Page 6 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)

RAMI

Truett tilts his head, nailing me with that hard-tack expression of his, those deep amber eyes assessing me.

“Desperation, Rami? Really?” he asks, his tone light.

I know for a fact that he wants me, if for no other reason than the impressive bulge in his jeans. I’m not proud of this next bit, but I’m not above a little dirty pool.

“Please, True. I’ll sit here and take it like a good boy. I promise.”

I bet Truett’s a toppy motherfucker, and he probably loves to make the rich boys beg.

God, I so want to beg for it.

His jaw sharpens, and I let my gaze drop to the floor. Three, two ? —

“You really think you could be a good boy for me?” Truett asks, his voice rough.

I bite back a triumphant grin and ignore the fact that my heart rate is zooming through the roof. “Yes. Yes ,” I say, rubbing my chest. “I promise I’ll be so good.”

“Do you even know what it is you’re asking for? ”

I dart a look in his direction and he’s palming his cock with a tattooed hand, his expression dark.

Fuck. Me.

“Yes,” I respond, breathless. Widening my eyes, I send him my most innocent look. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Oh, he likes that.

He hesitates, his hand still grazing his hard-on. Finally, through gritted teeth, he commands, “Fine. Unzip me. Be quick about it.”

Moving from the chair to my knees in one smooth motion, I bite my lower lip as I pop the button and start unzipping him. The sound is loud in the empty shop. I pull down his jeans and underwear to mid-thigh in one go, inhaling the scent of his santal soap before losing my goddamn breath.

“Fucking hell ,” I mutter, only distantly noticing his gorgeously inked thighs.

In my defense, it’s hard to acknowledge much of anything when confronted with a cock that size.

The gods of girth and length gave with both hands when they put this man together. My hole clenches at the thought of him coming at me with that thing. I’m hungry for it and kinda terrified.

He chuckles at my response, and I’m sure it’s a common one. Wanting to please him, to remind him I’m his for the taking, I drop my shoulders and clasp my forearms behind my back, surrendering myself to him.

Look at me, so helpless.

Truett’s cock twitches, a pearl of precum making the long journey down. He drags his inked fist up and down his cock, then lifts his chin, a directive. Obediently, I run my nose up his length, inhaling his musky scent. I want to bottle it so I can bathe in his pheromones for the rest of my life.

His heavy belt makes a dull clink as his jeans and underwear slip down to his ankles. There’s more ink on display, I’m sure, but I’ve suddenly developed the worst case of tunnel vision.

“Thick boy,” I murmur, grateful for a wide mouth.

He swears under his breath, then buries his talented fingers in my hair and yanks me forward. “Suck me.”

I send him a crooked grin and take him down to the hilt, hands-free. No preamble. No getting-to-know-you licks. Just my nose pressed against his pubes, his cock buried in my throat.

Not to brag or anything, but he’s the biggest guy I’ve blown and…zero gag reflex for the win. I keep my arms locked behind my back because I can tell he enjoys being in charge.

Let me please you, True. I’ll be so good for you.

“Such a pretty cock warmer,” he murmurs, thumbing the corner of my mouth, already stretched obscenely around his thick base.

Fuck yes.

If he only knew. I’d warm his cock any day of the week, be his free-use slut if he let me.

He pulls away, and I whine as he steps out of his clothing.

“Patience,” he commands, then cups his balls, revealing a guiche piercing with a beaded ring halfway between his balls and hole.

I make some inarticulate sound, rough in the back of my throat.

“Play with it, sweet boy.”

God, I wanna marry this man.

Burying my face in his taint, I go after the ring, gentle as I lave and suck at it.

“Touch me,” he says, cupping my jaw.

Smiling against the sensitive skin, I suck a little harder, carefully pulling at the piercing with my teeth as I free my hand to stroke his spit-slick cock.

“You like playing with my piercing, sweetheart?”

Sitting back, I bite my lower lip and nod .

“Then suck me while you tug on it.”

I send him a tentative smile, then take him all the way down again before fiddling with the ring. Grunting, he gives a few test thrusts, then buries his hands in my hair and starts to pump, invading my mouth and throat. Slowly.

Too slowly.

I lose the innocent look and raise my brow. No need to be gentle with me.

He reads my attitude and shakes his head. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

Hm. A filthy idea filters through my cock-addled brain, and I go with it. While lightly twisting his piercing, I swallow around his cock and make a suckling sound.

Like a baby sucking its thumb.

“Fucking hell.”

His hips stutter, then push forward in earnest as I continue to suckle. With our gazes locked, I let my head loll to the side, so each noisy, wet thrust jerks my head. Helpless.

But not.

“Ungh.” He speeds up his thrusts, grunting as he smashes my face against his groin.

Gotcha.

Sex in all its forms is one thing I’ve never had to think about. I can read a one-night stand like a book, and I enjoy giving them what they might never think to ask for.

I especially like playing at the edges of kink and giving my lovers the opportunity to do the same. I’d never be into a full power exchange, for example, but it’s fun to test the waters and see if some of their freak lines up with some of mine.

Truett and me? Oh, I’ve got a feeling we line up perfectly.

I pet his piercing and mewl, letting him feel like he’s the big, strong man. He’s smart enough to know what I’m doing, but I’m sucking his brain out through his cock, and he can’t help himself .

He’s in control, there’s no doubt.

But so am I.

I whimper-suckle as his cock thickens, my jaw and shoulders aching in that delicious, fully owned way. I imagine again what he’d feel like buried in my ass. My cock drools at the thought and my skin dimples, the tiny hairs hyperaware of the chilly air circulating in the shop.

I pluck at his piercing as he peaks, his orgasm a thoughtless, violent thing. He loses control, slamming his hips forward, greedily fucking my mouth. I coo and suckle, carefully twisting the beaded ring as he spills down my throat.

His knees almost give way, so I free my other arm and grab his hips, keeping him upright as I slurp on his oversensitive cock.

He angles his hips this way and that, as if he’s trying to escape, even as he holds my head in place.

When he finally pulls away, I maintain full suction until he’s wrenched himself free, cursing and sucking in air as if he were the one who’d been denied oxygen.

My cock is hard, painfully so, but I feel like a god.

What other little fucked-up things turn you on, Truett Valentine?

Still drunk on his orgasm, Truett grabs my throat and drags me up to standing. I scramble to get my feet under me as he pushes me back into the chair.

I bet he’d choke me if I asked nicely.

I pout when he removes his hand to push up my T-shirt, then forgive him when he licks me from pubes to nips. My body is on fire, the muscles tensing and rolling along the path of his tongue. He yanks down my zipper like it’s nothing before reaching into my underwear and squeezing my weeping cock.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he whispers, swiping his thumb up my length.

Whoa. Hey now. I’m working with significantly more than average, certainly a dick that’ll get the job done .

Then again, the filthiest part of me loves that it’s almost dainty compared to his.

I whimper and arch into his handhold, completely at his whim. He strokes me dry, my only lubrication the precum trapped between my foreskin and desperate cockhead. He’s merciless as tortured vowels and incoherent consonants fall out of my mouth.

God, oh God, oh God.

I shudder through the intense orgasm as cum spurts onto my sweat-damp belly, then I whine and try to pull away when he curls forward to lick me clean.

Too much, too much.

Don’t stop.

I whine again when he steps back, but I’m too fucked-out to do anything about it. I’ve become one with the chair, like some avant-garde art installation.

Here we have Boneless Slut , and he’s one hundred percent pure trust-fund baby.

I snort.

“What?” he asks, still a little out of it.

“God,” I answer, breathing in the smell of sex and bodies and hair products, “what I could do with that Excalibur swinging between your legs. Give me a weekend, a box of condoms, and a bucket of lube, and I’ll turn your world upside down.”

He huffs out a laugh, pulling up his jeans. “Yeah, right,” he says under his breath. “I’d be hanging from a meat hook by Monday.”

My brain, still drowning in sex hormones, doesn’t bother to make heads or tails of that.

“Okay, then. You got what you wanted,” he says, breathless as he zips himself up. “Time to go.”

I’m still one with the chair, unable to process language, taking in his ruffian style and nimble fingers as he puts himself back together .

“ Hey .” He shakes my shoulder. “I need you to leave.”

My unfocused eyes finally find his. “Wh-what?”

“We’re done here.”

Oh.

“But I thought?—”

“It’s like you said: there’s no reason not to have a little fun. And now we’re done.”

“What about my hair?”

“Get the fuck out of my shop, Bash.”

I should’ve paid attention to that Keep Out sign.