Efrain and Cory Ch. 20

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Content Warning: Domestic Abuse

Chapter 20 — Fragments

Bright red spots on a field of old linoleum.

I continue digging with tweezers, the tips falling to get a hold on the tiny sliver.

Stainless steel scrapes on jagged glass. More blood drips off my heel.

No matter how many times I clean them up, fragments remain.

I’ll be walking on broken glass forever.

~*~*~*~

“Where we heading?”

“My place.”

“Is that so?” I said. I arched my eyebrow at him. I knew Preston had said he was taking me back to his apartment, but I didn’t know whether he had said it for Jameson’s benefit or what. At the time, I was so glad to get away from my ex that I didn’t ask any questions.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said quickly. “I just didn’t think you’d want to overhear Kitten getting his birthday spanking.”

I rolled my eyes.

“At least they’re making an effort to be quiet now.”

“Cory is making an effort to be quiet,” he said. “Wolfie has been making a game out of it.”

“God, he would do that,” I laughed, then sobered up. Fuck. I did not look forward to going back alone only to listen to meowing and growling all night. As if running into my ex wasn’t bad enough. I sank down into the passenger seat and drug my hand over my face with a groan.

“That bad, eh?” Preston asked.

“Why’d you come back?”

“I take care of my friends,” he said. I looked at him, and he simply shrugged. His casual admission floored me so much that I couldn’t find anything to say until Preston pulled into the apartment complex and led me to his door.

Once on the other side, I took his hand and pulled him into my arms. He braced his hands on my chest and looked up at me.

“Like I said, it’s not what you’re thinking,” he said. “I don’t want to take advantage—”

“You’re not.” He started to back out of my arms, but I held him tighter. I knew he wanted to be nice, but the last thing I wanted to do tonight was think.

“Let me just—”

I kissed him before he could say anything else. I nipped at his lips and they parted, granting me access. His cologne teased at my senses, reminding me of the other times I’d had his body pressed to mine. He rose up on his toes and I coaxed his tongue into my mouth, deepening our kiss. Jackets shook from shoulders, shoes slipped from feet. We let go of each other long enough to throw whatever item across the room.

The fingers of one hand stole up the back of his shirt to trace the column of his spine, the other hand I sent down to knead his ass. I could feel the tight swell clench under my palm as his hips rolled into me. He broke away and started making attempts at offering me a beer, an opportunity to talk, a million other things I could possibly want. I pulled my t-shirt over my head and threw it in the vague direction of my jacket.

Preston bit his lip as he lifted a hesitant hand and let his fingers ghost over my nipple ring. I tipped up his chin and watched the realization bloom in his honey-brown eyes that my free hand had just unsnapped my jeans and drawn down the zipper.

When our lips next met, any sense of reserve vanished. Preston and I stumbled to his bed in a flurry of writhing tongues and groping hands. He pulled back to slide under the covers and invited me in with him. A few pieces of hastily shorn clothing flung out from under the blanket, and I was finally able to stretch myself along the full length of his warm and pliant body. I looked at him, from the tips of his soft brown hair, down to the parts of his body that I could see under the blanket. I felt his legs tangled up with mine, his sex digging into my hip. A fucking feast after nearly two years of famine. I’d spent enough sleepless nights thinking about what he had hidden under his clothes, and a few more besides having tasted and touched some of those secret places, but now that I had him in his full naked glory, I almost didn’t know where to start.

Preston squirmed under my reverential palms, arched into me when they brushed over his hips and pulled him closer. His lips nibbled at my neck, followed the trail his hands blazed across my chest. He scooted down the bed, licking lower. His eyes went wide when he got down to my dick, and wider still when he found piercings twenty-four and twenty-five as if he knew where to look.

“You have been thinking about it,” I said.

“I have,” he admitted. He wrapped his fingers around my shaft and we both shivered at the contact. His attention went back to the little bits of metal. “Fuck, a lorum and a guiche.”

“How do you know what they’re called?” Not that I’d shown them off to many people, but most would be surprised you could put a ring through the base of your dick or taint, let alone that there was a name for either one.

“Research.” canlı bahis His perfectly shaped eyebrow swept up into a decidedly wicked look. “Always wanted to play with a pierced dick.”

And with that said, his mouth closed over my head. I swore and he giggled as best he could around a mouthful of my dick. His fingers crept over my balls and flicked the little metal ring hiding behind while his tongue and lips worked me. I swore again and Preston pulled my head out of his mouth with a lascivious pop.

“Damn, sugar,” he said. “The face you’re making, you’d think I was hurting you.”

Rather than answer, I pulled him up and shoved my tongue into his mouth. Preston wrapped his leg around my waist, and I took advantage of the position to touch where my hands had yet to stray before. My fingers slipped over the inside of his thigh, over a rounded cheek, and back down the cleft. He whimpered quietly when my fingertips first brushed over his tight little hole. I tickled over him again and he shivered. He grabbed my hand, and I was half afraid he was going to make me stop. Instead, he brought my hand to his lips and sucked two fingers into his mouth, running his tongue over them in much the same way as he had with my cock.

When he finally let them go, I let my fingers find his center once more. I pressed into him until his ass relaxed enough under my fingertips to allow me entry. He flexed his hips back, taking my finger up to the first knuckle. He flexed forward, grinding our cocks into each other’s hip. I let him fuck himself on my finger, adding the second digit to further open him. His small moans filled my mouth.

“Do you have a condom?”

“Yes,” he said. I pressed deeper inside of him and the word broke off in a cry. He slipped from me long enough to grab a condom and some lube. I quickly took out the lorum while he straddled my thighs. I let him slip on the rubber and slick me up.

Preston lined me up and carefully eased himself down on my cock. He worked his way down over me, taking me in another inch, lifting himself back almost to the tip, before sliding himself back down again, moaning and licking his lips in much the same way I had seen people react to really good cheesecake. At the last moment, I lifted my hips as he plunged back down and buried myself to the hilt in his body. We were both breathing hard by the time his sweet little ass rested on my thighs. His hand rested on my stomach, his body erect, back slightly arched, while he adjusted. I felt him twitch and spasm around me.

Yet, as amazing as he felt just sitting there, I desperately needed him to move. When he leaned back and put his hands back on his heels, I couldn’t help the way my breath stopped. Cute little Preston, ball of fucking fury, rode my dick in graceful thrusts.

He rolled his body as he lifted his hips off me — arching back on the up stroke, forward on the down. His lip held between his teeth, his breath coming in panting whimpers. The way he moved hit all his little sweet spots, the ones I’d never be able to find without asking first. Each thrust drove his voice higher, wound his ass tighter around my shaft. I stroked my hands over his body — grabbing at his ass, rubbing his thighs, teasing over his chest.

“Something tells me we aren’t fucking,” I said between my own panting breaths.

“What makes you say that?” He gasped while I flexed my hips up to meet his down-thrust.

“You’re just getting yourself off on my dick.”

“Doesn’t seem like you have a problem with that,” he said as he ground into me. I had to admit, watching him was arousing and he knew it. I’d heard guys described as moving like a porn star, but I doubt a porn star could capture the undulating rise and fall of his hips. Preston was why porn stars moved like that in the first place. “With how long it’s been, you won’t last. Might as well get mine first.”

“Guess I’ll just have to enjoy the show then,” I said, rising up on my elbows to better watch his body dance in my lap. Something about it must have done it for him because he suddenly arched his back higher.

“Oh God!” he cried out.

“Angle hit something good?” I asked, but all I could get in reply were some whimpered curses and comments about the size of my dick. His controlled grinding faltered and he almost stopped completely.

I considered it about time that I disabused him of his notions regarding my abilities.

I rolled him onto his back before I pulled out to the tip and drove back into him. He cried out again.

“Nice thing about endurance runners,” I murmured in his ear. “We can keep it up forever.”

Eyes shut, nails in my back, legs gripping my waist, an endless chorus of oh God, more, don’t stop, please, fuck, yes, and theretherethere falling from his pretty lips. It didn’t take long before I was breathing heavy and moaning with him, bahis siteleri but his rising voice drowned mine out.

I fucked him long and hard ? witness to the side of Preston that falls apart.

~*~*~*~

I pulled up to the house — cream colored with dark blue trim. The older BMW M5 that I parked next to looked well cared for. Similar care had been taken with the yard, but other than a few rows of dogwood shrubs and a couple small magnolia trees, the landscaping was simple. From the outside, you couldn’t really tell that college students lived in the modestly-sized home.

The tall, lanky guy who opened the door, however, definitely looked like a college student. Black hair with turquoise highlights, multiple hoops through his ears and face, jeans and a Bad Religion t-shirt. Attractive in that alt scene kind of way. I wondered how Teague even knew, or knew of, this guy.

“You must be Efrain,” he said and offered his hand.

“You must be Indie,” I replied and shook the offered hand. “A teammate said you’re looking for a roommate.”

He waved me in and led me past the foyer. He seemed to be favoring his heel; the sock covering it sported an inch-wide spot of blood.

Indie showed me the living room, which boasted a fireplace, a massive flat-screen TV and even more massive couches. It made sense, the furniture at least. He towered over my 6’1″ height, and I doubted he’d sit comfortably on a normal sized couch. He pointed through a sliding glass door to the backyard. More magnolias and dogwood, nice lawn furniture (none of the cheap white plastic stuff favored by most young adults), and a custom firepit that he said he’d built himself from some plans he found on the internet.

The guy seemed nice enough, and the house neat enough, but it could have been a crack house for all I cared. I needed to get out of the dorms and away from my roommate. Carey was an okay guy, that is, until someone mentioned gay people. I didn’t have any plans to come out at VT, but I somehow knew Carey would fucking flip if he found out he’d been rooming with one of them homosexuals.

“This is the kitchen,” Indie said.

I think he meant for me to just glance and move on to the bedroom, but I needed to see this. The homophobic roommate was my primary reason for leaving, but I was also going fucking crazy eating college food. I needed a goddamn kitchen, so I could make my own goddamn food.

The kitchen fit in with the rest of the house — way too fucking nice for a college student. A massive fridge with French doors and a freezer drawer, six-burner natural gas stove, and dual ovens — all in stainless steel. A wealth of cabinet and counter space, with an island that featured a prep top surrounded by bar seating. Smaller appliances, like a top-of-the-line stand mixer and a food processor, sat on the counters. He even had an espresso machine in addition to the coffee pot.

He must have noticed me gawking.

“My step-mother remodeled their kitchen and sent all the old stuff here.”

“Old stuff?” All this crap couldn’t have been more than a few years old.

“If Molly’s brat was getting a house, then good ol’ Claire was going to at least get a brand new kitchen out of it,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That’s where most of my furniture came from, too. She even got my step-brothers new bedroom sets.”

“Your dad bought you a house?”

“No, my dad bought a house,” he shrugged. “I just take care of it.”

“Like a manager.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I’d charge a hell of a lot more if I were paying down my own mortgage.”

“I was wondering why the rent was so cheap,” I said. “But why get a house?”

“He figured that if he was going to be paying my rent for four years, he might as well get something from it.”

“But, to buy one this big?” I remembered Indie saying something about four bedrooms and three-and-a-half bathrooms.

“Resale value,” he said. “Besides, my dad originally planned to use this like his personal hotel during home games.”

“Man, nothing like dear old Dad crashing your football parties.” I was pretty sure from his tone that there was little love lost between my potential roommate and his father and step-mother.

I started opening random cabinets and drawers. His step-mother had probably re-outfitted her kitchen from top to bottom, if Indie’s kitchen was any indication. What normal college student owned chef-quality knives and a full set of la Creuset cookware? My mom only had the one Dutch oven, and that was because it was on sale at the base exchange. “You know how to use any of this stuff?”

“Do you?” I briefly worried that he would get annoyed with my going through his kitchen, but if anything he looked indifferent.

“Yup. My mom’s a caterer,” I said. “She taught me everything she knows.”

Of course, she had regretted doing bahis şirketleri so when my cooking turned out to be better than hers. I could definitely teach a thing or two to whatever jackass they had in charge of VT food services.

As I went through Indie’s cabinets, I started fantasizing about the damage I could do in a kitchen this well-stocked. The one thing he seemed short on, however, was glassware and dishes. I figured he might be one of those guys that used paper plates and plastic forks because he was too lazy to load a dishwasher. Dad had more than a few sailors like that under his command before he retired.

I got to a cabinet with a massive dent in the door and no shelves inside.

“A minor accident,” he said. “It knocked a shelf loose and the whole thing came crashing down.”

“The glasses and dishes?”

“Yup. My ex insisted on putting everything in one cabinet.”

“No shit.”

“Happened back in the spring. Swept the floor dozens of times, but I’m still stepping on glass,” he said and pointed down at the blood on his sock. “Just got that out all of five minutes ago.”

“You didn’t vacuum it up? Mom always used the vacuum.”

“No, ’cause that would have made sense,” he joked and led me off to check out the rest of the house.

“So, did she at least replace them?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Your ex-girlfriend.”

“Nope,” he said. “And it was a ‘he.’ My ex-boyfriend lived with me.”

“I see.”

“Hope my being gay isn’t a problem,” he said as he showed me into what would be my room.

“Would be a bit hypocritical if it was.” At least I wouldn’t have to deal with a raving homophobic lunatic, so one more point for Indie. “Lemme guess, Claire got a new bedroom set.”

“How’d you know?” he chuckled. The room was fully furnished with a king-sized bed and matching oak furniture. I walked through the door that led to the connected bathroom. It was fucking huge with the most unbelievable shower.

“This is the master suite,” I said.

“It is.”

“Then why didn’t you take it?”

“The previous owner converted the garage into a mother-in-law suite,” he answered. “As awesome as that shower is, the tub is even better.”

“Aw man,” I said. “This shower vs. tub thing could be a total deal breaker.”

“I’m sure I could pull out some kitchen appliances to sweeten the deal.”

“God, how much shit did your step-mother buy?”

“What shit didn’t she buy?”

~*~*~*~

I fingered the cord around Cory’s neck — black leather braided with stainless steel beads. Indie had called it a choker when he laughed at me for buying jewelry, but I liked how it looked on my boyfriend. I could see how it got the name, any tighter and the thing would likely strangle Cory. I ran my fingertip along the cool metal beads, my knuckle brushing against his throat.

It was well past midnight by the time I got Cory away from the bar and into his truck. Preston had sent him a quick text that Indie was staying with him so we’d have the place to ourselves. For some reason, we’d decided to do the most unoriginal thing ever and snuggle in front of the fireplace in the living room. I nabbed any blanket that wasn’t attached to a bed, and he pulled all the cushions off the couches. Since he was the only one who knew how to work a fireplace (apparently those weren’t uncommon in south Texas — who knew?), I made up a pallet while he got the fire going. In no time at all, we were under a jumble of blankets being all cuddly ‘n shit.

I didn’t know how I turned into one of those guys who fucking liked cuddling or making out, but Cory did all this cute shit and it was hard to deny him when he did cute shit. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I liked it myself, but…

Who the fuck was I kidding?

I was propped up on my elbow, gazing down at my boyfriend, for fuck’s sake. We were tangled up in the blankets, but still fully dressed, in front of a motherfucking fireplace. I wasn’t even doing something respectable like feeling up on his junk through his jeans, just playing with the beads on his necklace, but I was perfectly happy to be there with him. Occasionally, my finger would stroke him in a way he liked and he’d make some cute little noise, and my dick would plump up a bit, and maybe he’d pull me down for kiss, and maybe we’d nuzzle a little bit, but we didn’t get further than that.

As much as I wanted to complain, I rather liked being Cory’s housebroken “Wolfie.” I couldn’t even be pissed off about the nickname, especially seeing as how he got the worst of it.

How in the hell was a 210lbs hunk anything remotely like a kitten?

Although, the prospect of viciously fucking him until he made cute kitteny noises wasn’t without its merits.

As if able to read the direction of my thoughts (or, more likely, able to feel my dick suddenly digging into his leg), Cory spoke up.

“So, if Indie’s not here,” he said, “I don’t have to be quiet.”

“Wasn’t going to give you the option, anyway.”

“And we don’t have to move this to your room.”

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