everything I know about him, he’s more likely to let me walk away than fight.
It’s
out there now. No taking it back. I meant what I said. Leaving would devastate me. Staying when I mean nothing would ruin me more.
The lines of Darryl’s gorgeous features harden into something almost cruel. My heart flutters in my chest. Icy heat slides through my veins. I shiver from the sudden chill.
“The only man I’ve ever loved died, and it was my fault.”
Chapter 13
Dominic
Darryl’s words hang in the air, suspended, frozen. I honestly don’t know what I expected him to say. It wasn’t that.
“You wanted in,” he says, voice rough. “Don’t go silent now.”
I run through a hundred different things to say inside my head, none of them any good. “Are you okay,” is a stupid question. He’s obviously not. “I’m sorry,” feels just as ludicrous. Shallow. Rote.
But I don’t want him to stop talking, so I say the only thing I can think of that’ll keep him going. “What happened?”
He huffs out a deep sigh, runs his fingers through his hair. He’s tight—his jaw, his shoulders, the muscles in his forearms. He’s also hunched over me, both of us leaning against the counter. This isn’t the place for this conversation.
Placing one hand on his neck, the other on his bicep, I gently pull until he releases his grip on the countertop. He lets me guide him over to the breakfast bar. When he sits in the stool, I step between his legs, crowd in close, and place both hands on each shoulder.
On instinct, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Darryl—my strong, dominant master—rests his palms against my hips. His thumbs rub small circles against my flesh almost tenderly, to tell me he’s here with me, even if the look in his eyes is far away.
His voice is thick the next time he speaks. “He died in a car accident.”
He pauses, and his face contorts as if he’s reliving the worst memory. I don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I can’t. My throat’s closed too tightly, anyway.
“It was late. We’d been at a friend’s house. There was wine, yes, but we hadn’t drank much. We ended up getting into an argument.”
Darryl shakes his head, lets out a humorless chuckle.
“God, I don’t even remember what the argument was about. Doesn’t matter. He took the keys, left angry. Our last words to each other were harsh and bitter. The police report says he miscalculated a turn, hit a tree head-on. He died mad at me. I’ll never be able to take back those moments.”
The muscles in Darryl’s jaw writhe like worms on a corpse. He stares out the window, but doesn’t push me away. Doesn’t stop stroking my skin. I’ll take it.
“I didn’t know he’d died until the next morning,” he continues after a few moments of silence. “When Mason didn’t—when he never came home—”
Darryl stops, scrubs his hands over his face, then puts them back on my hips.
“I haven’t said his name in years. I try not to think about him, and I sure in fuck don’t let anyone get too close. Losing him almost killed me. I went through a dark time after that. Drugs, alcohol, anything I could get my hands on to numb the pain, to punish myself for letting him get into that car.”
He stares into my face, daring me, in his own way, to say something.
“What pulled you out of it?” I ask.
Darryl shakes his head. A small grin plays at the corners of his mouth, as if he’s remembering something that makes him both happy and sad.
“Julie. My ex-wife threatened to take me to court, strip me of my parental rights. I realized I still had something to live for. What kind of a man would I be if I abandoned my daughter? That isn’t me. Isn’t who I am.”
I slide my hands up his shoulders to his neck, let my fingers tangle in his hair. “I’m beginning to see that. It might be weird for me to say what I’m about to, but I’ve already crossed so many boundaries, what’s one more?”
Darryl nods in agreement, but doesn’t stop me. Good sign? I’ll go with it.
“Julie and I were never right for each other.” My mouth goes dry, words stick in my throat. “What drew me to her was her strength, her ability to be bold. I’ve never seen her take shit from anyone, and she was good at keeping me in line. Now I see where she gets it.”
I let a slow grin spread across my face.
“I guess...well, I’m trying to say that you’ve done your job well. She loves you. Always speaks highly of you. Wouldn’t shut up about you when we first started dating. I admit, I was intrigued. And now that I’ve gotten a taste—”
I stop, unsure of what to say next. Hell, I’m not even sure what my original point was.
Darryl rubs his hands across my chest, over the dry patches of his release still coating my flesh. His eyes blaze with the same fire that made me want to submit to him the moment I met him.
“You got more than a taste,” he says. “Are you still hungry?”
I never knew my dick could get so hard so fast. Learn something new...
I tangle my fingers deeper into Darryl’s hair, bring my mouth dangerously close to his. “Ravenous,” I say. “What did you have in mind?”
Darryl stands. But instead of pushing me backward, he draws me closer, brings his lips to mine, and kisses me as if I’m the gulp of fresh air he’s needed after too long underwater.
When he does pull away, I mutter against his mouth, “Mm, I could get behind more of that.”
He squeezes my ass hard enough to make me gasp. “I could get behind this.”
On instinct, my asshole clenches. I want him in every way. Need him inside me. I’m just not sure I’m ready to give up my ass quite yet. If he takes it, I’ll let him. At this point, I’d let him do anything.
I lick my lips, trace the outline of his collarbone with my finger. “Uh, okay. If, uh, if you want.”
“Oh, I want.”
He turns me around, bends me over the breakfast bar, the barstool between me and the counter. I place my hands on the cool granite, try and steady my breath, prepare mentally to be entered by a man. In the middle of his kitchen, where his daughter could come home any time.
“I don’t want to stop, or be a buzzkill, but...” I glance around the kitchen, then into the living room where the front door is. “Maybe we should take this somewhere more private.”
“No.” His answer is immediate. Final. “If you wanna come, you’ll have to do it quickly, before my daughter gets home. Otherwise, I’ll make you wait another five days.”
Screw that. I don’t want to wait another second, let alone five days. I don’t even know if I could last that long.
“That’s what I thought.” Darryl grabs a shot glass from a nearby cabinet. Without a word, he places the shot glass on the stool, then removes my clothes.
“Fuck,” I growl when he wraps his hand around my length. His strokes are slow, languid.
His breath tickles my ear when he says, “I plan on it, Dominic. I plan on fucking your tight little virgin hole, plan on claiming it as mine. But not today.”
He presses two of his fingers against my lips until I open up. “Get them nice and wet,” he instructs. I obey.
When he pulls them from my mouth, they’re dripping with my spit. He steps up behind me, keeps his grip tight on my cock, and slides his two fingers down the crack of my ass.
When he touches my hole, I buck my hips, almost knock over the barstool with the shot glass.
What the fuck is with the shot glass?
“You like that?” he says, voice commanding. In charge. Just like the man.
I nod, bite my lip.
He presses more firmly against my hole. The tips of his two fingers slide inside.
I gasp, and clench, and pray for the painful burn to subside. Darryl doesn’t wait. He forges forward.
“I can’t fucking hear you, Dominic.”
“Yes. Sir!”
I suck in a sharp breath through my tightly clenched jaw. Darryl relents, pulls his fingers out, rubs small circles against my hole.
“Relax.” His tone i
s almost kind, almost gentle. “You need to steady your breathing, push out when I push in. Concentrate on how good it feels.”
“Okay,” I answer, then quickly add, “sir.”
The next time he pushes inside me, I breathe out and glance down at his hand wrapped around my cock. I keep my focus there, and on the sensation building deep inside my gut that tells me I’m close to going off with the kind of explosion that could unmake me.
It isn’t until Darryl’s fingers stroke something inside my ass that I understand the full power of the type of destruction he offers.
My entire body shakes in anticipation of the kind of orgasm I thought was only a fairy tale. “What the fuck was that?”
Darryl chuckles. “That was your prostate.”
He rubs across it again. I jump, make some kind of groan-yelp noise, and say, “I can’t hold out.”
“I know,” he says like the cocky asshole he can be. “Pick up the shot glass.”
“What?” I sputter, not sure I heard him right. Not sure I can do anything but be consumed by the rushing tide threatening to drown me in all things Darryl, and base, primal sensation.
“The shot glass. Pick. It. Up.”
I did hear him right, and fuck. I can’t, but I have to try.
Leaving one hand on the counter to support my weight, I reach for the glass. Whatever Darryl’s doing to my ass and cock at the same time feels too good.
Hunching over further, I press my forearm into the countertop for more leverage, and make another attempt at the glass.
By the time I grab it, the familiar rush signaling I’m about to blow takes over. My entire body vibrates. With the way Darryl keeps stroking my prostate, it’s a miracle I don’t pass out.
“That’s it, Dominic. You’re going to come for me, and you’re going to catch every fucking drop in that shot glass.”
Wait. What? He’s telling me to come, and to hold the shot glass precisely enough to catch my release? In what world is that possible?
“You’ll catch it,” he continues, reading my mind, “and you’ll drink it down when you’re done. Every drop you spill will earn you a lash from my riding crop.”
Trained By My Girlfriend's Dad: A M/M Straight To Gay First Time Romance Page 7