4

-NORTH-

SOMEHOW, Iknew he'd be on the field. Just like the first night I saw him, when he fell to his knees and started jerking off. My dick twitches at the memory. For a second, I hover at the edge of the field, watching his body move, and wonder if I should wait and watch in case he does it again. But my impatience wins out. I need it now and only his hands and body will do.

As I head toward him, a warm determined energy washes through me. The plan is to confront him in person and make him give me the damn cage. At least, that's what I've been telling myself on the way here.

From the way he's moving, the hard feral energy that powers his limbs, I can tell he's already on edge, and my heart speeds like I've been running too.

I'm halfway across the field when he stops. He looks like he's rubbing the sweat off his face in quick jerking movements.

"Hey!" I shout.

He spins toward me, and for a moment the moonlight catches on his face in a way that looks like there's tears on his cheeks, and his eyes are wide and wet. I hesitate.

But then his face narrows at my presence and I remember, this is Malcolm Blackwood. He doesn't have emotions. At least not ones that aren't anger. I doubt Mal even has tear ducts. It's just a trick of the light.

"What are you doing here?" he says as I get closer.

"You're being an asshole," I say, and my voice comes out surprisingly confrontational. It feels weird, it's not like me. It sounds more like his voice than my own.

"I don't have to give you what you want," he says.

Suddenly I don't want the cock cage anymore. Now that he's here in front of me, the fire inside rises up and demands so much more. This is fucked up, but I need it. I need him to act, I need the relief, I need to get it out of my system, and then I can concentrate on work for real. My future depends on it. And hell, he deserves it.

I'm no good at this shit, so instead of trying to think of something else to say, I just let my body take over. I march right up to him. He frowns, unsure what's happening, and opens his mouth to speak. But before he can, I shove him hard in the chest with both hands. He stumbles backward, caught by surprise, and his eyes widen. Like rich bullies everywhere, I bet he's never had anyone stand up to him before. It makes me want to do it again, and fuck it, I do, crowding into his space and shoving him again as he stumbles backward.

That's enough time for him to pull himself together. His shock is replaced with real anger, and his face twists.

"Don't fucking touch me," he spits.

"Or what?" I say.

Still in his space, I go to shove him again. This time he knocks my hands away and shoves me back. A thrill shoots through me as his hands connect firmly with my chest, and I'm forced backward a few steps. There's that power. His body is so solid and strong. And I need more.

My blood rises, and with a surge of overwhelming feral energy, I lower my head and tackle him around the waist, driving the air out of him with my shoulder, and slamming him into the hard-packed ground. The thrill blasting through me is purely primal.

I land on top of him in a heap as he gasps, getting my arms locked around him. We wrestle on the ground, arms tight around each other, bodies pressed and rubbing, heaving muscle and grunted breaths. Fuck, it feels good. Then he twists, getting behind me so that his chest is to my back, and his arm snakes around my neck. He gets me in a chokehold, squeezing as the muscles of his forearm bulge, and my eyes go wide. The pressure cuts off my air. Pressure builds in my chest and my head, as I frantically slap and claw at his arm, all the while my dick fills out until it's rock-solid and throbbing. He holds the grip, and my mouth falls open. The corners of my vision go fuzzy and my chest burns for air. I'm stuck somewhere between panic and impossibly aroused. And each aborted heave of my lungs only coils the tension gathering in my core more and more.

Just when I feel like I'm about to pass out, he makes a noise, hot and shocked, and drops me. Then his body is gone from mine, and I gasp in ragged breaths and blink until I can see straight again. He's standing a few feet away from me, hands clenched into fists, eyes wide, and pale in the night.

"Get away from me," he says. His voice is raw and dangerous.

I have no common sense, otherwise I'd back the fuck off this instant from the danger in his voice. Instead, I scramble up onto my feet, still dragging in breaths, hands on my thighs, and glare at him.

"Not until you fuck me, asshole," I pant.

His eyes manage to somehow get even wider. I run at him, although it's more like a stumble, and swing wildly for his face. It's clumsy and slow, so I expect him to duck out of the way, but he doesn't, and my fist connects with the side of his jaw with a meaty smack.

His head snaps to the side, and he gasps and staggers. When he turns back, dark hair disheveled and falling over his face, blood is sliding from his lips down his chin. Mouth open in shock, he touches the redness with stiff fingers and looks at it.

Did I really just do that? I feel as shocked as him as I shake my hand out, reeling. Shit. He's going to kill me. My body is never going to be found.

His eyes slide from the blood to my face, and the murderous intent in them is like a knife. I raise my hands.

"Shit. Malcolm, I—"

He launches himself at me, and in the collision, his mouth connects with mine. It's a solid smack of impact, crushing our lips together. Our teeth clash hard, rattling my head, which is still dizzy from being choked, and I nearly fall over. His breath is hot in my mouth. Then I'm kissing him back, violent and starving. My tongue plunges into him, tasting every part of him as I inhale desperately through my nose, taking in the smell of his blood and sweat and dark deliciousness. The kiss is everything I hoped it would be and more. It's the feeling when I score a touchdown and the crowd goes wild for me. It's the thrill of the chase, when the rival gives everything he has, and I beat him anyway. It's elation and it's primal and it's victory.

"Fuck me," I growl into his mouth. "Now."

Lips still fastened to mine, he pushes me. It's only when I feel the wood of the bleachers at the back of my legs that I realize how far we've moved. Somehow, we're at the edge of the field now. It throws my balance off and I end up on my back over it and he follows me down.

He breaks the kiss. My lips feel raw and wet. He tears my sweatpants down and the cold air brushes on my cock. I gasp.

Moving too quickly for me to keep up, he pins me in place with his chest against mine using his full body weight, plunges two fingers into my mouth, and then shoves them between my cheeks.

There's no pause. They plunge inside me. I hiss in a breath as they thrust and twist and stretch me. I almost want him to just go in hard and fast now, but I'll regret it as soon as I've come and can't sit right for a week.

The fingers pull out and I make a noise of frustration at my suddenly empty hole. But he ignores it and pulls my sweatpants all the way off. Then he flips me over so I'm face down on the bench, my dick trapped painfully between my belly and the hard wood of the bleacher. He wrenches my arms up behind my back and fastens them together, wrapping the legs of my pants around my wrists and tying them tight. I groan into the wood.

His fingers come back down between my cheeks and he's inside me again, plunging and thrusting. I shove my hips against him in little movements, trying to take him in deeper so he can hit my sweet spot. I ache for him to be inside me already.

"Fuck me," I gasp. "Come on."

"Shut up."

"I need it. Now."

He flips me back over, my arms twisted awkwardly beneath me, and clamps his hand down over my mouth, pressing down hard. My lips pull and snag against my teeth and I taste the tang of his skin between my parted lips.

"I said shut the fuck up, Nolan."

The sound of my own snarled name on his lips while he's dominating me is enough to make me shudder pathetic needy sounds against his hand. My hands twist. I want to grab him and force him in deeper, but I can't. I have to take what he gives me, and that just turns me on even more.

"Fuck your hole is greedy." His voice is strained and wobbly. It's taking a lot for him to keep hold of himself. I wish he wouldn't bother.

One more twist and another finger pushes into my hole, stretching me more, and I relish the burn. He works me open a little longer, and then pulls out.

My cock is standing up between us, already weeping precum. Mal swipes across the slit with his thumb, making my hips jump at the contact, and adds it to the spit that slicks my hole. It's not much, but it'll have to do.

One hand still smothering my mouth, he heaves my legs onto his shoulders so that the head of his cock brushes my ass. My body moves, tries to wriggle down toward it, desperate to get it inside me.

But I don't need to bother. He wastes no time lining himself up, hot and hard against my hole. In the haze of my dizzy mind, a small voice tells me to relax, open up, take what's coming, and I try.

There is sweet pressure, a thrust, the start of a burn, and then my whole body goes rigid as he pushes inside me. With a deep grunt, he loses his hold on himself and bottoms out in one movement, filling me to the brim with his cock. My legs straighten on his shoulders, toes curling, my eyes jump wide, my breath catches in my nose. But even as my body screams, I moan as a filthy terrible pleasure swallows me.

Fuck yes. Yes.

This is what I need. This is what I've been starving for. The feeling lights up my veins like the best hit I've ever had. Is this how junkies feel?

His length pulls out of me, dragging over every single nerve in my sensitive asshole as it goes. I shift and squirm. He spits, smearing his saliva with his fingers around my hole to slick it more. After a breath, he drives back in deep and hard, one hand holding my hip, the other clamping down over my mouth to smother the noises I'm trying to make. I moan at how impossibly full I am.

"Shut up, you fucking slut," he hisses, and his harsh words only make me moan more. I am a slut, a slut for him and no one else. No one else knows my dirty secret.

As he picks up the pace, words tumble out between his gasped breaths like he can't stop them.

"You fucking . . . golden boy . . . you're nothing but a . . . slut. Begging for me to . . . fuck you hard. Is this . . . what you want . . . Nolan? You want to . . . squirm on my . . . dick. Fuck."

I'm nodding under his hand, head rolling back and forth, eager and uncaring. Yes, yes. I am. Yes, please do. Yes, I want it. I'd be rambling if he wasn't gagging me.

My body jolts with each thrust. Then his cock catches the sweet spot deep inside me, and I shudder as bolts of electricity shoot through my core.

His face creases as his slams in hard, moving faster and faster until he loses his rhythm. His mouth falls open and he groans as he releases inside me, filling me more. The tensed lines of his body and neck stand out and he grits his teeth as he stutters, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," as he unloads his hot cum into me.

I'm at snapping point already, the tension in my belly wound so tight I can't hold still. I buck my hips, fucking myself on his spilling cock. His cum slicks my hole and makes the length inside me slippery, while my own waves luridly in the air.

With a muffled cry I tip over the edge. Cum spills up my stomach and across my chest in spurts of heat. I moan and whimper under his hand as I crest on my orgasm, writhing as each wave of pleasure rolls through me. Before I'm done, he collapses over me, bending me in half with his cock still inside. He pants into my ear, and the hand over my mouth goes limp. I take his fingers into my mouth and suck on them, making loud obscene slurps as my cock continues to spill in waves between us. Then finally, I finish. My head falls back against the bench, limp and fuzzy.

"Fuck," he murmurs again.

We stay here, breathing heavily, his body warming mine with his tacky skin as we both get our breath back. I let out a lungful of air that I feel like I've been holding since he took the cock cage off.

Yeah. Fuck.