Page 2 of Caged By the Stranger (Bad Decisions #1)

Shit. That’s what I want. Maybe it’s what I’ve always wanted and just didn’t know it—to feel like my cock was a hot commodity.

Because let’s face it, that doesn’t exist in the real world without complications.

Complications being relationships, neediness, tolerating another human being’s poor qualities just for brief moments of pleasure that become fewer and farther between the longer you’re together.

I work too much to keep someone happy, and I’ve never actually dated a man, so I’m not going to pretend I have the first clue how.

Watching my parents play a tiresome game of trying to please each other for years was enough of a preview to let me know I’m not a relationship guy.

Retreating slowly, his tongue spirals around me and then flicks tortuously slowly underneath my slit. He leaves me, and a pang of misery hits me over the thought of him stopping. I can still feel his heat, though. He’s still there.

Skin connects with mine. It’s…his hand, and it’s damp. He must have licked it.

The tight draw he makes down my shaft as he suckles my tip has me gasping. I let out a high-pitched noise, which makes my face heat.

I’m a master at keeping quiet. I’ve had to be for most of the times I’ve messed around.

Growing up with three very straight brothers and keeping the familial tradition of pledging to the same frat in college didn’t leave me much room for openness.

By the time I was out on my own in the world, where I could hook up with someone in a club or off an app, I was so used to not making a sound, it became second nature to me.

The air kisses my dick and his hand lifts it, pointing it upward, momentarily discombobulating me.

A gust of hot breath wafts against my balls, reminding me how far I’ve leaned against the panel.

Something wet against my tender flesh there gives me a start until I realize it’s his tongue.

And now his…mouth. I don’t know why I thought a gloryhole would be smaller, just enough to allow a dick through, but I’m grateful I was wrong.

“Aw, fuck!”

He’s got me in his mouth. His tongue swirls around one side of my sac, turning every inch of me to gooseflesh.

He doesn’t stop there. Tracing figure eights around each of my testicles, working into every nook and cranny, his hand works in tandem, stroking me.

It swirls over my tip, gathering more of the embarrassing amount of fluids I’m leaking, using them to slather me up with each new pass.

Holy shit! He…nipped me. He fucking nipped my sac skin!

It didn’t hurt exactly, but…but what the fuck? There’s a sense of disorientation, but also an odd wash of heat from that peculiar act. Before I can decide if I want to draw back in case he thinks about doing it again, his mouth plunges back down my length.

The perfect amount of suction, the heat, the rhythm… The way his fingertips are now gently stroking little circles around my sack and the soft flesh at my groin like he’s reminding me he wants it all—the complete package—well, it’s sensory overload.

I lean my face fully into the panel, completely plastered to it now, like one of those sticky slime hands my nephews used to slap against a wall.

His palm hugs my entire sac while his mouth works its slow, deliberate magic.

My knees are shaking at the sensation of him cradling and giving little hugs to my jewels while his mouth does something I didn’t know was possible.

I can feel this orgasm building from all the way down in my pinkie toes.

It’s like the longest fuse ever created.

I’m sweating. It’s the middle of January and I’m freaking sweating.

“Shit. Aw, shit. Shit…”

He doesn’t even flinch. That wicked dance of his mouth never falters. The last guy coughed halfway through, and I felt half of my release drip on the other side of the panel. The one before him, I think, moved back, so when I came, it probably painted his face.

This …this is checking boxes I didn’t even know I had.

It’s a map of self-discovery. Everything this man has done tonight has let me in on styles of pleasure I didn’t know I craved.

Each pulse I make is timed perfectly with his swallows.

And, fuck, I think he just moaned again.

The thought of his talented mouth moaning for every drop of me after what it just did is better than any performance award I’ve ever earned.

A little shockwave ripples up my cock and then to my nuts. My entire body jolts from the pleasure overload. I can barely open my eyes, panting so hard my open mouth is half-squished against this panel. He’s…

Aw, shit! He did it again.

He’s…sucking on my tip—my flaccid tip. It’s even better than the blowjob.

Unintelligible sounds tear out of my throat on each full-body tremor, each time he suckles my tip, cupping it with his tongue. It’s madness. It’s freaking madness. I might black out, or…or…

Shit, I’m freaking drooling. Clawing at the panel with my fingertips, it’s all I can do to remain on my feet as he worships my sensitized cockhead like he doesn’t want to say goodbye. I’m so out of my mind, I barely realize he’s given me a reprieve until I hear a soft thump .

The door.

He’s…gone. He left.

I’m too beautifully sated to be disappointed, but still, something inside me caves and collapses.

That was life-changing. Shaking my head, I scoff at myself as I manage to peel myself off the wall and tuck myself away.

Life-changing —that sounds so sophomoric, but truly, I don’t know what else to call it. It was damn good, I guess.

I have to shake my hands out and catch my breath even after I’m put back together, before I can think of leaving the room.

My legs are like spent noodles. I feel like I’ve been exorcised, lighter, a new man.

All the planning meetings I have coming up next week don’t seem as daunting now. This was definitely what I needed.

This is what I’ve needed for a long time.

Walking back down the hallway toward the exit, my steps feel like they’re on clouds.

Will he be back? I have yet to be paired with the same person each time I’ve been here.

The dread that fills me is a crash to my high.

I don’t think I want to go back to unskilled performers after tonight’s experience.

Stopping in the vestibule, I wait for the doorman to finish typing something on his phone. When he finally glances over at me, he raises his brows expectantly.

“The ‘ new one’ …” I gesture back toward the hallway with my chin, casually. “Will, uh, he be back?”

Shrugging, he glances back at his phone. “We never know.”

Fuck.

Some part of me scolds myself that it doesn’t matter. I can still come here to get off when I get to the point where I need more than myself to get off. Maybe the first two times were just a fluke. Maybe everyone after this guy tonight will be just as talented.

I don’t realize I’m still lingering until I hear the doorman again. “Couldn’t say even if I did,” he informs me with a smug smirk, like he can tell how much I enjoyed myself.

The prick. I wonder if he ever partakes in the establishment’s ‘ entertainment .’ When a jealous shard stabs me over the thought of that man lavishing him the way he just did to me, I know it’s time to leave.

What the fuck do I care? It’s not like I need one specific person to give me pleasure. In fact, just the opposite has always been my thing. That’s why I started coming here.

Maybe I won’t be back for a while this time. It’s not like I’m not needy or anything.