by CE Ricci
Despite my initial fears and protests, dinner wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable or dreadful as I thought it would be. It helped that Taylor, the chill guy he is, already knew all about Rain and Siena. Their childhood, their friendship, the sex—all of it.
But also, much to my delight, Siena is actually really fucking cool too.
Down to Earth, sarcastic, and funny as fuck. Honestly, I completely understand what drew Taylor to her.
After dinner, we decided to stay for a couple drinks. Well, I decided to drink. Rain is staying sober, at least enough so we can drive back up the mountain on the four wheeler safely.
I’m standing at the bar waiting for my new drink, watching Rain and Siena talk out the corner of my eye at the high top table we moved to after dinner when Taylor comes up beside me. He catches where my gaze is directed and lets out a low hum from the back of his throat, a mannerism he has always done when he wants to say something but is attempting to bite his tongue.
I’ve heard it hundreds of times, but he’s never done it directed at me.
“Say what you want to say, T. We don’t have fucking secrets,” I sigh, fingers tapping absently on the bar.
“You have feelings for him?”
I scoff and laugh.
Yep, there he is. Taylor has never been one to beat around the bush and honestly, I’m thankful for that, even in this circumstance.
Turning away from Rain entirely to face Taylor, I roll my teeth over my lip. “I don’t think it matters if I do or don’t. It’s over the minute we’re back to Boulder.”
Taylor shakes his head and smirks. “We’re two of a fucking kind. Always wanting more than what someone is willing to give.”
I lift my shoulder absently, hating that he’s right. We’ve always been cut from the same cloth. Far more attuned with our emotions than the rest of our friends. It’s probably why we’ve always had this unbreakable bond where we can tell each other whatever is on our minds.
“We’re too young to be wanting that kind of shit anyways.”
T glares at me. “Riv, don’t be dense. You and I both know that when you know, you just fucking know. It doesn’t matter if you’re sixteen, twenty-one, or thirty-something. When the person you’re meant to be with is tossed in your path, you grab them and hold on for dear life. In whatever capacity they’ll have you.”
Perceptive as ever, this asshole.
Because yeah, at this point I’ll take Rain however I can have him.
“This is different, T. It’s not as simple for us.”
He shrugs. “It never is. I’m not saying it’s simple for me and Siena. She didn’t even want to start sleeping together. Made a goddamn list of rules for us to follow if we were going to. And I’ve already broken every fucking one of them. It could wind up screwing me over, leaving me absolutely heartbroken in the end. But having her is better than not, for no matter how long.”
“Are you trying to tell me you think she’s the one?”
Licking his lips, he lets out a soft chuckle. “I’ve loved her from the moment I met her freshman year, Riv. I’d propose right now if I thought I had any chance of getting her to say yes. I want it all with her. Marriage, kids. Growing old and senile as fuck together.”
“But we always want more from them than they are willing to give,” I murmur, repeating his sentiment.
Taylor nods again and the bartender decides this moment to place my drink on the bar. I grab my gin and tonic, taking a swift drink before setting it back on the bar.
“Look, Riv. You’re my best friend in the entire world. I only want what’s best for you, for you to find the person you can’t stand the thought of walking out of your life for good.”
“I know, man,” I laugh, not sure where he’s trying to go with this. “Of course, I want the same for you.”
He grins. “I know, dipshit. This isn’t about me though. It’s about you and that guy you can’t take your damn eyes off of for more than a few seconds. Fuck, I even saw a flare of jealousy earlier and I’m going to be honest, I never pictured you as the type to feel that emotion. You’re too carefree for it.”
“Yeah, T? It seems that I’m full of surprises.”
He rubs the back of his neck and smirks. “It tends to happen when you fall in love, bud.”
There’s that fucking word again. Love.
But hearing it come out of Taylor’s mouth, who knows me better than probably anyone on this entire planet? Fuck, it makes me itchy.
“I’m not in love with him. I like him, sure. But damn, man. Just a few weeks ago we were ready to kill each other. We hated each other.”
Taylor smirks and for the first time, I want to deck my best friend in the damn face for thinking he knows something I don’t. That he knows more about Rain and me than I do from observing us for, what? A couple hours?
“It has nothing to do with you two specifically. I’ve seen something just like this with a couple of my friends back in Michigan,” he tells me. “Passion is passion. All-consuming, raw, and even toxic at times. It’s all in how you decide to harness it that establishes the line between love and hate.” He pauses, tapping his fingers twice against the bar before grabbing my own hand to force it into silence.
He’s always tried his best to let me cope that way, but I know it annoys the ever loving shit out of him.
“Sorry,” I tell him, putting my hands in my pant pockets.
“Don’t let it make you anxious. Stop fighting it. There’s no use being afraid of it.”
I scoff. “I’m not afraid of love or passion.”
T bites his lip and nods, but it’s one of those that he gives me when he’s thinking you’re so full of shit and we both know it.
“I’m not.”
“Sure you are, Riv. I don’t blame you for it either. Did you forget I watched you go through your parents divorce once you came out? What you thought was a marriage built to withstand the most brutal storms was blown to smithereens the second a tiny little gust of wind hit.
“And worst of all, your dad decided you weren’t worth being his son anymore, as if being bisexual was a lifestyle choice when we should know by now it’s who you are in your damn DNA. So the day your dad walked out on you? He proved his love was conditional.”
I clear my throat, attempting to work the knot that lodges itself there out. “And what does this have to do with me and Rain?”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re afraid of love, knowing what it feels like to have what you thought was unconditional love ripped away. Turning your life upside down in the process. River, you’re afraid of loving someone, only for them to not love you enough to stay.”
Shit. If he didn’t just read me like a damn book.
“When did you become such a fucking expert?”
He laughs at that. “You forget, my friend. You and I are the same side of the same coin, just etched a little differently.”
I nod, knowing the truth behind his statement. Though we didn’t grow up exactly the same, Taylor always had it a little rougher than I did. Even with a superstar NFL player for a father.
Or maybe because of that.
“Look, man. The point I’m trying to make is to not be afraid. If you are, you’ll never be able to end up on the same side of the line as Rain. The right side this time.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible with us,” I shake my head. “It’s been a week since we stopped clawing each other’s eyes out. This can’t be anything more than sex.”
“Love, passion, desire. None of it has a timeline, man. Again, you know this.”
I sigh, hating the logic in his argument. “There’s so much more in play here. So much he’s keeping close to the chest. I don’t…I don’t even know if he knows where he falls, you know? He’s definitely not out.”
“In this case, I don’t think it matters, Riv.”
My brows furrow. “What makes you say that?”
He grins and looks up and over to where Siena and Rain sit.
I follow his gaze, finding the two of them are watching us intently.
And the grin on Rain’s face…fuck.
“Because he looks at you the exact same way you look at him,” he says simply, keeping his eyes on them. “With the same kind of passion.”
“Get on your knees, boy,” he hisses, pushing roughly on my shoulder.
Like the good boy I am, I fall to the floor.
My knees hit the rug with a crack, Still, I wince in pain, because I know.
I know what’s coming next.
What always comes next.
I watch him unbuckle his pants. The same pants he wore to dinner with my mom and me. Pulling his dick out, I see it’s half hard already. He always gets hard when I’m on my knees in front of him. At his mercy.
That’s what gets him off the most, I’ve noticed.
The way I listen, always listen and do whatever he says.
I do whatever he tells me, because I’m his good boy.
He steps closer to me. His pants slip down further past his butt to reveal his entire length to me. He brings it to my lips.
“You know what to do,” he growls.
There’s no use in fighting it. Fighting him. I’m so much smaller than he is. I know it would be pointless.
It’s never worked in the past, so why would it now?
If I let it happen, it will be over sooner. And that’s all I want every time.
For it to be over as soon as possible.
So I open my mouth immediately and allow him to slide inside with ease over my tongue. The taste is familiar, one I’ve come to know well.
He starts thrusting instantly. Working his dick deeper into my throat.
I try not to gag, but I can’t help it. I’m not any good at this, even though I’ve done it more times than I can count.
Because I’m not supposed to be good at this.
Because…I’m a boy and boys don’t do this to other boys. Or to grown men.
Heck, I’m only twelve years old. Today, in fact. I should be playing video games with Roman after dinner or doing my math homework Mr. Chutney assigned in class.
I should be celebrating my birthday.
I shouldn't have a dick in my mouth.
Especially one belonging to my mother’s husband.
It’s wrong, so, so wrong. But I can’t do anything to stop it.
Suddenly, he pulls from between my lips. I suck in a breath and cough as he yanks me to my feet. He is quickly shedding the rest of his clothes before unbuttoning my own pants. He’s on his knees before me, yanking my pants and underwear down and off me. Before I can blink, his lips wrap around my own dick.
It’s hard already and he’s barely touched me. Which means I must like what he’s doing to me.
What I do to him.
That’s what he tells me, at least. That’s what my health teacher confirmed for us this past semester.
If it’s hard, that means I like it.
But I don’t like this…
He stands after he’s made sure I’m harder than a rock. But he licks the tip of my dick one last time before moving over to the bedside table. I hear him rummage around in the drawer. Looking for what, I don’t know.
When he turns around, I spot the two items in his hand.
A bottle, small and white. What it contains, I can’t tell from here.
And handcuffs.
My stomach rolls at the sight of the restraints. He hasn’t ever used those before and…I’m scared. Terrified, actually.
I don’t fight him. Ever. I’m good, I always listen, so why does he want to handcuff me?
Or does he want me to use them on him?
My question is quickly answered when he snaps one around my wrist before tossing the bottle on the foot of the bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls my shirt from over my head before turning me to face the bed.
“Put your hands on the footboard,” he tells me, and like his lap dog, my fingers curl around the wrought iron of the footboard.
Listening to his command.
I always listen, because that’s what good boys do.
And he said, as long as I’m a good boy, he won’t hurt me.
That’s why I never fight. I never kick or scream or make any noise at all.
If I do, he might hurt me and I don’t want that.
He slips the second half of the handcuff around the metal before latching that side around my other wrist.
Locking me in place.
Sweat breaks out across my forehead. Panic bubbles up within me. It’s so much, too much, so I can’t help but break the rules and talk. Ask questions. “Please, just tell me what is happening. Why do you need these? I’m always a good boy, I do what you say.”
He picks up the little white bottle, one reading lube on it. My heartrate kicks up.
My senses are on high alert and my body trembles in fear, in panic. Instinct tells me to fight and run. But how can I, now that my arms have been restrained by the cuffs?
Still, I try. My arms attempting to tug my wrists free from their confines. The metal of the cuffs bite into my skin, causing me to wince. But I still do my best to squeeze my wrist through the hole.
It’s no use, though. I’m stuck.
Helpless.
I hear the cap of the bottle being flicked open. The squirting sound of the gel being squeezed out and smeared around on his fingers.
His hand grips my waist, tugging me backwards. It forces my arms into an extended position. I feel the wet and cold sensation of the lube be rubbed against my buttcrack, his finger teasing my butthole.
He’s done this before, when he’s had my dick in his mouth.
It’s okay, Ciaráin. You’re okay. I chant those words to myself. Like if I say them enough I might actually start to believe them.
His first finger enters my hole, the second quickly following. I groan softly, biting my lip from crying out.
It hurts, it always does at first. But it also feels good, especially when he hits the spot inside me that makes my toes tingle.
I don’t know which is worse.
A moan slips past my lips as his fingertips touch that place over and over. He strokes and kneads me there until I’m pressing back against him, desperate for more pressure.
My dick, it aches between my legs. Like every time, I’m mortified by how good his fingers feel inside me. When it’s so very wrong..
Why do I like this?
I shouldn’t even know what this feels like, let alone have some sick addiction to it.
But as quickly as his fingers entered me, they’re gone. I let out a whimper at the absence. My entire body is lit on fire by the way he’s turned me on.
The sound of more lube being squeezed out set my body back on edge. Every muscle in me tenses.
And then I feel it, the head of his dick, so much larger than his fingers, against my hole.
I tense more, my butt squeezing together on reflex because…I don’t want it back there. It won’t fit, there’s no way. Not without splitting me in half.
“You are a good boy, Ciaráin. Always such a good boy. And you know I won’t ever hurt you.” His words wash over me in a soothing tone, and for a minute, I relax again.
He won’t hurt me, not really. He’s only ever made me feel so, so good.
But then he presses his hips forward, just slightly. It’s enough to start to enter me and I let out a soft cry, no matter how hard I try to keep it in.
“No, no. Ciaráin. You have to keep quiet. That’s what good boys do,” he tells me, “I need you to bite the comforter if you think you’re going to be loud. It’s very important.”
“Why?” I ask, breaking the rules again. But I do as he says anyways. I bend myself over the railing that my hands are cuffed to, taking the silk fabric between my teeth like he said.
Because I’m a good boy, he won’t hurt me.
I feel his hand on my back, gently touching my spine as h
e shifts my legs further apart. “That’s it, Ciaráin. You’re such a good boy. So good, in fact, I’m about to give you a special birthday gift.”
And with that, he slams his hips forward. Entering me in one, brutal thrust.
I scream out in pain, but the sound is muffled by the fabric in my mouth. It feels like I’m being ripped in half from the inside out. And the pain. It only gets worse and worse as he starts moving inside me.
“No,” I howl, keeping my face pressed into the mattress, but I know I’m loud enough for him to hear me. “No, no!”
Tears stream down my face, staining the comforter below me as I cry and cry and cry some more. My body is quaking in agony, trembling as I do my best to keep myself standing like the good boy he wants.
It doesn’t matter though, I don’t care that I’m not listening. That I’m not being a good boy anymore because I’m shouting at the top of my lungs for him to stop, to please, please stop.
I tell him he’s hurting me, but he doesn’t listen.
He just continues to hurt me, all for his sick, sick pleasure.
“Please stop! I don’t like this. It hurts too much!” I wail into the silk. It’s smoothness is the only thing giving me any sort of comfort. “You told me I was a good boy, that you wouldn’t hurt me!”
But his assault only continues, his pants and groans mixing with my cries and the noise of skin slapping together.
“Stop fighting it and it won’t hurt, my good boy,” is all he tells me.
Then a few minutes later, something happens. The pain stops. The physical pain. It’s replaced with something that feels…good.
Good like it does when he fingers are in there. Good like...like I like it.
But that’s wrong. It’s so wrong and I need him to stop.
“I’ll do anything,” I sob, snot and tears coating every inch of my face. “Please, just stop this.”
But nothing works. He doesn’t stop.
And once I realize my efforts are futile, I cry silent tears. I choke on the bile that keeps rising in my throat. It threatens to spray all over the bed if I open my mouth again.