6. Brody

Freakshow's gone when I wake up. I don't know where he is or why he's left, but there's a dull ache in my chest. The room feels smaller without him, like when he left, he took all of that space with him, and now the walls are closing in around me. I don't know where the fuck he is, and I have no idea if he's safe. There's an unwelcome panic settling in me, and I reach for my phone, needing to talk to him. Needing to scold his ass for running off without telling me. Needing to threaten him within an inch of his life.

All I know is if he doesn't answer my call, I'm going to find myself a bucket of rocks and stone the motherfucker to death. Watch his insides spill outside. See his brain matter pour like pasta from the pan.

Fuck. Now my cock is hard. Fantastic.

What the hell is this guy doing to me?

I slather a little lube in my palm and wrap my hand around my shaft. When my call gets forwarded to voicemail, I have to stop all movement. I'm about to shoot my load just from the sound of his voice. Once it beeps, I continue my stroke game, needing him to hear me unload.

"Where the fuck did you go?" I pump faster, the sounds of my slick movements coming through loud and clear. "You hear that? This could be you right now, Scotty, but once again, you've been a bad boy." I slide my hand up and down my cock, moaning as loud as I can. I'm so close to the edge that I worry I'm going to fall to my death. My voice is cracked and even the breaths that leave me end with a whine. "Gonna give it to you. The Wrath is coming. Oh, Scott—Freakshow—baby. I'm gonna fuckin' come."

Jesus. I haven't come this hard in months. Even with Fee and Kincaid, I didn't nut this often, and now I'm shooting like a fountain left and right.

Once I catch my breath, I realize what I've done and that it's all been captured on audio. I know there's some way to delete a voicemail before it goes through, but with my head still stuck in the clouds, I can't remember how.

"Whatever the fuck you think you just heard, you heard wrong." Scowling at the ceiling, and inwardly cringing at my behavior. "I didn't just cum, I didn't call you baby, and if you don't fucking call me back and let me know you're okay, I'll—" Before I finish, the call ends. I guess I talked too long.

I wipe my cummy hand across my closed mouth and snap a selfie of me licking my lips. It's disgusting on every level, but I need this cocksucker to call me back, and I'm not going to hold any punches when it comes to getting what I want.

Once the picture sends, I hop out of bed and into the shower, washing away my cum and the last of my shame over the events of the night before. He'd fallen asleep with his hand cupping my soft cock, and he hadn't tried to stroke me to completion once. No, he'd followed my instructions to the letter, like a good boy. Like the best boy.

With my shower done, I head into the kitchen and grab a bottle of beer. It might be a little early in the day, but maybe I'm stressed the fuck out because of this irresponsible little fucker, and I need something to take the edge off. Fucking sue me.

I'm on my second bottle when my phone rings, and despite it only being a few feet away from me on my nightstand, I lunge for it like a bat out of hell. When I see the name on the screen, I sigh, because as much as I love my wife, she's not the one I'm wanting to talk to.

When I answer, I'm greeted with a topless Fee cuddled up next to a shirtless man—my best bro. I've never looked at Kincaid in a sexual manner. Not once. Now, I'm trying to picture what it might look like to have him on my lap. What his hole might feel like as it envelopes my cock. The fact I'm now seeing him in a familiarly unfamiliar light makes me as confused as Scotty's been making me these last few days. Kincaid's hand drifts toward Fee's breast, and once it reaches its destination, he circles her nipple, occasionally giving it a pinch.

"Hey babe," I say, kicking back in bed. "How's the getaway going?"

She cuddles up closer to Kincaid, practically purring like a kitten. "So far, so good. Took care of my assignment yesterday. We're going to spend the rest of the trip sightseeing."

"Well," Kincaid interjects, leaning in and licking Fee's neck. "We're going to be seeing each other's sights, at least. Don't know if we'll be making it out of the hotel room."

As a blush spreads across Fee's cheeks, I find myself at a loss. This would normally be the part when I remind them to send me pictures. Before, I would have had my pants around my ankles at the mere possibility of new pictures or videos of Kincaid railing my wife with his monster cock. I mean, seriously, the man has a solid twelve inches. It's a wonder he hasn't shredded her insides with the thing.

Now though? Now, I can't wait to get off the phone, because I need to find Scotty. I need to make sure he's okay, and then I need to decapitate him. It'll be a quick exit from this world, and I want him to have that. I want him to have a lot of things, but the only gift I can logically give him is a peaceful passing.

"So," Fee finally says, snapping me out of whatever ridiculous haze I'd gotten lost in. "How did it go with your mystery date last night?" My cheeks burn, and there's no use looking away, because judging by their expressions, I'm pretty sure they already know it was with a guy.

"It was okay. They . . . they slept over. We cuddled. It was nice."

"Did they?" Fee asks. "And were they everything you hoped they would be?" Oh, yeah. She definitely knows. Still, I shake my head, because even though it was nice sharing a bed with him, I still feel like my supposed sexuality is lost at sea, and I'm not sure how to find it again.

"It was sweet, I guess. It's just, all of this is still new, you know? I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"You're just exploring the lay of the land, bro," Kincaid says. Through his thick Russian accent, it sounds ridiculous, but it"s . . . cute? "There's nothing wrong with playing around."

But it's not just playing around, is it? No, Freakshow's acting like we've already exchanged rings. Fuck, I wouldn't be surprised if he's gone to pick up save-the-dates at this very moment.

"Have they met The Wrath yet?" Kincaid says with a smirk. The man may be my best friend, but that won't save him from an ass whooping if he doesn't stop making fun of me for naming my cock. I mean, fuck—I don't make fun of the fact that he likes to be pegged by my wife while I let him watch me jack off.

"Are you seeing them again?" Fee asks, shifting the topic. Her face is a pillar of support.

"Is it okay if I do?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm the one who suggested it, aren't I? Of course it's okay."

I breathe out a sigh of relief. I hadn't expected her to forbid me from seeing him, obviously, but I wasn't sure how I'd cope if she had. My feelings for Scotty still leave me dizzied, but I'm not sure I'm ready for that dizziness to fade.

She darts her eyes toward Kincaid. "Can you give us a second?" He nods before tossing me a wave. As he stands to walk away, I catch sight of his monster cock again. He's got a nice piece, but it doesn't have me questioning my sexuality the way Scotty's has been. In the background, I hear the door snick shut, and I wait for whatever war Fee's ready to wage. She bites her bottom lip. Just the slightest of tells, really. She's usually able to keep her face fairly stoic, but with the problems in our marriage tearing away at me, I know it has to be rough on her too.

"Brody," she starts cautiously, staring at me like she's checking for cracks in my foundation. "I think you should take your time with this . . . person."

"What do you mean?"

"Get to know them. See if they're able to give you something that I can't."

"You give me everything I need."

"I don't," she says, shaking her head. "And if we're being completely truthful, I don't know if I ever have. We were hot and heavy at the start, but . . . Brody, we haven't slept together in months. The other night, when I came home to find you in bed—that was the first time you've instigated sex in six months."

My eyes bulge, because none of her words make sense. It's like a sucker punch I wasn't expecting. "We have sex!"

She nods. "When I ask for it. I haven't asked you for it in over three months, because I wanted to be sure it wasn't just me. It isn't working, babe."

I swallow. "What are you saying?"

"I think you should keep testing the waters with this person. I want you to be happy. Even if it isn't with me," she says. It feels like my heart is going to burst through my chest. She can't be serious. The way she's talking—I mean, she's making it sound like she . . .

"Are you asking me for a divorce?"

She quickly shakes her head, but she doesn't look surprised by the question. If anything, she just looks resigned. "Not yet. But I need you to do this for me, because if it isn't just a case of mismatched parts, then there's something deeper going on, and we need to figure it out."

I look away, because my eyes are feeling a little misty. I"m worried speaking any louder than a whisper might cause my voice to crack, so my words are hushed. "It would feel like I was cheating, Fee."

"It's not cheating if I give you permission."

"It feels like cheating to me."

She sighs, but I still can't bring myself to look at her. Not when I'm about three seconds shy of breaking. "If you cuddling with another man—" I jerk my head up, my mouth hanging wide in horror. She said it. She just fucking said it like it meant nothing. Like the thought of me snuggling with another guy is an everyday occurrence. "Person. Sorry. If cuddling with another person makes you a cheater, then what does that make me?"

That's the million-dollar question. I don't consider what she does with Kincaid as cheating. If anything, I love getting to share a part of myself with him. But Kincaid isn't the first, and he won't be the last. Our arrangement requires full disclosure, and she has a tendency to step out without giving me a heads up.

"Brody?" she says, her voice smaller this time. "What does that make me?" When I catch her gaze, she looks more hurt than I've ever seen her. The beautiful color that usually floods her cheeks has faded, and she's staring at me like I've just slapped her. "Answer me. What does that make me?"

"Don't make me say it," I practically beg, looking away.

"You think I cheat on you? We talked about adding Kincaid into the mix for a month. You agreed."

"I agreed to Kincaid, and I agreed to our rules. We're supposed to talk about it before it happens, but you don't always come to me. There was that guy at the bar. The woman you met at spin class. That barista with the mullet."

"I'll admit, there have been a few times I may not have told you until after the fact, but . . ." She stares at me through the screen. There's an argument on the tip of her tongue, and I'm sure it's one that would be good enough to make me feel ashamed for even broaching the subject. A cleverly crafted rebuttal, tipping the scales in her favor. Whatever it is she's wanting to say, she lets it die on her tongue. "I'm sorry. Seriously, I didn't know it was affecting you like this."

I shake my head. "I'm not losing sleep over it or anything; it just stings, you know?"

"I promise, if we work this out—if you decide you still want this, once you've explored with this person—I'll do better." When I look into her eyes, they seem just as pained as mine. Like a year's worth of resentment is fading, leaving behind only truth. Our truth. We both know she has no intention of following through on her promise. We also both know I won't fight her on it, because, as hurtful as the situation might be, I want her to be happy. I knew she wasn't into strict monogamy when we were dating—I just didn't expect the loneliness to hit me this hard.

But Scotty doesn't make me feel lonely. Sure, he raises my blood pressure by simply existing, but I've never felt alone while standing in his presence. I've never witnessed the sting of his rejection. If anything, he can't seem to take his hands off me.

Scotty.

I've only been stalking him for a month, and Freakshow's already claimed his undying love for me more times than I can count. It's strange to admit, but the guilt I feel for hiding Fee from him is ten times worse than the guilt I have for keeping him from her.

"I like him," I finally admit. "He's the most annoying man I've ever met, but it's almost charming, you know?"

A smile spreads across her face, and she nuzzles her back into the pillows, getting comfortable. "Tell me all about him."

For the next half-hour, I tell her all about his crazy quirks. How he forces me to watch him do the most depraved things I've ever seen. The way he can shift from a bratty temper tantrum to the most caring soul I've ever met in the blink of an eye. How he felt cuddled up against my chest last night. I don't tell her his name. I also don't mention that he's my current target. At one point, Kincaid returns and nestles in next to her, listening to me talk about Scotty like he's Jesus himself.

I hear the front door open, and my heart beats faster in my chest, because Freakshow is back. He's back, and I'm talking to a naked man on my phone.

"He's back. I've gotta go." I give Kincaid a bro-like nod. "You guys enjoy the rest of your trip. Take care of our girl."

"Take care of your boyfriend, bro." I don't know if I'm more annoyed by the fact that he's just called Freakshow my boyfriend, or that it doesn't seem like he's teasing me about it. He's being serious. I open my mouth to object but quickly end the call when I hear Scotty's footsteps getting closer. I don't know why I feel like I have to hide my wife and her boyfriend from him, but I'm not ready to share this part of my life with him. It's not like I really need to, anyway. He'll be dead by the end of the week. Hell, he might be dead by the end of the day, if I can pull my head out of the clouds long enough to kill him.

The bedroom door opens, and I spot three unnecessarily large suitcases in Scotty's arms. I'm naked under the sheets, and I'm not sure if I want to slip into some underwear to hide myself or kick the sheets back and give my boy an eyeful. He gives me a quick smile before darting his eyes away, toward the closet. Before I can get a word out, he's in the closet, and I can hear clothes being flung off the racks, onto the hardwood floors.

"The fuck are you doing in there, freak?"

He pops his head around the doorframe. "Are you an undercover crossdresser?"

I blink at him. "What?"

"These clothes. Half of them are women's. It's okay if you like to wear dresses, babe. Honest. I don't mind." His eyes dip down my body, and he stares at my exposed chest with a hungered look in his eyes. "I bet you'd look really cute in fishnets, Daddy."

I glare at him. "I'm not a cross-dresser."

"Then who does this belong to?" He's holding up a short pink miniskirt, staring accusingly at me. I know I need to tell him I'm married. I'm not a complete idiot. If I don't tell him and he somehow finds out, he'll be crushed. He's claimed he loves me countless times, this would kill him. Then I would have to kill him. I know his end is inevitable, but from the stories he's told me, it's clear he's been lonely for a while now. If he has to die, I kind of want him to die happy.

"My sister. She used to live with me. Moved out a few months ago, she just hasn't gotten all her stuff yet." I open my arms, inviting him in. He bounces on his toes a little like he's contemplating what he should do. There's a bit of fear in his eyes—as there should be, considering he left without telling me earlier—but I don't want to go into Mean Daddy headspace right now. There's an instinctual need to hold him. To bring him comfort. Maybe I need a little comfort myself. "Come here, baby."

His eyebrows raise, and there's so much fucking hope in his eyes that I almost can't stand it. "Baby?"

I bite my bottom lip and look away. Fee and Kincaid's acceptance is still heavy on my heart, and I know even after Scotty is dead and buried, my life is about to change. Who I am—the man I've always thought I was—is changing. Or maybe he's been here all along, and I just didn't realize.

I give him a quick nod, too scared to look him in the eyes. To my surprise, he isn't shrieking like a banshee or making the endearment more than it has to be. He's unhinged, but somehow, he knows me, and he knows I'm low-key freaking the fuck out.

When I finally bring myself to look at him, he's in the closet, putting the skirt back where he found it. He takes a couple of steps before stalling, and his gaze drops to the floor.

"Are you angry with me?"

"Why would I be angry with you?"

"For not telling you I was leaving earlier."

I force a chuckle. "I'm guessing you haven't checked your voicemail yet." When he shakes his head, I breathe a sigh of relief, because at least that's a battle I can still win. Once he's done furiously masturbating while making uncomfortable eye contact with me, I can just swipe his phone and quickly delete the voicemail. After everything that's happened these last few days, I'm just happy to have one victory, small though it might be. "Well, I'm not going to lie and say it's okay. You could have left me a note." He nods, but he's still not looking up at me. "Eyes on me, Scotty." He snaps his head up and watches me cautiously, like he's trying to read the room. Luckily, the smile I plaster on is a genuine one, and it seems to put him at ease. "I was worried. Right now, I'm more upset at the fact that I asked you to come to me, and you're still just standing there. Don't make me ask you again, boy."

He rushes to me, hopping into my lap and wrapping himself around me, clinging on like he's afraid I might disappear. "Daddy," he whispers, kissing my chest. "Missed you."

I push back his hair and kiss his forehead "Where did you go?"

"Had to grab some things from the apartment. I thought, since I was moving in, it might be nice to have some stuff of my own here."

I almost choke on my tongue. "Moving in?"

He nuzzles his face into my chest and nods. "Moving in." Before I can tell him he's not moving a single item into my home, he takes my nipple between his lips and sucks. His lips trail lower as he works his way down my chest. I'd kind of like to see how well he sucks cock, but he's just dropped a bomb on me, and we need to fucking talk about it. He's not moving in. Not happening. Sure, I might enjoy the way he submits to me when I have a weapon, but I don't want to put up with his crazy side every day. Not to mention, I have to kill the guy sometime in the next few days. I reach down to wrap my hands around his throat and end this stupid game once and for all, but before I can get to it, he stares up at me and gives me a familiar, hopeful smile.

"Can I suck you off?"

My eyes bulge in surprise. "No the fuck you can't. Are you high? Is that what's wrong with you? You're all over the goddamn place." A mental image of him lying lifeless in his crashed car flashes through my head, and I see red. I can't explain my actions. They're unhinged. I'm unhinged. I get it. It doesn't stop me from grabbing him by the throat and lifting him until we're face to face. "Did you get stoned and drive here, boy? You could have fucking died." When he arches an eyebrow at me, I realize I've been too easy on him. He's learned nothing. So, I place my other hand on his throat and shove him onto the mattress. He looks so fucking sexy with me on top of him, pinning him to the bed. His eyes widen in surprise, and he reaches for me. At first, I think he's going to go for my hands and claw desperately for air. Instead, he places one hand on my ass and another directly on my cock. There's no blanket or sheet hiding me away from him anymore. He's making direct contact with my dick.

I squeeze his throat even tighter.

"Did I say you could touch my cock?" I say, but he just stares at me like I'm stupid, his face growing redder by the second. It takes a second for me to realize he probably can't speak, what with my hands squeezing his throat closed, so I ease my grip.

"Yes," he says matter-of-factly, his voice cracked and rough. "Last night. You said it's where my hand belongs." He sticks out his tongue before releasing my cock. Before I can react, he shoves his hands against my chest and pushes me back. I struggle, trying to get back up, but he sits on my hips and holds my wrists down on the bed. I should be able to just sit up. For God's sake, the man is half my size. He's staring down at me with those big brown eyes, rendering me useless. He grinds against my now-throbbing erection, and it slides between his cheeks, catching on his hole when I thrust against him.

Jesus.

He doesn't even have a weapon on him, and I'm pretty sure I'd still do anything he wanted if he asked.

"You're wet," he whispers, leaning in and kissing the side of my mouth. My lips part, and I lean forward, wanting more. Wanting him to take my mouth and claim it as his. "You're leaking against my hole, Daddy." He wiggles his ass, smearing my pre-cum up and down his crack.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?" I ask, my head falling back as I let out a guttural moan.

"I love you," he whispers, his lips trailing against my neck. "Say it back, Brody. Tell me you love me."

I shake my head, because I don't love the guy. I don't love any guy. Even if I'm a late-blooming bisexual like Fee and Kincaid seem to believe, I can't possibly love someone after a few weeks of light stalking. That's not a thing. So, no. I can't give him this. I know he wants it, and I know he deserves to hear it from someone before he dies, but I can't.

What I can do is show him exactly what he's doing to me. I can give him a moment's pleasure before I take his life. His big beautiful life that could be filled with purpose, given the chance. A life spent bringing light into this cold, dark world. I'm going to be the one to snuff out his light, and I hate myself for it.

So, I give him this. I lean up and kiss his cheek. His chin. His jaw. I kiss every inch of his neck before telling him, "Lie on your back, Freakshow."

Without question, he scurries back up the bed and rests his head on my pillow, turning and inhaling my scent. He looks innocent like this. I want to give him everything. Kneeling over him, I kiss my way down his chest until he's writhing beneath me. When I reach his dick, I pause, taking inventory of the vision below.

If I'm being honest, his dick doesn't really do much for me. His body does. His ass certainly does. But his dick? My head isn't shouting for me to reach down and lay claim over it. Doesn't stop me from doing it, anyway. I cautiously wrap my hand around his shaft, surprised by its warmth as it twitches in my hand.

"Oh, God," he moans, fucking up into my fist. "Brody, you're touching my dick."

"Yeah, I can see that," I say with a chuckle. His dick is nothing to write home about. I know I'm not exactly a connoisseur of cock, but I know four-and-a-half inches isn't the norm. Still, it's just so perfectly him. A smaller-than-average dick for my smaller-than-average freak. More than that, his balls are fairly small too. Two little eggs sitting in their basket, waiting to be plucked. Below, I catch sight of his taint. There isn't a hair to be found there, just a perfectly smooth span of creamy skin leading to glory.

As I jack him off, he wriggles beneath me like he's trying to come out of his skin. Even as I watch my hand stroking his cock, it feels like I'm watching someone else. This isn't me. I don't make a habit of sexually pleasuring men.

He digs his feet into the mattress, screaming my name over and over. As his ass scoots down on the bed, I catch sight of it. That small, tight hole of his, right in the center of his hairless crack. Just like the day we spent in his apartment, it's calling out to me. Demanding I pay it attention. Releasing his cock, I ignore the frustrated groan he lets out and focus on the small, inviting ring. It almost looks like it's winking at me. Begging me to lean in and say hello. Give it a little stroke. Maybe even give it a kiss.

I can't.

I can't do that.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I don't want to lick this man's asshole. I don't want to torture it with my tongue.

When my Freakshow lunges for something, I reluctantly tear my eyes away from his beautiful hole and try to see what the fuck he's doing. He grabs something from the nightstand, and when he turns back to me, I see he's holding Fee's Kindle, wielding it like a hammer. I cock an eyebrow at him.

"I don't know if this is heavy enough to kill you, but I'm sure it'll hurt like hell if I whack you enough times with it."

"Huh?"

"I'll do it"—his voice a raspy whimper—"I'll bash your fucking skull in if you don't get down there." With his free hand, he reaches down, teasing his hole. My dick is already half-hard, and the sight of him touching his most private of spaces sends it to full mast in an instant. I reach down and stroke myself, because, fuck! My little freak playing with his little hole is a sight for sore eyes. "Brody, look at me." I look him dead in the eyes, trying to blink myself out of the fog keeping me from him.

He pulls his hand away from his hole and holds it out for me. I take it without hesitation, because it's where my hand belongs. He's where I belong. He pulls my hand to his mouth and swallows my finger down to the knuckle. I stare into his eyes as he sucks it, and I have to moan, because if this is what he feels like wrapped around my finger, I can only imagine how perfect his mouth will feel with my cock inside of it. He pulls back, his mouth popping as he lets my finger loose.

"Fuck," I groan, letting him guide my hand to his chest, right over his racing heart. I need more. To have more of him. For him to know what he's doing to me. I kiss his chest, surprised by the head rush the simple act gives me. "You're breaking me, baby. You're breaking me down, and I don't know if I can put myself back together." When I look into his eyes, the tears falling down his cheeks are too much for me to deal with. I want them fucking gone. I want every single one of them off his face. Tears don't belong on his porcelain skin. Shaking my hand free from his grip, I shove his tears away with force. "Stop crying. You hear me? You're too fucking pretty to be crying, Scotty. I don't ever want to see you cry again."

"I love you," he whispers, kissing my shoulder. "I really do."

I nod, because, yeah, I get it. He loves me. It doesn't make sense, and I don't really understand where it came from, but it's there. Love.

"Then lay back and love me, Freakshow. Let me worry about the rest. Tell me what you want me to do. How can I make you feel good?"

He purrs under me, and his hand reaches up, his fingers squeezing the back of my neck. "I don't want to scare you off if I say the wrong thing."

"I'm not going anywhere. If it's something I'm uncomfortable with, I've got my safeword, remember?"

Scotty licks his lips. "Perpen—dick—ular." Honestly, the word has no right sounding as sexy as it does falling from his lips. The way his mouth forms an O-shape. How his tongue clicks against his cheek when he sounds out the word "dick."

"Fuck, you're beautiful," I say, because he is. Laid bare before me, he's the most beautiful person I've ever seen. I let out a squeak as he lunges forward, squeezing the back of my neck and dragging me down. Our lips smash together, and before I can stop myself, I submit, opening my mouth and allowing him entry.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He's kissing me.

Oh my fucking God, Freakshow's kissing me, and I think I want to kiss him back. I open my mouth even wider—to object or to welcome him home, I'm still not sure—and his soft, silky tongue explores me freely. It twirls around, untrained and clunky, but my God, it's still the best kiss I've ever had. It's like he's pouring every bit of affection he has for me into it, and all I can do is allow him this moment. I comb my fingers through his hair, pulling him in to deepen the kiss. His hands roam up and down my back, starting at my nape, ending at the base of my spine. I can tell he wants to reach lower—to reach down and squeeze my ass—but it's like he's holding back. The fact he's honoring my request from last night, when I'd asked him to stay away from my ass, makes my heart swell in appreciation. He doesn't want to scare me off. Scotty doesn't want to make me uncomfortable.

"Say it again," I say when I pull away, panting into his face.

"Say what?"

I form a fist around his cock and stroke it rapidly. "How you feel. Tell me how you feel about me again." I lean in, gently biting his neck.

"Daddy," he moans, fucking my hand. "I love you, Daddy. Love you so much. Love you forever."

That's all it takes for me to shake the last of my resistance free. I kneel before him like a Christian at the altar, preparing to praise his holy hole. Lifting his balls, I stare at the pink pucker, not sure how to approach. There's the obvious route—a quick flip of the fingertip to get him moaning again—but as I stare at it, there's a familiar urge. One I usually only get with Fee. To taste. To touch the surface with my tongue. I look up at him with pleading eyes, needing my good boy—the best boy—to help give me the courage. He nibbles his lip as he grabs the Kindle and smacks me lightly on the head.

"Take care of me, Daddy. Don't make me ask you again."

I mouth the words I can't get out. Thank you.

I dive in face-first, kissing his hole with my lips. I take a moment to nibble up and down his crack, enjoying the way it jiggles each time I let it go. Honestly, I'm a little worried about the taste. I've never been this far south on anyone, and I'd feel more comfortable if I'd showered with him beforehand to make sure he's as clean as I'd like him to be, but I'm not about to drag this sexy ass out of bed and wash it off. There's no time like the present, so I open my mouth and take an exploratory lick at his entrance. There's a bit of a musky twang, but—God help me—I think I like it. It's like the sweat of a normal day's activities accumulated. A bit of seasoning for the snack laid in front of me.

"Jesus," I rasp as I lap at his hole. "So fucking perfect for me." I stick my tongue out again and lick from the base of his crack to the top of his taint. I have to stop myself at his balls, even though I think I kind of want to give them a taste too. That would be too gay though, I think. Maybe. Ah, who the fuck knows? I might be on a one-way trip to Bisexual Boulevard, but the train hasn't reached that station yet.

Eating his ass tops any other sexual experience I've ever had. More than sucking on Fee's breasts. More than sliding my tongue deep inside her. Even more than when she let me fuck her ass a few years back. What I'm sharing with my Freakshow, it surpasses everything. And when I look up at him to find him staring back at me, his eyes filled with affection, I can't help it. My hips instinctually rut against the mattress. Pulling his cheeks apart, I stare at it, wondering how tight it's going to feel around my cock.

Fuck. It's like it's not even a hypothetical anymore. I'm going to fuck him. My dick is going to slide into his hole at some point, and I'm going to make him mine.

I need more. I need to taste him. Every part of him.

Letting go of one of his cheeks, I reach down and grab his cock, stroking quickly. I'm so fucking close, it's like I can feel the cum working its way up my shaft. Diving in, I tunnel my tongue into his hole, and the warm tightness is all it takes to send me to the edge. His hole clenches around my tongue, almost unbearably so, and I feel his cum raining down on my face like a fucking monsoon. It dribbles down my cheeks and nose until it slithers onto my exposed tongue, still half-deep in his hole. I watch helplessly as another stream of cum oozes down his crack, approaching my awaiting mouth. Making no move to pull away from my Freakshow, I open my mouth wide, inviting his load into my mouth.

With my tongue still wedged inside him and his load fresh in my mouth, I grunt loudly, giving the bed one final thrust. Cum shoots from my cock, drenching the bedding beneath me. Everything around my dick is sticky and warm. My thighs. My stomach. My pubes. It's like I've been baptized in semen, and, while I should probably come out of the experience praising Freakshow's holy name like he's Jesus, the post-orgasm cloud of confusion lifts, and all I can see is the tip of my tongue buried in another man's ass.

I gag. I wish I didn't. God, I wish I wasn't gagging and choking on his flavor, but I can't help it. I grab his cheeks and shove him off me, sending him flying against the headboard. He lets out a pained cry, and I want to look up at him to make sure he's okay. I want to check on him more than I've ever wanted anything, but I cover my face with my hands and back away, tumbling off the bed.

A man just came in my mouth. This man—this kind, gentle, innocent man just came in my mouth as he rode my tongue, and I can't get the waves of shame to stop.

"Go," I croak, curling into a ball in the corner. "Get the fuck out."

"Daddy?" he whispers, his voice sounding fearful. I don't know if he's scared of me or if he's scared for me, but it doesn't fucking matter. I need him to get the fuck out, because my head is all over the place, and I don't trust myself. "Was I bad? I haven't done that with anyone else. I'm sorry if I wasn't any good." God. He sounds devastated. Fucking wrecked emotionally. I'm the reason.

He's right in front of me. I can tell he is by the body heat pouring off him. I want to pull him onto my lap and tell him he's still my good boy. That he did nothing wrong, and I'm just working through some shit right now—that Daddy will be back, he just has to give me space to work through it.

I don't do any of that. Instead, I shove him away. I push him back until he slides against the floorboards, probably blistering his skin in the process. He cries out in pain, but I can't look up. If I look up, I don't know what I'll see.

"G-get the fuck out of h-here, Scott. Get out of my goddamn house."

When I finally look up, he's staring at me with tears streaked down his cheeks. I expected him to look angry, but he just looks so fucking confused. Like out of all the potential outcomes this morning might have held, he'd expected this one the least. He takes a step forward, but when I look away, I spot the long-forgotten knife he'd been holding last night. It's just there, under the bed. I reach for it and hold it out at him. He must see something in my eyes, because for the first time, he looks like he thinks I might actually follow through with it. I might plunge the knife into his stomach and leave him there to bleed out. The worst part is, so do I.

"Please, Freakshow. Please, I need you to leave. I can't—I don't want to hurt you."

My boy rushes over to the bed and grabs his discarded clothes. As he hurries to put them on, he stumbles, and I watch as he almost trips and hits his head on the nightstand.

"Be fucking careful," I cry out, and he just nods, still not looking up at me. When he's dressed, he hurries toward the living room, pausing at the door long enough to give me one last look.

"Please, don't do anything stupid, Brody," he whispers. "I love you. I wouldn't be okay if you did. Just please don't hurt yourself, okay?"

I look up at him with teary eyes and offer him the only thing I can. A nod.

Then, he's gone, taking my heart and leaving his oversized suitcases.