Page 16 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

But I’m not ready to admit total defeat. “There’s another stick I’m confident I could drive.”

“How would you know?” He laughs. “You’ve never done that before either.”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

“Seven, I’m really damn tired.”

“And I’m really damn tired of being tired being your excuse.” I release his seatbelt from the buckle and let it slide back into the resting position. “Besides, you don’t have to do anything other than pull your pants down. I’ll handle the rest.”

His lips part as if he’s about to protest, but we both know better.

He might be the alpha here, but it’s become apparent to me that if I want something, I have to go and get it myself.

I make the first move by leaning back in the seat and kicking my shoes off.

And then, in unison, we push our pants down our thighs, both of our hard cocks smacking against our stomachs.

I rummage through my jeans, find my wallet, and grab a condom. He attempts to grab it out of my hand, but I swat him away. “I’m in control here.”

He cradles his hands behind his head as his cock draws to attention, rigid and aimed straight at the ceiling. I tear open the foil wrapper, pinch the tip of the condom, and roll it down his thick shaft, reveling in the way veins throb under my tight grip.

I struggle to remove my jeans completely before swinging over the center console and landing with a knee on either side of him.

Addiction courses through me, but not to drugs, alcohol, or nicotine.

To something far more dangerous—the affection of men.

As it turns out, sucking cock was merely a gateway drug to the real thing.

I took a dick once, and it’s become my new obsession.

This time, I want to know what it feels like to be in control.

How it feels to drain him, not with my mouth, but my tight ass.

I want to watch him. To study him. To watch the way the muscles in his face contort every time I sink to the hilt.

I buck my hips over him, clenching my cheeks around his hardness as I sway back and forth.

His head remains fixated in place as we’ve switched roles. Now it is he who watches me with unwavering wonder. “You came somewhat prepared, but the lube is in the trunk.”

I spit into my hand, reach behind me, and coat his condom-covered cock in a few quick strokes. He shudders around my touch, and if I’ve got him like this already, I’m going to fucking lose my mind when I watch him come.

It’s not enough spit though.

I cup my hand below his mouth. “Spit.”

He looks me straight in the eyes as he does as told, spitting into my hand.

Once.

Twice.

I apply his spit to his cock, hook a hand behind his neck, and use my free hand to line him up against my opening. The heat of his cock matches only the sensation of burning as I lower myself onto him. Much more difficult without lube, but I’ve never been one to give up.

Noah reaches forward and grabs my hips. “Breathe.”

“Yeah, I’m trying,” I say through gritted teeth.

He cups his hands at the curve of my cheeks and spreads them. Somehow this makes it easier to sink down onto him. My grip on the back of his neck tightens with each inch until I’m buried to the hilt. I stay there, grinding back and forth, getting used to his width.

“You did it,” he whimpers, his voice begging me to move even if he won’t say it. “Good fucking boy.”

I furrow a brow, exhaling through the discomfort. “So, I can’t call you?—”

He cuts me off with a finger pressed over my lips. “Don’t even fucking say it.”

“By the time I’m done with you…” I lean forward and whisper into his ear, “You’ll let me call you whatever the fuck I want to call you.”

“I very seriously doub?—”

I rock forward, reveling in the way his cock slides through me. Reveling in the way he has nothing else to say. And then back to the base. A slow gyrating motion, on repeat. Every time I lean forward, I traverse further up his cock. And then all the back down.

Slow and steady, I ride through the pain until it dissipates, spiraling into stabs of pleasure. My cock thumps against his shirt, leaking precum onto the ribbed white fabric.

His fingers tear at the sensitive skin of my crack, holding me wide open.

It’s the only control he has in the moment.

He’d never admit it, but he must get off on surrendering it.

The facade must be exhausting to uphold, but every time I feel his cock ripping through my flesh, I understand him.

Never felt as connected to him as I do now, knowing I’m at the helm.

He doesn’t even attempt to wrestle control back from me.

Just sits in place, mouth rippling into winces of pleasure as I slowly edge him to release.

I so wish I could tear the condom from his flesh.

Wish to feel the heat of his hardness without a rubber barrier.

Wish to feel his fluids wetting me with every stroke of his cock.

Wish to feel him totally fucking break and spill into the deepest parts of me, leaving a trail of hot, creamy goo leaking from me for hours.

I lean forward and nestle my head beside his.

Brace myself on the passenger seat and ride him with a fury reserved for a professional bottom.

He grabs me by the back of the head and holds me in place as he matches my movements.

Thrusts upwards with reckless abandon. Thrusting.

Stabbing. Using my ass like a lonely man uses a fleshlight.

Stroking himself with my body like I’m a toy, and that’s fully fucking fine with me.

I howl into his ear as I come, shooting rope after rope onto his wife beater.

He’s right behind me, thrusting upward one last time and then staying there. Holds me tighter, leaving me trapped in the heat between the hot fire of his deep breaths and the space behind me.

When I come back to reality, I climb off my favorite fuck-stick and settle back into the driver’s seat. He tugs the cum-stained shirt over his head, balls it up, and tosses it into the backseat.

As he’s shuffling his jeans back up his legs, I find myself wondering where this all goes.

Where it all ends. He wants to die. He’s said as much.

The demons of my past are en route to kill me.

It’s felt inevitable since I first raised the gun to Magnus’ head, but what if there’s another route to take?

“Have you ever thought about getting off this highway? Like, I don’t know. Just going home, wherever that may be.”

He buckles his belt with a huff. “You have a lot to learn, kid.”

“Don’t do that,” I spit his own words back at him. “Don’t call me that when there’s a fifty percent chance I have internal bleeding from that Godzilla cock. It gives me the ick.”

“Fine, punk.” A shit-eating grin hitches across his lips. “Is punk better?”

“How about something normal?” I shrug. “Something like babe?”

He purses his lips, clearly contemplating my offer.

But a shake of his head a moment later dashes any hop e

“Nah. I like Punk.” He tussles my hair with a grin. “You’re my punk.”

And I smile back at him. “Yeah, I think I could get used to that. I’m your punk.”

My stupid heart pitter-patters, butterflies circling my gut.

Little do those butterflies know there’s a murder of crows looming on the horizon.

But if this is the closest I’ll ever ascend to heaven, I’ll settle on however little time we have left.