“Does my boy feel like taking over?”
Travis lifted himself up and dropped down fast on Patrick’s cock. The chase for his orgasm was back on, and he fucked himself desperately on Patrick’s cock. The angle wasn’t perfect, and leverage was near impossible, but he kept going despite his straining muscles. He reached behind himself, elbow high in the air, and gripped Patrick’s hair.
“Yes,” Patrick growled, “ride my cock, own it. You’re gonna make me cum.”
Patrick moaned, and cursed, and it spurred Travis on. He drove Patrick’s cock into him faster and faster, until Patrick stiffened, and clamped his hands around Travis’s chest.
Travis imagined the streams of cum entering him, claiming him. He tensed to squeeze every drop from Patrick, then gripped his flushed cock.
Patrick batted his hand away, and growled, “I told you that was mine.”
He pulled Travis’s shoulder down until he was fully seated on his cock, then he began to stroke.
Travis’s prostate throbbed with constant pressure from Patrick’s cock, and his fast-moving hand made his thighs tremble. Waves of pleasure assaulted Travis’s senses, and all he was aware of was Patrick, in him, surrounding him, against him. He was safe to enjoy the orgasm, Patrick wasn’t going to be cruel and deny him this intense pleasure.
Travis couldn’t control the filthy moans that left his mouth. It felt too good, and he wanted Patrick to know it. He shook and flexed his hips weakly. Ripples of pleasure rolled inside him, accumulating in his cock. He was coming, and it had never felt so good.
“That’s my boy,” Patrick whispered by his ear.
Epilogue
Travis woke slowly and melted into the pillow. Patrick was brushing the hair back on his head. His hot palm soothed Travis’s forehead, and he couldn’t help but sigh in happiness.
“You’re awake.” Patrick mumbled.
Travis opened his eyes and looked across the pillow at Patrick. He grinned, then he frowned, and shuffled his shoulders. The duvet was on top of them, but he didn’t recall climbing underneath, and the ache to his hole was missing any uncomfortable wetness.
“What happened?”
“You were pretty out of it.” Patrick whispered, “clingy, dopy.”
“I’m sorry—”
“It was adorable. You threw your arms around me and said not to let go. It was a challenge cleaning you up, but I was up for it. Then I got you into bed, and you asked me to hold you while you slept.”
Embarrassment throbbed in his cheeks, and he squirmed. “Thank you…”
Patrick ducked forward, tilted Travis’s chin up with his finger, then kissed his lips. “You’re welcome.”
Light was seeping through the gaps in the blind, and Travis scrunched his brow.
“It’s morning?”
Patrick nodded. “Very preceptive of you.”
Travis narrowed his eyes. “I don’t even know what time we got here last night.”
“You do remember last night, though?”
Travis nodded. “There were parts I wish I didn’t remember.”
“What happened at the club wasn’t your fault.”
“I just feel stupid.”
“Don’t,” Patrick said firmly.
“I’ll have to go home soon, let Amy and Luke know you haven’t murdered me.”
“Why would they think that?”
Travis bobbed his mouth open and closed, then he admitted, “You terrify them.”
“I terrify most.”
“But not me … well, maybe a little, but in a good way.”
Patrick snorted. “You don’t need to be scared of me. I had you in the most vulnerable position last night and never hurt you.”
Travis picked at the duvet as he gathered his courage. “What—what do you do?”
“Do I do?”
“Your job.”
Patrick blew a breath through his teeth. “Now here’s the thing, if I told you, I’d have to kill you, and I really don’t wanna do that. I quite like you Travis.”
He smiled, and Travis copied his expression. He couldn’t tell if Patrick was being serious or not, but let the question go unanswered.
“Hey…” Travis mumbled. “You broke your promise.”
“What promise?”
“To hold me while I slept. Why are you so far away?”
“Far away?” Patrick laughed.
“Yeah, there’s a big space between us.”
Patrick sighed, and lifted the duvet. He was naked, and his erection bobbed excitedly.
“You in my bed, asleep or awake, is a massive turn on…”
Travis couldn’t pull his gaze from Patrick’s cock. It was huge, flushed, and wagging for attention. His own cock stirred in interest, and Patrick raised his eyebrow while they both looked at each other under the duvet.
“So,” Patrick said, “not just a one off?”
Travis stared, and his mouth fell agape. “I don’t want it to be a one off. I want … this … with you.”
“You sure? This is your last chance to back out.”
“I’ll never back out,” Travis mumbled.
“Good, that’s good. Now roll on your back.”
Travis grinned, and did as he was told.
Patrick rested his hand on Travis’s chest. Big, weathered, rough, and experienced, exactly the hand Travis wanted on him.
“Been hungry for you for hours,” Patrick whispered before ducking under the duvet.
He kissed his way down Travis’s body, and his breath ghosted his alert cock.
Travis curled his fingers into the mattress in anticipation, but Patrick moved lower, and left his cock alone. Before Travis could feel disappointed, the firm hand he had admired seconds ago grabbed his erection, and Patrick’s mouth started on his balls.
A thought surfaced in Travis’s mind, and in between the groans, and gasps, he smiled. Luke was right, Patrick did have Travis’s balls for breakfast and he loved every second of it.
The End
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BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER
THE FRESHMAN
Louise Collins
Copyright © 2018
Chapter One
Alfie thought about hurling insults, he thought about punching Ryan in the face, but in the end, he rolled his eyes and stomped his heel to the floor. The angry clomp didn’t stop the snort of amusement from the man strolling away.
For the past few months, Alfie had been subjected to hundreds of colorful new names. Being called a dipshit arse-wipe by the prisoners was preferable over what the staff called him. Rookie, newbie, fish, tender meat—they were a few of his new names from his colleagues.
“It’s Alfie.” He hissed, then turned and leaned against the metal gate.
Alfie, that was all his mother gave him. His name that sounded too soft for the world, a weak name he was determined to strengthen. He was the youngest prison officer to work at Larkwood in decades, but so far, he’d only be assigned to the brain numbing nightshift. Every time a post opened up on days, Ryan, his superior officer, always denied him. He said it was because he was too inexperienced, but he couldn’t get any experience until they shoved him on days, even working the visitor’s corridor would’ve been a step up.
Ryan didn’t like Alfie’s age, and he didn’t like that he was from the care-system. He never said it, but Alfie strongly believed Ryan thought he was a plant in the prison by one of the cons.
“Have a good night, Rook.”
Alfie didn’t turn at the taunt. He breathed deep and exhaled to an internal count of ten.
The day shift had just handed over to the night staff. The graveyard shift where the very walls looked like they were shif
ting in the darkness. He stood inside G-wing, behind him was the lobby, and on the opposite side was another gate the led to H-wing. The lobby acted as a space to ferry prisoners through whatever gate they needed to go. Whether that was to the hospital, the visiting area, the church, or the classrooms. Alfie imagined it was bustling with activity during the day, but at night it was an echoing chasm.
Staring straight ahead without blinking, the darkness bled into Alfie’s peripheral, until only black splodges remained, forming faces, sinister ones that put the prisoners to shame. The prisoners had been locked up since seven. All of them accounted for in the droning roll call. It was surprisingly quiet, and the only sound came from behind him.
The office where the night staff munched on doughnuts and drank coffee after coffee. Where the lack of activity turned them to zombies, and the tug of weighted eyelid was too much. People never grassed on those officers that fell asleep, but it did irritate Alfie that it was always the same one. Henry, wrinkled and frail, had wisps of white hair hanging from the back of his creased neck. They might’ve been attached, but Alfie suspected they had been trapped in his folds of wrinkles or had been stuck there with glue.
Henry believed himself to be a crafty bastard. He lounged in a worn chair facing one of the camera feeds from the bottom floor.
Dark green sunglasses covered his eyes. He claimed they helped with his apparent glaucoma, but everyone knew it was to hide, so he could nap. Once Alfie walked right up to him, clicked his fingers, rudely gestured, then finally picked up a stack of heavy books and dropped them from a height.
Henry had jolted forward so violently the glasses had flung from his face, and he threatened to clip Alfie around the ear for trying to kill him.
Six of them worked the night shift, three officers assigned to each wing. The two others with Henry were Ben and Dan. Identical twins with identical mullets, and after two months Alfie still couldn’t tell them apart. They had identical smoking habits too, and often left the lobby to satisfy them. Henry and the twins were assigned to H-wing, while Alfie was assigned to G, alongside Marie and Glen.
“Hey, newbie?”
Alfie cocked his jaw, then flashed an irritated expression over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
Marie’s cheeks were bright red, and she shifted from foot to foot like she was desperate for a piss. Behind her stood Glen, grinning manically, and staring down Marie’s open shirt as she jiggled side to side. She didn’t need a piss, but they were heading for the staff toilets.
“We heard a noise, gonna go check it out.”
Alfie nodded his head patronizingly slow. “Sure, and when I hear wails and moans, I’ll just assume it’s the ghost that haunts our shift…”
She cocked her head and wore an expression of bewilderment.
Glen leaned over and bobbed his head. “Thanks, bro.”
Alfie tutted and turned back to face the prison. “Don’t mention it.”
At least ‘bro’ was better than all the other names that had been thrown his way.
Henry always fell asleep, the twins took smoking breaks every ten minutes, and Marie and Glen disappeared for their intimate ghost hunts. Eighteen, and Alfie behaved the most professional out of all of them. It was somber thought, and he shuddered. He had to grow up fast in the care system, and he prided himself on being mature for his age, focused unlike his peers. His colleagues taught him with age, came less care. If they did the bare minimum, and got paid, they were happy. That was maturity in the workplace.
Alfie ran his eyes along all the closed doors, imagining the prisoners inside, most of them fast asleep.
In the center of the room was a metal staircase that led to the next rows of cells, and then another that led to the second level of convicts. Those were considered the more desirable cells, private cells instead of bunks. Those well-behaved prisoners could even buy curtains, luxurious duvet sets, and paint the walls as long as it was approved.
It was an incentive to do well—get to the top and you can make your cell a home. Fall from grace and find yourself at the bottom, where you’re welcomed by a bed of nails and a chilly draft from the outside world.
The gate screeched open behind him, but he didn’t turn to see who it was. There were tapping feet, murmured voices, and then the startled croak of Henry. The officers who had strolled into the prison exchanged small talk with him, but they were too far away for Alfie to hear clearly.
“Freshman.”
The voice drawled the word, dragged it out longer than necessary. Alfie didn’t recognize the voice and didn’t care who it belonged to. He knew who it wasn’t. It wasn’t his boss, or his ranking officer, Ryan. They were tucked in bed, probably together. Alfie huffed and shuffled his shoulders against the bars.
“Freshman,” he muttered. “Well, it’s a new one, I’ll give you that, but I’m not a freshman.”
“You should be. You shouldn’t be in a place like this, surrounded by the scum of the earth. You should be at university, your first year. Think of all those experiences you’re missing, all those firsts if you haven’t already experienced them.”
There was amusement lacing the man’s words, and Alfie was reminded of the other nickname the staff favored. He spun around fast, puffed his chest out and hardened his green eyes.
“I’m not a virgin.”
The air rushed from his chest at the sight of the man. He wasn’t sporting a white, long-sleeve shirt and black tie, but a tight grey t-shirt that barely veiled his muscular chest. His eyes were dark, by the dull light Alfie could tell they were blue, but the blue of the deepest ocean. A suffocating part of the ocean that squeezed the air from your chest until you could do nothing but sink.
“That’s a bit disappointing.”
The hypnotic eyes didn’t blink, they drew Alfie in and challenged him not to blink either. Bristles covered the man’s jaw, merging into his sideburns, and the hair on his head was light brown, in daylight it might’ve been blond. He smiled smugly, and Alfie knew he’d be caught admiring his looks and physique.
He shook his head, then stuttered. “Wh-what is?”
Alfie’s conversation skills had fled him, and he forgot what they had said to each other.
The prisoner cocked his head. “You being a virgin … I’m disappointed you’re not.”
Alfie shook his head and cleared his throat. “Watch what you say.”
He flicked his chin out to the officers, Ian and Keith, chatting to Henry in the corner, oblivious to the prisoner leaving their side. The prisoner leaned back, watched the officers for a few tense seconds, then turned his attention back to Alfie.
His shoulders were angled forward, the usual look for a man who had his hands cuffed at his back. The solid metal gate stood between them, and the prisoner stood a few inches from it. He couldn’t get to Alfie, but he grinned like he could.
Alfie didn’t want to give an inch, bow, or blink first. He had to show no fear, even though the giant in front of him was more than capable of crushing his head with a hand or decapitating him with a skilled kick.
The prisoner rubbed his lips together with a hum. “I don’t have to say anything, only have to look.”
Alfie frowned and wobbled his head in confusion.
Then the prisoner flashed his eyes down, roamed from Alfie’s feet right up to the ruffled hair on his head.
Alfie resisted the urge to shuffle at the attention, but he couldn’t stop heat glowing in his cheeks. The prisoner’s eyes metaphorically tore the clothes from his flesh, and left him cold, fighting the need to shiver.
A toothy smile spread the man’s lips, and his eyes crinkled. He looked older, but not in a bad way. The wrinkles that lined his eyes, and cut through his brow, matured him and made him look handsome.
“See, only a look, and it’s a fine look. I like what I see. I like it a lot,” he whispered.
“I said to watch your tongue.”
The prisoner closed his eyes and sucked his bottom lip as if savoring a taste. “Watch and
tongue in the same sentence. That’s a dirty tease, Freshman. All I’m gonna imagine later is—"
“Last warning.” Alfie snapped.
The prisoner smiled, then nodded. “Okay, Freshman. I don’t wanna end on bad terms. I might even treat you to breakfast in the morning. I usually come down about seven.”
Alfie shook his head. “I won’t be here for your breakfast, thanks for the offer.”
The prisoner bunched his lips together, and lines of amusement appeared around his eyes. “You hurt my feelings, use me like that and run out in the morning. That’s harsh, Freshman. Most unexpected for a man with a pretty face like yours.”
Alfie snorted. “There goes your last chance.”
He knocked his radio to the gate, and the metallic ping got the attention of the chatting officers. They looked up and raised their eyebrows in unison. If Alfie wasn’t annoyed it would’ve looked funny. A progression of age through their eyebrows. The thirty-year-old Ian, had a bushy black set, the man beside him, Keith had streaks of grey through his, and then there was Henry, white and sparse on his brow all the way to his ears.
“What is it, fish?” Henry shouted.
Alfie chomped the inside of his cheek, then released the flesh and forced a smile. “Isn’t he supposed to be somewhere?”
The prisoner narrowed his eyes and stared to the ceiling as if considering some complex problem. Then he levelled his head and stared Alfie in the eye.
“Fish? If anyone in here shares traits with a fish, it’s Henry and his stench.”
The snort that escaped Alfie was involuntary, and he hid it with a shuffle. The prisoner beamed at him through the bars, eyes tracking the lift of Alfie’s lips he battled hard to control.
Henry didn’t hear what the prisoner said, but the other guards did.
“Nate, enough now. Come on, let’s get you in,” Ian mumbled.
Alfie took an involuntary step back at the name. There was only one Nate in the prison, Nate Mathews. On H-wing for triple murder. The staff shuddered at the mention of his name. Alfie assumed he’d look like a monster, scarred, with busted teeth and narrow eyes, but the man before him was attractive with an intimidating vibe that both scared and drew Alfie in.
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