Page 11 of Coach’s Son (Twin Cities #2)

Austin

Charlie launches me onto the bed, the force bouncing me against the mattress, springs creaking in protest. His body follows in a heartbeat, caging me in with his heat. His weight presses down against me, pinning me like I’m his prey.

“Look at you,” he mutters, eyes dragging over me with a hunger that borders on savage. “My gorgeous lad. Think you can sass me about my sauce and not pay for it?”

He grips my jaw, thumb caressing the corner of my lips where a trace of tomato lingers and then smears it across my mouth. “Clean it up, love. Every drop.”

I lick my lips, my tongue scouring each traverse of my upper and lower. The sauce tastes infinitely more savory under his command. The acid of the tomato melts from the saliva released from my mouth, the aromatics drifting into my nasal cavity.

“Good boy. You love listening to your Captain, don’t ya?” Charlie enquires, as a feral lust overtakes his pupils.

I shake my head vigorously up and down. My heart pounds in my chest, a rush of adrenaline jolting me awake.

I love it when he takes control and orders me around.

That’s what I’ve always needed. Someone to hold the reins, to strip me bare, and make me prove myself.

To command me, push me, make me work for their approval. Hear them praise me.

You’ve done a good job pleasing me… I’m proud of you. You good boy.

“Well, you stay put, love. You are going to be putting that tongue to proper use.”

“Yes, sir.” I whimper. My cock already bursting against my jockstrap. It's pounding from the look of control in Charlie’s eyes. I stay still as he leaves the bedroom, rumbling around the kitchen, making a racket with the pots and pans.

I lower my hand to jerk my cock, finally giving in after being teased mercilessly by Drew earlier today.

It’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t be turned on by that piece of shit.

He's Charlie’s brother for heaven's sake.

But the way he spoke to me was shamefully hot.

His words and fingers were controlling me, as if a blade was held to my throat.

I hate that it lit me up. Hate that my body betrayed me before I could even tell him to fuck off. That arrogant smirk when he caught me hard in my shorts. His satisfaction seared itself into my brain. The thrill of venturing under the surface of the forbidden.

Would he be easy to satisfy? Or was that the first trial to enter his hell?

I told myself it was anger, disgust, and that's partially true. But there was desire and curiosity aching to be exploited.

The truth is bitter: if he’d told me to spread my cheeks right there, I would have willingly complied. Taken his prick with glee and screamed like an opera singer in the last act.

I can’t be around him again. Just remembering his words makes my cock twitch. He didn’t care if I was Charlie’s. He didn’t care if it was so wrong—on so many levels. Drew looked at me like I was a specimen to skin. A trophy he was going to hang above the fireplace for the rest of his days.

But fuck, I wish Drew would be the one teasing me right now. Maybe if I close my eyes, I can pretend. Strip away the ink, and he and Charlie are the same face. Same body. I could blur the lines long enough to convince myself it isn’t betrayal.

My hand tightens, my precum beading at my tip until it slicks my fist. Shame and desire blend together in my gut, a filthy knot I can’t untangle.

It’s heavy and clumsy inside me, slow to dissolve, like a slab of cold butter pressed into warm brownie batter.

Stubborn and unrelentingly difficult to blend. But oh-so sweet in the end.

Just how Drew would feel with his prick buried in my guts. The weight of him stretching me raw, his forearm jammed across my mouth to gag the sounds ripping out of me. Ordering me to run my tongue over the black ink etched into his skin, to worship the filth branded into him.

Come on, Lover Boy. Show me what you want. I’m not going to force you.

His voice rings through my skull, dark and taunting. Occupying too much of my headspace. I moan out at the picture of it. Precum spilling faster, drenching me in my shame. God help me, I want it—I want him.

The hinge creaks.

Charlie steps back into the bedroom, the pan of sauce balanced in one hand, wooden spoon in the other. The scent of tomatoes and garlic rides with him.

He glances down at my fist pumping my cock, then back up to my flushed face. A smug grin overtakes him. “Well, love,” he drawls, tapping the spoon against the edge of the pan with a sharp clack, “looks like I’m not the only one cooking tonight.”

I stroke my cock harder, licking my lips as I nod. Hearing Charlie's words, but imagining them Drew’s. A whimper slips out, soft and pathetic from my mouth.

Charlie steps closer, voice lowering to a growl. “You couldn’t wait, could you? All wound up from practice. From whatever filth’s lodged in that head of yours. And now…” His eyes flick to my leaking cock. “…here you are, spilling for me anyway.”

The shame inside me is palpable, stings a tad, but edging me on all the same. My body jerks for him, eager to please. Give him the show he wants, even if my mind isn’t on him. Stroking for the taunting voice of his brother.

He pours a spoonful of marinara on his chest, lukewarm sauce streaking between the cut of his pecs and the fuzz of his hairs, eyes shifting on me. “Lick it up, boy.”

The command cuts through me. My cock throbs in my fist, precum spilling over my knuckles.

Shame and want fusing together. I crawl forward without hesitation.

Blood rushing to my face as I graze my tongue in between his muscular pecs.

The sauce is tangy and aromatic. The best fucking marinara I’ve ever tasted.

He grips my hair, holding me against him, smearing more of the mess across his chest. “Don’t miss a drop,” he murmurs. “You’ll clean me spotless.”

My tongue drags lower, chasing the sauce as it runs towards his navel. Each lick hungrier than the last. My breathing matches his, my whole body bent to his command. To his desire. And still, in the dark of my head, it’s Drew’s voice I hear repeating the order, taunting me with every filthy lick.

My lips smear red against his skin, desperate for every drop of sauce and warmth. Tongue growing greedy as the taste of him seeps through the tang.

“Good lad,” Charlie mutters huskily. “That’s it, clean it up.”

But it isn’t his praise I hear. It’s Drew’s teasing, whispering right into my ear. Look at you, Lover Boy. On your knees, licking up scraps. Proper little slut, aren’t you?

My cock quivers at the thought, precum smearing across my stomach as I grind against the sheets. I lap at Charlie’s chest like a man starved, chasing every rivulet of red down the curve of his abs, groaning into his skin.

Charlie groans back, head falling against the headboard. “Christ, you’re a filthy lad for me.” He scoops another spoonful and tips it down his stomach. Warm sauce streaking down toward the band of his shorts. Pecker in full prominence. “Go on, boy. Don’t make me ask twice.”

I go in for another dive. My tongue chasing the sauce lower, ripping off his shorts before it can smother them in its red glory. My breath grows ragged, each lap sloppier than the last as I slurp the tang from his skin, moaning against him.

I think of Charlie etched with ink. Voice growing sinister.

Slurp it all up, Lover Boy. Show me how much you need me.

And fuck—I can’t tell which brother’s voice I’m obeying. Does it really matter?

He tips the spoon again, and another stream of the warm concoction drips over his cock, streaking down the length before pooling thick at the base. The red bleeds into the dark hairs there, clinging and disappearing between them. Filtering to the edges of his groin.

I don’t waste a second before diving in.

My tongue drags through the mess, licking up every drop of marinara that clings to his skin, slurping at the borders of his groin where the sauce seeps deep into the fuzz.

The combined scent of his musk and tomato is overwhelming.

Manly, yet delicately sweet. It fills my nostrils, coats my tongue, and makes my head spin in an enchanting daze.

It’s strange as hell. Never in a million years did I think I’d be here on my knees, slurping sauce from my boyfriend’s cock like it’s some obscene ritual. And yet, the more I lap at him, the more my body responds. My prick throbs and my ass wants more. Wants it all.

I want his cock.

Above me, his breath stutters, his hand gripping my hair tighter, urging me further into the filth of the mess. “Good. Don’t stop. Clean your Captain properly, lad.”

I mewl against his fuzz, tongue making its rounds through the marinara-slick hair, slurping and savoring as if it’s the holiest morsel I’ve ever consumed. Worshiping his body, every ounce of flesh put before me. My jaw aches at the labor, but I don’t stop—I can’t.

Atta boy, Lover Boy. Drink it down. You’re mine already.

The phantom voice ricochets through me. Slithering and unshakeable.

It slices straight into Charlie’s husks, overlaps his praise until I can’t tell them apart.

My body doesn’t care. My cock prances in the sheets, primed to burst at the storm rushing inside me.

Shame and desire roar together, indistinguishable, a torrent I can’t dam up no matter how hard I try.

“Time for my taste, lad,” Charlie growls, his grip rough as he flips me over, forcing my ass high into the air. My knees dig into the soft mattress, trembling with anticipation.

The wooden spoon clinks against the pan, then I feel it—warm red sauce spilling into my crease, prowling over my hole through the hairs before dripping down between my cheeks.

The sudden slickness rips a gasp from me, every nerve flaring sharp and alive.

Obscene, depraved, and yet utterly sensational.

Charlie spreads me wider, his fingers dragging through the mess, smearing me scarlet. “Look at the state of this filthy pussy,” he mutters, voice ravenous. “My bloody feast.”

His tongue follows a second later, sloppy and starving for dinner.

He buries his face in me, lapping the sauce straight from my behind.

Gluttonous as a king while he sucks me dry.

The mixture of tangy tomato and his depraved hunger makes me whimper into the pillow, body jerking helplessly as he devours me.

He groans into my ass, guttural and unashamed, tongue jabbing deeper with each poke.

Dragging leisurely and then rapidly as his teeth graze my tender flesh.

Nibbles of his tender love. Every lick feeling like a solar flare injected into my veins.

My thighs shake, threatening to buckle, only supported by his death-grip. Forcing my ass wider for his pleasure.

Good boy. Squirm for me, Lover Boy. You were made to be eaten alive. I don’t care how filthy your arse is. I’ll ruin that pussy.

My cock spasms violently, a helpless rut. The shame sears through me, but I can’t help hearing his voice. His dark words sprinting through my mind.

Charlie pulls back for a breather, letting out a lewd smack. Sauce and tomato chunks glistening on his scruff, as if he’s devouring a bowl of spaghetti. “Sloppy dinner,” he growls, running his fingers over my hole, pressing enough to make me squirm. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I shudder, hole stretching wide for my boyfriend, gasping into the pillow.

My mind’s split clean down the middle—the man who loves me and the one who wants to own me.

Charlie’s devotion wraps around me like armor, a knight guarding his prince, swearing loyalty with every kiss of my ass.

While Drew lurks in the shadows, a predator sharpening his teeth.

One worships me. The other longs to break me down and build me backup in his image until I no longer recognize my own reflection. The sickest part of it all? Some hidden corner of me craves both. For safety and danger. To be healed and hurt at the same time, suffocated by devotion and violence.

Why do I need to pick one? Can I have the tender love and the darkness? Be adored and wrecked simultaneously. Maybe I’m too greedy, or possibly broken. A young man who doesn’t know what he wants. Just someone to take care of him.

Pop! Charlie pushes inside, his cock pulsing as he glides his way inside me. I indulge the burn, before it quickly runs into an inexplicable bliss.

As if I’m seeing sunshine for the first time, after a winter frozen in by snow. Pure euphoria as he buries himself in me, filling me so delightfully, that for a moment, I forget that darkness exists.

“Yes Charlie!” I shrill out, my cock vibrating against the bed. Nipples hard, every nerve set ablaze as he grazes my prostate with his lovely prick. My toes jerk from instinct.

“Captain’s slut can’t go a day without his cock, huh?” Charlie grumbles into my ear, breath simmering against my neck. Gripping my pelvis as he delivers a ruthless thrust. His cheeky way of saying I love you.

My cock slides against the silk sheets with every jab, throbbing in helpless rhythm to Charlie’s pace. “Good lad,” he purrs, pressing himself so deep it knocks the breath out of me. I whimper his name, but the sound cracks, and I hate myself for the flash of another name that nearly slips out.

He deserves all of me. He’s a wonderful and caring man. But Drew has infiltrated the back of my mind, his phantom voice seducing my soul. The part of me that desires destruction if only for a moment, maybe a kiss. Perhaps more.

Charlie groans and slams home inside, holding me taut and letting a guttural growl spill from his lips. His cock seizes far inside my ass, pulsing creamy ropes of his batter inside my flesh until I’m stuffed to the brim. A proper British creaming—filthy and stained with marinara.

“Take it like a grown lad,” he mutters, voice overtaken by his accent. I sense every twitch and gush of his member breeding me. My own dick quivers against the sheets, releasing in sync, until my vision and my mind narrow to nothing except the wave of Charlie’s creamy milk.

A traitorous part of me wonders what it would feel like if Drew was creaming me, would his load be bigger? They are twins—surely the same cock and sting. My thoughts making me clench tighter around Charlie, milking every fucking drop he has to offer.

“Good fuck, love.” Charlie laughs as he kisses my forehead and settles beside me.

If only he knew what filthy thoughts were running overtime on the hamster wheels inside my head.