Page 19 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

The serene view of a lake beneath a perfect summer sky with the moon bright and high brings about a sense of calm I’m not accustomed to. Parked out here in a small hollow between the endless pines, the world has never felt so far away.

I suck the last remnants of my soda through the plastic straw and toss the empty cup into a greasy fast-food bag. Noah twists the cap back on a bottle of water and watches me as I lean back on my elbows, kicking my feet off the front of the hood.

Something about the beautiful night sky makes me want to confess and reflect on the things that keep me up at night. “I have daddy issues.”

“No shit.” He nudges me with an elbow. “For what it’s worth, I have Mommy issues.”

“Maybe I have those, too?” I contemplate whether that’s an accurate assessment or not. “She wasn’t the worst Mom in the world, but she’s dead now. I guess that could inspire some mommy issues but Dad was never really there.”

“Mine was the worst mom in the whole world, and she’s also dead now.

” He averts his gaze and stares out at the lake.

“My only regret is that I didn’t tell her how much I truly hated her as she decomposed in that hospital bed.

She really deserved to depart this world knowing how fucking awful she was, and yet I told her I loved her on her way out.

I wasn’t there the day she passed because I was blackout drunk with another guy. ”

A casual confession of infidelity wasn’t on my bingo card, but I can’t pretend to be too surprised. From what little I know, this Kevin dude isn’t some knight in shining armor. It’s the other confession that hits like a brick wall, though.

I’m learning to curb my penchant for prying, so I avoid asking clarifying questions. “People do terrible things, but we’re not responsible for the things they do.”

“Those are the wisest words that have ever escaped your pretty little lips.”

A scream rips into the sky, exploding into a red and white flower. It shatters the illusion of serenity as more follow behind, whistling toward the heavens above.

Noah looks at me underneath the galaxy of exploding fireworks—pinks, blues, and greens—spider-webbing across the night sky. And I mean really looks at me, as if he’s about to say something truly poetic.

I swallow nervously as I await a declaration of love or a concrete proposal to be more than two guys who fuck each other’s brains out. He brushes a soft hand over my cheek, sending a chill down my side.

“You can call me Daddy, if you want.”

My face must contort between disappointment and a forced smile a hundred times before I’m able to say anything at all. “Daddy? ”

“Yeah?” He lifts me by my chin. “What do you want, Punk?”

“Can I suck your dick?”

He pauses, like there’s a chance in fucking hell he’d ever say no. Still, the suspense is enough to make my heart patter. “Give Daddy a kiss first.”

He draws his knee to his chest as he reaches for me. Pulls me in by the scruff of my shirt. A gentle hand on my cheek. A gentler peck on my lips. And then a soft hunger as he parts my lips with his tongue, all the while undoing his belt buckle with his free hand.

The parade of fireworks deafen me, but lights up the sharp contours of his face. I wish I could keep him like this forever. Wish that I could, at the very least, capture this memory in a photo.

A thin drizzle of spit hangs from my lips as I back away from him and jump off the hood of the car. I grab him by his ankles and pull him to the edge, and by the time he’s reached it, he already has his jeans pushed to his thighs.

I grab his cock with one hand and lick a trail from the base of the shaft to the thick head.

Lick my tongue around the top like a lollipop.

Bring my hand to the tip, circle my palm around it and brush a finger over the leaking slit.

His fingers play with the hair swept over my face.

His chest shudders as I take his entire length in my mouth.

Noah shows love through moans of pleasure. The long-lost seventh love-language of getting your dick sucked. And sucking his cock is how I show it back.

We’re torn from the same bloody cloth. Our souls ripped, busted, and bruised.

What we once found in strangers, we now find in each other.

Sex has always been transactional like a never-ending game of I give and they take.

But there’s something about sucking the same cock over and over again.

Something about the way he shows his appreciation when he’s spent himself.

Something about the way my mouth twists around his dick and yet all I can think about is kissing him again.

I continue to stroke his slick cock as I shift my body forward.

He opens his eyes to see me hovering over him.

And I don’t even have to wonder what he’s thinking as he pulls me down to meet his lips.

He kisses me with a hunger typically reserved for ravishing me.

Laps up every bit of his own precum that’s smeared over my lips.

Wonder if he tastes himself when he’s tasting me.

I try to break away from him, to get back to the assignment at hand, but he holds me in place.

Chewing at my lips. Brushing his tongue against mine.

Wetter and wetter until there’s a storm brewing between us—the winds of our breaths howling as thunder ripples through our bodies.

His entire body tenses. His throat cracks as his moans echo into my mouth.

As he shoots hot spunk from his throbbing cock, spilling over my fist and in between my fingers.

I continue stroking him through his release until he can’t take it anymore. His chest shudders, his foot kicks outwards, landing with a thud against the hood.

And then I break too, massaging my cock through my jeans.

In the silence that follows, an epiphany washes over me. “You’re right. Daddy gives me the ick too. Can I just call you something else?”

“Sure,” he whispers, fingers circling through my hair. “What do you have in mind?”

“How about…” I’m almost too nervous to even say it. “Can I call you, babe?”

My question is met with silence in return. The kind of stillness that suffocates the mind of someone who’s inner monologue never shuts up.

And then his voice cracks through the silence, soft and tender, but echoing like thunder in the distance. “Sure, punk. Whatever you want to.”

For three and a half weeks, I’ve been on the road with Noah.

He sates every ounce of the hunger I hold inside me, and yet I can’t help but to notice other men.

It’s a bad habit I actively try to break, but there’s a hollowness between Noah and I.

Sometimes, when we’re together, it’s like the world’s on fire.

Other times, we sit in silence, and I find myself plagued by familiar ghosts of loneliness.

I always fancied myself a hopeless romantic.

I waited in that god-forsaken compound, dreaming of the day I’d find my prince and ride off into the sunset.

Some days, I think I’ve found him. Other days, not so much.

He lets me in for only moments at a time.

All-too-brief moments when he allows himself to be vulnerable.

In those moments, I feel like I am his and he is mine, but he’d never say it.

If only he’d say it, then maybe I could stop looking.

Stop dreaming.

Stop wondering.

He bucks his hips and his knees wobble, the belt of his jeans rattling against the tiled floor.

“I’m… coming,” he pants between ragged breaths, his grip tightening on the back of my head as he hammers his cock against the back of my throat.

I welcome every thrust, every brush of his trimmed pubic hair scratching against my upper lip, every drop of precum that leaks down the back of my throat. And when he explodes, stilling himself in the back of my mouth, I swallow every salty drop.

He makes quick work of pulling his pants back up and washing his hands in the bathroom sink. I wipe my lips clean as I stand and meet his gaze in the cracked mirror hanging over the sink.

A knock on the door steals our collective attention.

Noah opens the door and steps out. I follow suit, walking right past a tall, skinny blond boy. Looks to be about the same age as me but younger than Noah. The boy cocks his head, watching the two of us as we make our way down the hall of the truck stop.

“That guy is watching us,” I whisper to Noah.

“Since when does that bother you?”

I cock my head over my shoulder to catch the boy just as he shifts his gaze. It’s a look I’ve seen before. A look of intrigue, of longing. The eyes of someone dreaming of a life in the sun, far from the dark confines of a closet.

I elbow Noah in the side playfully. “Maybe he could join us?”

He stops dead in his tracks.

Looks me dead in the eyes.

I think I die a little inside.

“I don’t share,” he scowls.