7. Brooks

CHAPTER 7

brOOKS

Something in my brain misfired.

The physical position I found myself in with Tate wasn’t new. It was far from the first time I had a man naked and hard in my bedroom, asking me to tell him what to do, but to the best of my knowledge, it was the first time that man was someone I’d been responsible for deflowering. Even the thought of it felt antiquated, and Tate was vocal that he hadn’t been waiting around to find me again for another round, but knowing that the first time I met Tate he’d been a virgin…

My brain wasn’t speaking to my hands, wasn’t speaking to the rest of me, and what should have been muscle memory was more work than it had ever been before. Every molecule in my body wanted him. I could feel it in the way my blood burned and how my weight swayed toward him. I knew I watched him like a better version of myself, a version who didn’t care about the past, but still.

“Get on your knees, Tate,” I finally said, and he was on the ground before the words were all the way out of my mouth .

Going through the motions, I fished my cock out of my underwear and gave it an overhanded stroke, closing the space between us. Tate’s eyes were hooded and glazed like a man who’d finally been given the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world. I saw the same expression when Ford talked about Boston, when Kale pulled Christian onto his lap at the end of the night. Something unfurled in the middle of my chest, and I swallowed, doing my best to push it down where it belonged.

I traced my cock over his parted lips, precum leaking out of my tip and pearling against his mouth. From left to right I dragged my cock over his face, slapping it roughly against the hollow of his cheek until he opened his mouth. With his tongue stuck out and flat, I tested the heat of his mouth, sliding in just an inch until the flared crown was past the backs of his teeth. Tate let out a low groan, head tipping back, and I was quick to fist his hair and yank him into place. Between his legs, his cock slapped against his stomach, clearly approving of the rough handling.

I’d been so hard on him the first night.

Frustrated with Boston and Ford keeping their secret and forcing me to play along because they weren’t ready to tell Kale yet. The whole night had been a mess and I was definitely in a mood. I’d been extremely aggressive with Tate, which I wouldn’t have done if I’d known him to be a virgin. But that was exactly the problem, at least, as he’d explained it to me. Tate didn’t want to be fucked like he was inexperienced. He wanted to be fucked the way he was built to be fucked, the way he deserved.

I pumped my hips forward, sliding my dick into his mouth. Once I passed the halfway point, he started to sputter and choke, and we both knew what came next.

“Look at me,” I growled, tightening my fist in his hair.

Tate blinked quickly, wide eyes staring up at me as I finished my first hot slide into his throat. With my free hand, I pinched his nostrils closed, shivering with the first gasp of cold air he tried to suck in through his mouth. Having a dick halfway down his throat made it predictably hard to breathe, and his eyes grew large with an initial burst of panic, then he fought against the hold I had on his hair. I doubled down, pushing my cock so deep into his mouth my balls rested on his chin.

“Breathe through it, Tate,” I coaxed, giving his head a twist to the side. I pulled out enough so I could watch the tip of my cock drag against the inside of his cheek, then I pushed back in. “Give me what we both want and then you can breathe again.”

He sputtered, spit bubbling out of the corners of his mouth, and I had a front row seat watching the way his emotions warred to get the better of him. Beyond the initial flash of panic, there was fear. Deeper still, working its way to the surface the longer I deprived him of air, came the arousal. That one was quickly followed with confusion, and then…then the tears began to flow.

It was the first predictable thing Tate had done.

I released his nose and his hair, and Tate fell backward, gasping and sucking in desperate breath after desperate breath. His body was bowed forward, nearly frenzied for the tension that rolled off his shoulders, and I fisted his hair again before he could recover and threw him onto the bed. He let out a high-pitched whimper when he landed, and I dove between his legs before he had time to formulate a protest. I took his balls into my mouth next, sucking and lapping at the hot sac until he reached for his own dick.

“Don’t,” I warned, and he dropped his hand to the bed with a groan, gripping the sheets instead of his erection. I’d planned on eating his ass until he cried from the overwhelm of it all, but seeing how needy he was to touch himself gave me another idea entirely.

Climbing off the bed, I finally stripped the rest of the way out of my clothes, then I leaned against the floor to ceiling window across from the bed and folded my arms in front of my chest. My cock ached from how ready I was to fuck, but it would have to wait.

“There’s lube in the drawer of the nightstand,” I told Tate, my gaze flickering toward the sleek wooden stand at my side of the bed. “There’s also toys. Pick the one that most closely matches the cock of the last man you fucked when you should have been here with me.”

Tate’s entire body flushed a bright and beautiful shade of fuchsia, but he reached for the drawer, just like he’d been told. The drawer opened quietly, and Tate moaned when he looked inside, digging around the contents until he found the toy of his choice. I didn’t have a lot of sizes to choose from in there, but he picked one that sat near the smaller end of the range, going so far as to test it in his hand before making his final decision. I reached down and stroked my cock as Tate brought the lube and the dildo back into the center of the bed.

“Trade me places now,” I said, pushing off the window.

His brows knit in confusion, and I met him halfway, taking the toy cock out of his hand and slamming it down hard against the window. The suction cup base would hold, and the length of the fake cock bounced as it settled into its new position. Tate still had the lube in his hand and tear tracks drying on his cheeks when I sat down on the foot of the bed and gave him his next instruction.

“Prep yourself with that cock,” I said. “Show me what you’ve been getting this whole time, instead of what you’ve wanted.”

I wasn’t an arrogant man.

I was a competent man. I was confident, and I was rich. I knew what I brought to the table, understood what I had to offer, but I would have been a liar if I said it didn’t do wonders for my ego to know that Tate had been fucking his way through the eligible bachelors of New York for the past six months trying to find one who fucked as well as I did.

“Are you serious?” The question scratched at his throat as he asked it, and I gave him a serious nod in return.

“Very.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

I smiled, stroking my shaft in his direction. “There’s more than one way to make a person cry, Tate. Did you want to stop?”

“No.” He frowned, pouring lube into his hand and slathering it up the length of the toy dick. “But I didn’t come here to fuck myself with a dildo. I have those at home.”

“You’re more than welcome to go there if you don’t want to fuck the way I want to fuck,” I reminded him. “You’re the one who chased me down, not the other way around.”

“That’s mean,” he said under his breath, reaching around behind him to slick his ass.

I didn’t have a clear view of his reflection in the window, but the sky was dark enough for me to see him shove one finger straight up his ass. The skyline glittered out beyond the apartment, and Tate cursed under his breath while he fucked his ass with his own fingers. His skin was still bright and glaring pink, and my entire body was alive with excitement. I scooted closer toward the edge of the bed, stroking my erection slowly so I didn’t come before I had a chance to get inside of him.

“Did you want to cry about it?” I teased.

Tate swallowed nervously, shifting to replace his fingers with the dildo on the window. He screwed his eyes closed and stared down at the floor, giving me a gorgeous view of his tangled hair, but that wasn’t going to do at all.

“Look at me, Tate,” I demanded.

He glared up at me, both hands behind him to spread his ass apart to accommodate the toy. When the tip breached him, he grunted, and I licked my lips, leaning toward him like a moth to a flame. He looked like he wanted to beat me to death with the dildo, but he had a safe word and I was yet to hear it come out of his mouth.

“How does it feel? I asked, absolutely enraptured by the view in front of me.

Tate was nothing more than coiled rage and arousal, all tucked into the same lithe body. Sweat had already started to bead against his temples, the flush in his chest giving way from embarrassment to pleasure. No matter how bad the sex for him had been, a cock in the ass was still a cock in the ass. It was the burn and the stretch and the fullness that started everything off. The movement was important, but secondary.

“Cold,” he grumbled.

“Move faster,” I suggested. “Warm it up.”

Bent over at the waist, Tate began to fuck himself on the toy, and the rage bubbled up and out of him with every harsh pump of his hips. He was beyond angry with me, but he wasn’t going to stop it. I was going to get a thousand tears out of him before the end of the night, from every range of emotion possible. The promise of it had me yanking my balls down hard enough to stave off the impending waves of my own pleasure.

“Tell me what it was like to fuck other men, Tate.”

“Boring,” he grunted, pace stuttering.

“Unfulfilling?”

“Yes.”

“Did these other men know they were bad in bed?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Did the last one fuck you as slow as you’re fucking yourself?”

“No.”

“Show me how he fucked you,” I said again, curling my fingers around my thighs so I didn’t grab my cock.

Tate started to move faster, body slamming back against the toy in what should have been a rough and punishing pace…if the man had known how to fuck, that is. The longer I watched, the higher Tate’s frustration ratcheted up, the pleasure and the shame of the whole thing quickly becoming too much for him to manage.

The signs were all there.

He squeezed his eyes closed, clenched his jaw, and fucked himself faster with the dildo. His cock swung hard and long between his legs, but nowhere near ready to come.

“Tell me how it feels, Tate,” I said again, licking the corner of my lip with my tongue. He wasn’t looking at me, and that was fine.

I saw him just the same.

“Miserable,” he rasped, eyes blinking open in a flash.

The unshed tears were right there, ready to spill, but he was stubborn and proud, and he was so very angry to have a plastic cock inside of him instead of my own.

“Unsatisfying,” I offered.

He nodded, still pumping back against the dildo, jaw clenched so tight I worried he was going to break a molar.

“Boring,” he said again.

“Predictable.”

Tate gave me a jerky nod as a string of precum leaked out of his cock and raced toward the floor. I let my gaze follow the trail of it, humming happily when another kind of wetness splattered beside it, then another, and another.

“It’s all right, Tate,” I promised, crawling back on the bed until I reached into the drawer in the nightstand where I kept my condoms. I found one without taking my eyes off the sight in front of me, using my teeth to rip open the foil.

At the sound, Tate’s head jerked up, fresh tear stains visible on his cheeks.

“All seventeen of those men were just prep for this,” I promised him, pointing my cock toward the ceiling with one hand and beckoning him closer with another. “Come over here now, Tate, and I’ll remind you how a real man fucks.”