Page 18 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

SEVEN

The days grow hotter even as they grow shorter. The nights are hotter too, inching toward a permanent inferno. We can’t escape the sweat, but at least the breeze tunneling through the open windows brings a little respite.

Noah’s grumpier than usual, which is an absurd observation because he’s been grumpy since I first laid eyes on him. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this evening, right around eight at night. Threw on some fresh clothes and commanded we were leaving immediately.

I did as I was told, having learned I don’t really get a say in where we’re going or when.

That’s fine with me, anyhow. I’m indecisive, so best to not leave decisions up to me.

Otherwise, we’d be staying put because I’m tired of the road.

And staying in place isn’t the smartest idea from two people on the run from their pasts.

Noah clenches his jaw and shakes his head.

Something’s clearly on his mind, but I don’t dare question what.

He would only answer with a scowl or a sneer.

Might even tell me to mind my own fucking business.

He reaches into the center console, pulls a cigarette from an opened pack and places it between his lips where it teeters up and down.

I rip it out of his mouth. I’m not brave enough to question what’s on his mind but have no qualms about doing something he has explicitly told me not to do before. There are many things I don’t understand in this life including why I do the things I do.

“This is a disgusting habit,” I scold him.

He tongues the inside of his cheek as he turns to me. “You know I don’t actually smoke them.”

“It’s looking an awful lot like you’re about to start, and that’s not happening on my watch.” I toss it out the window with a shrug and a shit-eating grin.

He reaches down into the console and grabs the whole pack, but I rip that out of his hand too. The entire pack lands somewhere on the road behind us.

He wags his finger at me. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“What are you going to do?” I lean over the shifter. “Spank me?”

The sting of Noah’s open palm ripples across my ass. A smidge of pain is a fair trade for a cock-filled hole.

The muscles in my arm tense as I try to hold myself upright, but it’s a difficult chore when there’s a literal God plowing me from behind.

He’s really in a punishing mood. Wants me to feel the sting of every stroke.

Wants me to know the pleasure I’m experiencing is the consequence of my own actions.

I saw this in a porno once. Some straight guy was railing some other straight guy on the side of the road. They might have been stepbrothers or some shit. Also that video was filmed during the day, and I’m being taken in the middle of the night.

Regardless, holy fucking hell.

There’s something about the night air caressing every square inch of my naked body. Something absolutely feral about being fucked in the wide open where anyone could drive by and see. Something submissive about the way I find pleasure in Noah taking his grumpiness out on me.

The grumpier he is, the harder he fucks.

The harder he fucks, the faster I come.

I feel myself tighten around his cock as I shoot my seed, painting the backseat of his precious old car in creamy, white jizz.

He continues to rail me from behind, slapping my ass here and there.

I’m spent, but my cock remains semi-hard, slapping against the fabric of the backseat with every thrust from behind.

I scoop over the evidence of my release with my pointer finger and swallow it into my own mouth.

It’s what he’d want me to do. To clean the mess I’ve made before he sees it.

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

That’s what he is as his breath quickens and his fingers dig into my flesh. He pulls his cock free, tosses the warm condom onto my back, and shoots rope after rope of hot cum onto my bare cheeks.

He lands one last blow against my ass with a thwack.

I never thought I’d be sitting on a bench outside a porn booth with shaking hands clasped between my thighs.

Never thought I’d be sitting here waiting on test results because some rural health department decided to fund a drive-by anonymous STD clinic in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Came here with Noah to have a little fun in one of those seedy backrooms, but instead we’re sitting on a bench perched between a wall of dildos and unsold gay porn DVDs from the 90s.

Noah is cool, calm, and collected. Two of those three are signatures for him, but collected is definitely not one of those signatures.

This is all excluding that time he choked me on the side of the road, but we don’t really talk about that.

His eyes are closed as he rests his head against the wall, seemingly lost in a tranquil state.

“What is the point of this?” I ask.

“Because I’m tired of fucking you with a condom.” His eyes flash open and he looks at me. “I want to feel every inch of you.”

“I feel totally fine.” I give myself a brief pat down. “Got no bumps, lumps, or burning sensation when I piss.”

“I’m not worried about getting something from you.” He rests his head against the wall again and closes his eyes. “I just don’t want to be responsible for giving something to you.”

“There’s a really sweet guy underneath all that masculine bravado bullshit.”

“Punk?” he beckons me from behind closed eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says with a gentle smile.

“Yes, Daddy.”

His eyes shoot open and his smile evaporates. “You really need to find another nickname because hearing that word makes me want to throw the fuck up.”

I wonder if Kevin used to make him call that. Made him say it when he was inside him. Made him say it when he had to pretend to want it. It’s the simplest explanation for his disdain of such a trivial word. Little does he know, I have severe daddy issues and feel quite the opposite.

“You’re both good to go,” says the tall male nurse who had swabbed our dick holes about thirty minutes prior.

Noah guides me to my feet with a hand bunched at the fabric of my shirt.

“Where are we going?” I question as he continues to guide me away from the nurse, but not to the front door.

We make a quick turn and disappear behind a black curtain that leads down a dark corridor. “You’re about to make my dreams come true.”

There’s something erotic about the squeaking of an old bed.

Rusted coils beneath tarnished fabric wail and drown out the melody of cries, moans, and slapping skin.

Something undeniably deviant about knowing there’s someone on the other side of the wall forced to listen to it all.

Something erotic about the way Noah looks straight at the wall when he’s fucking me as if he’s a man on a mission to fuck away his demons.

And I am nothing more than a vessel for him to release an inner rage built upon dark secrets he ain’t keen to tell me about.

And then the way I rethink what I think I know when his gaze makes contact with mine.

Something about the way I steal all the attention that the wall had stolen from me.

He slides a hand under my head and holds me still as he’s anything but still.

Rocking. Thrusting. Gyrating. He batters me with his swollen cock, stealing every inch of me every time he drives himself forward.

He’s torn between animalistic rage and a hidden tenderness, while I myself am tender from taking my fourth pounding of the night.

He once called me insatiable, but it is he who can’t ever get his fill.

We don’t talk much. We just fuck like rabbits at the end of every long drive. We drive everywhere and nowhere, with no place to really go. Drive straight and then drive in circles. And then he drives right into me.

Over and over again.

Under a highway underpass, my body pressed up against the concrete.

On the side of the road, in a dry ditch that hasn’t seen rainfall in weeks.

In the pool when nobody else is around, my hands gripping the ledge.

On a bench in a desolate gym, my body straddling his.

But mostly on squeaky motel beds that are worn from decades of depraved behavior from the seediest of travelers.

The air conditioner works in this motel.

It’s not as rundown as most, but the cracks in the ceiling show its age and the lamp on the nightstand flickers to the beat of Noah’s thrusts.

My legs wrap around him, my feet brushing over his ass cheeks.

I can feel every muscle spasm, every tense of his ass, as he edges closer to release.

I throw a hand around the back of his head and pull him closer to me. He grunts through ragged breaths, and I can taste the whiskey on his breath.

Our lips are so damn close, but a million miles away, like the galaxies I used to dream about in the night sky.

He turns his head to the side, avoiding a confrontation with our mouths. The cross necklace that dangles from his tense throat dances over my lips, threatening to drop down into my throat and suffocate me.

I dig my fingers through his hair as I break, shooting my fourth load of the night onto both of our stomachs.

And then he follows suit, burying himself within me one last time.

The muscles in his ass contract over and over again as he spends himself, painting my insides in hot, sticky cum.

He collapses onto me, the weight of his body pushing my back against the uneven coils.

The necklace, as predicted, slips into my mouth.

It drags over my tongue and then slips back out as he rolls over onto his back.

And I do the unthinkable.

I roll over onto my side, cradle my head over his arm and place a hand over his heaving chest.

And then he does the unthinkable, too.

He doesn’t push me away.