Page 8 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

NOAH

Mama always said the only value found in a man was what he could provide you.

He could be gorgeous or he could be ugly.

It didn’t matter which, as long as he knew how to dress and had the money to prove it.

Didn’t matter if he was affectionate as long as he paid the bills.

All we had to do in return was let the men who took care of us fuck us until we couldn’t walk.

A small price to pay to be rescued from a life in the trailer park.

Thing is, I miss the trailer park. Spent so long trying to run away from that place that I’ve come full circle and want to go back.

Sometimes, I even miss her. Mama’s shadow hangs around me like a noose, tightening around my throat more and more the further I drive.

The cancer killed her, but the second hand smoke lingers.

Smothers and chokes me. Then, I think how much more she loved Kevin than she ever loved me.

Loved him for all the reasons I needed to escape him.

When she found out I was gay, her face lit up like she’d won the lottery.

Always said life would’ve been easier if I was born with a twat.

Once she found my stash of gay porn, she got it in her head that I was suddenly valuable.

She never quite said it, but the inference was that a hole was a hole, and men were men. Her calculations were correct.

Snap. Snap. Seven steals my attention, snapping his fingers.

“I’m going to let it slide this time because you have no way of knowing.” I scowl. “I fucking hate when people do that. I’m not a dog.”

He imitates the motion with his fingers again, but it’s so soft I can hardly hear it.

“That’s my only warning,” I seethe and stare at the road ahead.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“I’m going to piss on you if you snap your fingers again.”

“You couldn’t afford such a party.”

I chuckle. Little does he know what’s in that bag of mine in the back seat. How much there is of what’s in that bag of mine in the back seat. I could buy him for months on end. “How much would it cost for you to kneel while I unload on your face?”

He straightens himself in his seat, pondering the question. “Five-hundred dollars.”

“Huh.” I make a show of biting into my lower lip.

Didn’t take him too long to make that calculation.

Wonder if he’s done it before. Does he like it?

Would I like it? Kevin pissed on me once and gotta say, it wasn’t worth the weight of the gold chain that hangs around my neck.

That’s what it cost him to try out his fetish of the week.

But me, being the pisser instead of the pissed on? “Five-hundred dollars is a steal.”

I downshift and pull over to the side of the road.

Kill the ignition, and there’s an eerie silence.

Headlights bounce into the frame of the rearview mirror, highlighting both of our faces in a harsh white glow as a car draws near.

His throat pulses with a heavy swallow, and I can’t take my eyes off his reflection in the mirror.

Ain’t no way I could piss on an angelic face like that.

Soft but masculine. Deep mysterious eyes that shimmer with uncertainty and innocence.

It’s a chore to remind myself that he’s an arsonist, but that’s not what scares me.

The windows rattle as the car rips by, paying no heed to us on the side of the road.

I turn to Seven. “Get out.”

He does as commanded, exiting the car as quiet as a ghost. The only sound is the creaking of the worn springs in the ancient door. I follow soon after, circling the back of the car until we’re both standing along the edge of the road.

I retrieve my wallet from the back of my jeans. His gaze follows as I pry it open and grab a few hundred- dollar bills. I stuff my wallet back in place and place the money between my teeth.

He swallows again. “Are we really going to do this? Here?”

“Get on your knees,” I command through gritted teeth. It excites me to know I’m in control. Mama and Kevin always had an iron grip on me. I was never in control. Now, things are different.

Another swallow. “Yes, sir.”

My cock jumps a little. “Good fucking boy.”

He reaches for the hem of his white shirt and begins to lift it, exposing abs that are divided down the middle with a dark happy trail.

He tugs the shirt over his head and tosses it onto the hood of the car.

Then, he’s watching me as much as I’m watching him.

Makes a show of undoing his belt buckle, unzipping, and then stepping out of the jeans.

He steps past me and places them on the hood of the car.

I catch a glimpse of his ass, taut and round, and filling out black briefs.

Cock hardens a little more.

He sinks down onto the ground, his knees digging into the dirt off the side of the road. He angles his head upward, eyes begging to be fed. And I still can’t figure out if he’s really into this or if he’s just great at pretending. Suppose it doesn’t matter.

I take a measured step toward him, unzip my pants, and shove them down to my thighs.

I grab my half-hard cock and give it a little shake as I approach, my gaze unwavering from his.

It’s a game of chicken, and neither of us have waved the white flag.

I tower over him. Reach for his mouth and dab at the curve of his lower lip until I pry his pretty little mouth open.

He brushes his tongue against my finger as I press forward, massaging his wetness.

Then he closes his mouth and begins to suck my flesh.

Takes me straight back to the blowjob earlier.

I add another finger and push all the way back into the back of his throat. Hotter. Wetter. Hungrier.

I free my spit-soaked fingers from his mouth, grab my dick, and shake it.

He inches forward, his tongue darting out of his mouth.

Eyes that never waver. Fuck, even like this he looks so damn innocent.

I’ve been on the receiving end of his innocence and it’s nothing of the sort.

Still, I’m hexed by him every time he glances at me.

He closes his eyes, severing the connection, and leans his head backward. Waiting for me to piss on him.

My heart races, thumping against my chest.

I stuff my cock back into my underwear and lower myself to my knees to meet him where he kneels.

The sound of me zipping up my jeans alerts him to something amiss.

When his eyes flash open, he’s met with a shit-eating grin.

I place the money flush between the waistband of his underwear and his smooth skin. “I’m just fucking with you. Get up.”

He lets out a soft exhale as he rises to his feet. “The funniest man I’ve ever met.”

“Whatever you say, kid, but you’re mine for the night.”

“I know you don’t know me enough to know this, but I fucking hate being called kid.”

Yeah, yeah. I wave him off before circling the car and climbing back into the driver’s seat. I peer to the right and watch—I’m always watching—as he maneuvers into his jeans. He grabs his shirt from the hood and tosses it over his shoulder before opening the door and getting back in.

Seven is uncharacteristically quiet as we make our way down the cracked asphalt path that wraps around the pool.

The vacancy sign hangs overhead, painting the exterior of the run-down motel in devilish shades of red.

The neon lights reflect upon the bare skin of his chest. Smooth, hairless except for his happy trail, and waterboard abs fit for a swimmer.

The lights reflect off the surface of the water too.

Normal people don’t come to places like this.

At least the pool appears to have been cleaned within the last decade, unlike the last cesspit I stayed at.

“Are you sure you don’t want two separate rooms?” Seven asks as we approach our room, lucky number 13.

“Ah, there’s that mouth I’ve been missing so much.” I stare him down to really hammer home my displeasure at such a ridiculous question.

He leans against the gray exterior as I finagle the key into the worn lock. “I do have a business to run.”

“You’re really itching to be dropped off on the side of the road.” The key latches into the mechanism. I push the door open and hold it for my little whore. “I told you, you’re mine for the night.”

He brushes past me and tosses his bag on the left bed. I close the door and toss my bag beside his, just to make sure he knows we’re sharing the other bed. He kicks off his shoes and takes a seat on the edge of the left bed.

“Go take a shower. You’re filthy.”

He salutes. “Yes, sir.”

He tears off black socks before rising back to his feet.

I lock the door, pull the shades closed, and when I turn back around, Seven is on his way to the bathroom, wearing nothing but black trunks.

He pushes open the bathroom door, the light flickering on.

He knows I’m watching. Has to know. Pulls his underwear down.

They pool at his feet just before he steps out of them.

I choke back the intrusive thoughts to follow him into the bathroom and fuck him on the sink.

Force myself to think about anything other than his smooth, round ass.

Anything but thinking about burying myself in him.

Taking him. Owning him. Destroying him. And then leaving him alone in this motel room.

Running like I always do. As I’ll always do.

There’s a bounce in his step, and his ass, as he disappears into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I wait until I hear the shower running before digging a change of clothes from my bag, tossing them on the dresser, and then locking the bag inside the safe underneath the microwave.

I angle my ear against the bathroom door and listen—water crashing against ceramic, a squealing hot water tank, and the faintest echo of a melodic hymn. I crack open the door and slip inside. It’s like stepping into a dense fog as warm, wet steam envelopes me. I flip the toilet seat up, unzip?—-

And that gets his attention. “Whatever happened to privacy?”

“Sorry bro, I have to piss.”

“Please don’t call me bro. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, yeah…” I whip my dick out, aim, and release a stream into the toilet.

The shower curtain is a sheer yellow. I can faintly make out the silhouette of Seven’s body.

Watch as he runs fingers through his hair, rinsing the shampoo out.

Watch as he caresses his pecs with a bar of soap, and then his stomach.

I look down and give myself one last shake to clear the droplet remnants of piss.

And then I’m watching him again. Watch as shower water dribbles off the edge of his dick that hangs, soft and long.

Watch as he rotates, reaches a hand behind, and runs it between the crack of his ass.

That’s enough of that. I give the toilet a quick flush and it only takes a second for him to howl.

Ow… Oww. “Are you trying to scald me?”

“Mama always said flushing while the shower was running didn’t actually do anything.” I say with a shrug. “That it was nothing more than a myth.”

“Well your mama was a liar,” he shoots back.

I’d beat his ass if it weren’t true. She was a liar and then so much more.

I exit the bathroom and leave the door cracked.

Steam filters through the small opening, dissipating into the air as a ceiling fan spins in slow circles above.

I sit on the edge of the bed, lay back, and stare at the ceiling fan.

It mesmerizes my tired mind, and I find my eyes grow heavy.