Ruthlessly His

by Walker Cole

  I back up a step. Fighting’s not really my thing unless I have no other choice. And even if it was, this guy looks like he’s out of his mind. Bald skull, tattoos creeping up his neck, and psycho eyes that don’t look like they can be reasoned with.

  I swallow heavily as fear takes over my body. “Nothing. I don’t want to do anything,” I say. “My friend was being an idiot, that’s all.”

  Psycho eyes didn’t hear a word I just said. Either that, or he’s been chomping at the bit looking for someone to take out his UFC moves on. He lifts the beer bottle up over my head like he’s about to smash it across my forehead. I try to back away even further, but I unknowingly bump up against a wall of people dancing behind me. Then everything becomes a total blur. My entire body locks up in a full panic state as he starts to swing the glass bottle towards my head. I don’t have time to react, all I can do is close my eyes and brace myself for the pain that’s about to come. But it doesn’t.

  I open my eyes and see him, the gorgeous guy at the bar, on top of the psycho who just tried to bash my skull in. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is using his knees to pin the lunatic’s beefy arms down, and his big hand to press the side of the guy’s face into a puddle of beer that’s probably spillover from Milo’s cup. Apart from being grateful that I’m still alive, and the fact that I don’t have brain damage from getting cracked on the head with a beer bottle, I can’t help but notice how effortless it is for him to keep this psycho pathetically motionless on the floor.

  “We good here?” he says to the meathead. The meathead nods in agreement, essentially crying “Uncle” without actually saying the word. Mr. GQ, whose name I don’t even know, lets him get up and watches him closely until both the psycho and his girlfriend scurry out of the bar with their tails tucked between their legs.

  “Looks like we’re even now,” the handsome man says to me with a sarcastic grin as he brushes himself off from the scuffle.

  “Even?” I say. I can feel Milo’s eyes burning a hole in my face as he watches this uncharacteristic exchange.

  “I don’t like surprises, but I’ll give you credit. You got me earlier, but now we’re even.” He methodically brushes a trace of dirt that he picked up from the scuffle off his shoulder. I’m not even sure it’s fair to call what just happened a scuffle because he handled that deranged boyfriend about as gracefully as was humanly possible.

  By now all the onlookers in the bar have moved on. I guess seeing some asshole in a bar almost start a fight isn’t exactly breaking news around here. I would introduce Milo to this man, but I still don’t have a clue what his name is. To be honest, I thought I was never going to see him again, but today must be my lucky day.

  I thought he was gorgeous before, but now, after what he just pulled, I couldn’t imagine any guy looking any hotter.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “I can handle myself.”

  He laughs from the center of his core.

  “Is that really that funny?” I say. I look over at Milo, and even he’s laughing. “What? You too?” I add.

  Milo finally chimes in, "No offense, hombre, but you would be laid out on a stretcher right now if it wasn’t for this fine-looking stud.” Then Milo winks at Mr. Handsome and brushes the guy's arm with his hand.

  Mr. Handsome from the bar winks back playfully at Milo and says to him, “Maybe that’s what he means by taking care of himself.” My body feels all tingly inside, just watching the two of them interact, like all of a sudden we’re old childhood friends. But nothing could be further from reality. I’m more than positive that once our little interaction is over, I’m never going to see this man again. For now though, I feel like I’m in heaven. I mean, does it get any better than this? This guy makes Tom Brady look weak in comparison.

  “Like I said, now we’re even,” he says, checking his phone like he suddenly has some place better to be.

  And I’m sure he does. I mean, a guy like this probably has a hundred more important things to do right now than sit around here and make small talk with a couple of public school teachers. I know his type, and his type doesn’t mingle with guys like Milo and me.

  Not that I’m really anything like Milo!

  I try to hide the disappointment in my eyes as best I can. “Even Steven, just the way you like it,” I say.

  His eyes narrow slightly. Milo is looking somewhere else entirely, completely distracted by the fact that his favorite Coldplay song just started pumping through the speakers. The sexy owner of this place looks straight into my eyes. “Too bad you never got to find out,” he says.

  My balls tighten slightly inside my pants. “Find out what?”

  “Find out how I like it.”

  I swallow heavily. I want to say something in return, something witty, something sexy, but no words come out. He winks at me, almost in jest. “Nightlife 101. Some opportunities only come once. And you just turned yours down back there at the bar.”

  That stings. This man has a way of fucking with my insides in a way I’m not accustomed to. I still can’t figure out whatever the hell possessed me to grab his dick like that. And now, I’m just as confused… Why do I give a shit about the fact that I blew my chances with this total stranger? Okay, so maybe I had a chance to hook up with him. But nothing more than a simple once around with him, that much is clear based on the clothes he’s wearing, the fact that he owns this bar to begin with, and the fact that he is the sexiest, most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

  “Can I at least say thank you for what you just did?” I ask. His eyes grow narrow again like I just did something wrong. Is he actually angry with me for turning him down back there at the bar? That would be kind of twisted in it’s own right. I mean, did he just assume I would leave here with him and start sucking his dick just because he owns a bar and wears expensive clothes?

  “Save your breath, kid,” he says. “I would’ve done that for anybody.”

  Ouch.

  I look over and catch Milo staring at both of us having this insane conversation right now. “I’m out of here,” I say to Milo. Milo’s got his hands tucked inside of his front pockets, and he’s wearing a confused expression on his face for the first time since I’ve known him. Milo always has something to say. But not now. I put my head down and leave the bar, and I don’t look back. This time, I’m really not going to look back. I’ve made up my mind… I’m going to go home, get some sleep, and forget about this night forever.

  The night air is cold, probably somewhere in the low 30’s. But the sky is clear, and the stars are shining brightly even here amidst the city lights. I walk around to the side of the building, the noise from the bar still lingering in the air. I stashed my bike on the side earlier, as ridiculous as that seems. Not many 25-year-olds ride bikes to a bar here in Boston. I do what I can for the environment, and I feel like riding a bike makes a statement. Not to mention, I stay pretty fit using a bike to go everywhere I possibly can- work, the grocery store, and yes, to bars. But after everything that just happened, I just want to be home in my bed, hiding underneath my covers. The last thing I want to do is ride this old bike five miles back to my apartment.

  “Are you for real?” he calls out. My whole body tenses up as I reach for the handlebars on my bike. After only a short time of speaking with him, I already know that voice very, very well. What is he doing out here? I try to think of all the possible reasons why the beautiful stranger from the bar would follow me out here right now, and none of them make any sense. I’ve got my cell phone, my wallet, and myself. So I’m pretty sure I didn’t forget anything in the bar.

  Except for Milo.

  “Are you leaving too?” I say, wishing I had said something more clever.

  “Not sure, I guess that depends.”

  I swallow a lump in my throat, but the light behind his building is low enough that I’m confident he doesn’t notice how nervous I am right now. “Depends on what?” I say.

  “It depends on whe
ther or not you’re willing to ditch your bike here and go home to my place,” he says.

  Damn, this guy is aggressive. He’s clearly one of those men who sees what he wants and goes after it hard until he gets it. But why is he going after me?

  “I don't do one night stands," I say. He walks right up to my face, so close I can smell the delicious scent of mint and alcohol coming from his lips. Whatever, he’s way too close for comfort considering the fact that I don’t really know anything about this man other than the few words he’s said to me and the way he dealt with that maniac who practically tried to kill me back there. And both of those things tell me I should stay as far away from a guy like this as I can.

  “I find that really hard to believe,” he says.

  “Really? You find that that hard to believe?”

  “Yeah, I do, coming from someone who just grabbed my dick without even knowing my first name.”

  “You just looked like you needed someone to keep you in check every now and then,” I say.

  “That's what you were doing, keeping me in check?"

  “Yeah, basically. You had that look in your eye like you owned me or something.”

  “Alright, I respect that. You don’t want to be owned. Then what do you want?”

  Fuck. Why am I having this conversation right now? I mean, I could easily get on my bike right now and take off, go back to my apartment, leave this guy in the dust. But something, or some force, is keeping here right now even though I know it’s the last thing I should be doing.

  I stand here in total silence, and the only thing I hear right now is the sound of his breath. I have to admit, it’s beautiful. I also have to admit that I want to feel his breath on my neck. But I won’t let him know that.

  “You at a loss for words for once?” he asks.

  “I’m a teacher, I’m never at a loss for words,” I say back immediately.

  “You teach?”

  “Yeah, is that a problem too?”

  “Are you always this defensive?” he asks.

  I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Are you always this offensive?”

  He snorts. “I’m just a man trying to find out what you really want.”

  “I want to go home. It’s late. And I for all I know you could be the next Craigslist killer.”

  He steps in even closer. I let go of the handlebars and notice out of the corner of my eye as my bike falls to the pavement.

  “Then go,” he says quietly. “If that’s really what you want, then go.”

  I swallow heavily. Shit, now I’m confused. He smells and looks so good. And for whatever reason, he seems highly interested in me right now. “I don’t know what I want,” I say.

  He grabs my hand without asking. “Maybe you want my dick in your hands again.” I could resist him, but I don’t. I let him guide my hand until it reaches his cock. It’s hard… really, really hard. And it’s big too. I swallow hard at the thought of him sliding his cock in and out of my ass. I’ve only let one other man fuck me like that before, and he was barely a man. We were teenagers, hardly men. And I kind of made a promise to myself to not do it again until I found just the right man.

  “What’s your name?” I say softly as I squeeze the width of his cock.

  He takes in a sharp gasp.

  Victory.

  His tone is breathy. “Shane. Shane Hart.”

  I let my fingers run along the length of his erection. “I’m Chris,” I say, purposefully omitting my last name for now. And most likely forever.

  “Do you have a last name?” he presses.

  “Not right now I don’t.”

  “Then you owe me something in exchange for your last name,” he says.

  “Judging by your clothes and the fact that you own this building here, I’m guessing I don’t have a lot to offer you right now.”

  He laughs and reaches for the buttons on my jeans.

  Fuck.

  “I own a lot of buildings, not just this one. And it’s not your money I’m after.”

  This would be my last chance to make a break for it, until the top button of my jeans pops open. Shane runs his fingers along the elastic band of my boxer briefs.

  And that’s when it hits me.

  I’m so fucked it’s not even funny.

  * * *

  Shane

  I can’t stand the way I want this guy so badly. But he’s too damn cute, and too damn sexy at the same time. Every time he fidgets or gets nervous, I only want to fuck him more. I swear to God, I almost killed that loser back in the bar who tried to hurt him. Weird, because for some reason, I felt the need to protect him even though I just met him.

  The streetlight bounces off his face, revealing only the purest, smoothest skin. His lips look full, soft, and warm. No doubt about it, I want those lips wrapped around the head of my cock. But first, I have to win him over…

  Sure he turned me down earlier, but it doesn’t look like he’s about to turn me down right now. This guy may have fooled me once, but I won’t let it happen again. I’m going to own him.

  I reach my hand into his underwear and squeeze his dick. He’s rock-hard, and the shape of his cock is perfect for me- long, smooth, and having just the right curves. “Fucking Christ,” he moans.

  “Fucking Christ is right, Chris. Do you always get this hard for strangers?” I say. And then I cup his balls in my palm and dive my lips into the crook of his neck. I love the way his body folds over slightly, signaling to me that he has almost no control right now. He smells and tastes like the ocean when my lips touch his skin, salty and sweaty from dancing in my bar.

  I squat down low and slide his boxer briefs down over his dick and balls. I grab his shaft and guide it to my lips; then I start to suck. I feel his balls tighten underneath my lips, and I know I’ve got him exactly where I want him right now. Jesus this man is so sweet, and I bet he's so tight. In fact, I’m willing to bet my life he’s never had a man like me inside of him. He starts digging his hands in my hair, and then he shoves his dick down my throat until my lips reach the base of his cock. He’s not small, but I have no problem taking every last inch of him.

  I stand up and brush his street-lit bangs away from his eyes. “I need to get you someplace warmer than this. It’s freezing out here, and if I’m going to get you naked, this isn’t the place to do it.” I say.

  “Do I have a say in any of this?” he asks.

  “Of course you do. Here are your choices-we can either do this right here, right now, or you can go back to my place where I promise you won’t regret it. Not that you would regret it here either,” I say.

  “What about my bike? I can’t leave it here; I need it to get to work tomorrow morning.”

  I spread my palm out and catch a few fresh flakes of snow that just started falling from the sky. I dab my finger in one of the flakes and press my wet finger on the tip of his nose. I don’t usually get cute with other guys, especially guys I don’t know, but something about him is bringing out the worst in me. “I don’t think you’re going to be riding your bike anywhere tomorrow morning. We’re supposed to get a minimum of 15 inches."

  “On top of owning a shit load of property, you’re a fucking meteorologist too?” he says sarcastically.

  “I like to be aware of my immediate surroundings, that’s all.”

  “You mean you like to be in control of your immediate surroundings?” he says.

  “Maybe sometimes, I guess you’re right.” There’s a moment of silence between us, broken only by the sounds of Chris shivering. “You see, I just can’t let this happen. I’m taking you back to my place.” I reach out my hand, and to my surprise, he reaches back. I wasn’t sure if he was going to go for this after all, but now there’s no turning back.

  For either one of us

  We walk towards my black Lexus. “Um, what about my bike?” he says.

  “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “I’m good, b
ut thanks. I’ll get it tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow it’ll be buried in snow,” I add.

  “Perfect, then you can help me dig it out.”

  "Like I said, I'll buy you a new one."

  Chris scoffs lightheartedly. “You too good to clear snow?"

  “Not at all, I’ve cleared plenty of snow my life. Maybe I just want you to have a brand new bike.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you say that to all the guys,” he says.

  I shake my head and smile. “Actually, you’re the first. Then again, you’re also the first dude I’ve met who rides his bike to bars on a Thursday night

  “That’s not the first time somebody’s teased me for riding my bike around town.”

  “Actually, I’m not trying to tease you. I mean, that will come later, when we get to my house. But for real, I actually admire that you ride your bike around. It makes a statement in it’s own weird way.”

  “Wow, you really do get it.”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “Kind of, yeah. No offense, Shane, I just didn’t think you were the type of guy that would respect this sort of thing.”

  I press the alarm button on my key remote. “Get in; I've got plenty of surprises to show you back at my place.”

  “Jesus, this car is insane. I’d love to know how many of my bikes it would take to equal the cost of this one car.

  “Do you seriously want to know the answer to that question?” I say as I start my Lexus with the remote key starter.

  “Maybe not, come to think of it.”

  The ride back to my place is short. I like to live pretty close to the commercial buildings I own in this city. I’ve got properties all over the East Coast, and believe me, I’m not exactly thrilled with not being able to keep a really close eye on them all the time. But that’s life in the real estate industry.

  We make it back to my place really quickly. I pull my car into my garage, and I can feel my cock start to twitch again in my pants.

  “Why am I not surprised that your garage is nicer than my apartment?” he asks. We both get out of the car, and I can’t help but grab his waist. Motherfucker. It feels so good to put my hands on his hips, having the power to steer him in any direction I want.