Page 19 of Creep (Vulture Hollow MC #2)

Creep

I’ve never let anyone in like this.

Not the psychologist trying to pry me open in juvie as I sat mute, not to Prophet, not even to Brigid.

She might know a lot about my past, but I wouldn’t dream of telling her my shameful sexual fantasies.

I wasn’t even sure about admitting them to Angel.

I wouldn’t have been able to if he didn’t make me feel so comfortable, so wanted.

Like nothing was off-limits to me even though I put up so many boundaries around my own body.

He didn’t laugh or tease me, he didn’t make me feel small or repulsive.

I watched his cute ass when he walked off to the bedroom ready to make my fantasy a reality. I don’t know what I did to deserve his precious free spirit, but I won’t deny what’s been offered to me so freely.

I wait in the bathroom, going over our conversations in my head. I regret my many moments of awkwardness, the things I said but could have phrased better, but despite all that, he’ll play this game with me for my gratification. I can only hope he will be at least half as turned-on as me.

As I tiptoe into the hallway, tempted by the quiet that settled over the cabin, I keep stalling, plagued by the worry that maybe he doesn’t really want this, that this is just his way of being grateful for saving him earlier.

But each time I’m choked by such worries, I remind myself Angel’s free to do as he pleases.

He was the one to invite me here in the first place, and if he is actually waiting for my move, I can’t allow myself to disappoint him.

I can’t forget the way he touched me in the shower, delicate hands sliding over my skin as if he found no fault at all with my scars nor my sinful, awkwardly shaped body.

So maybe…

Maybe even a monster like me can find someone willing to let me watch him. Touch him. Come on his skin.

I squeeze my cock, pressing my back to the wall in the hallway. Still naked, I feel every movement of the air. I now wonder whether Angel went to sleep naked as he was, or if he put on some clothes.

Oh, how I want him to have put on clothes. I want to press my face into the fabric and slide it off to reach his pristine skin.

I stalk down the short corridor to find the bedroom dark, but its door is open in invitation.

I slide the towel to the floor and make my way inside, closing in on my treasure.

I’m so excited I could probably go twice.

There’s an intimacy to this that overwhelms me.

It wouldn’t have felt like this if he wasn’t a willing participant.

This is me showing him a side of me no one else knows.

The curtain is open, so I see him in the faint moonlight, and he truly is an angel, a ray of sunshine even at night.

At first, I wonder whether he’s excited that he doesn’t know when I’ll approach, just lying there pliantly, but then the darker fantasy takes over, one in which he’s asleep and vulnerable in front of me, the man invading a space where he thinks he’s safe.

My family made me the monster I am, but I put on that wolf skin and found comfort under it.

I am soundless, taking slow yet long paces and transferring my weight as I move.

The soft glow coming in through the window creates a backlight to his profile, and I can’t help but focus on his straight nose, the full lips designed for pouting and offering me kind words.

I can already hear him breathe, and while the movement of his chest is slow, I won’t be fooled that he’s really asleep.

Each inhale sounds far too deep and deliberate.

He’s playing pretend and waiting for my touch.

The comforter reveals half of his chest clad in a blue T-shirt, and I feel myself salivating, a fox about to break the neck of a chicken sleeping inside its coop.

I’ve crept like this before, watching handsome men sleep, and listening to their breathing, but this is the first time I’m doing it with the intention of acting on my fantasies.

And as he whines, stretching in his fake sleep, my balls throb with the excitement of it.

He is not only letting me touch him, he wants me to.

Shame licks the edges of my mind, but I won't back away now. Just as when I landed the murderous blow to my aunt's head, I've gone too far to stop, and I crave it too much.

I scoot by the bed, leaning close to smell his tan skin. We share an aroma after the shower. Pine and some berry. With him, even the shower was bearable. He was patient with me, didn’t laugh, didn’t call me a freak or roll his eyes.

I’m twitchy with the need to touch him, but I’m not sure where to start unwrapping my present. So many options, so many ways to defile his sweet body, and all at my fingertips.

Even though he’s waiting, a part of me still worries touching him will fuck things up.

That he’ll decide he’s not into it after all, and I’ll have to bear it, no matter how bitter a pill it would be to swallow.

I could stay like this for hours, watching him, and sinking deep into my filthy fantasies.

I’ve gotten the green light though, and I won’t be wasting it. If I can kill, I can surely touch a boy I like.

With my heart in my throat, I gently tug on the comforter, as if the faintest touch could wake him. I’m here to steal from this sleeping beauty, because that’s the only way someone so undeserving can touch an angel like him.

Now I can see he’s wearing loose cotton shorts too, but their cut can’t hide his very obvious erection.

My heart skips a beat, because this is proof he’s been waiting for me to climb into his bed and grab him with my dirty hands.

I freeze when Angel opens, then closes his mouth, and spreads his thighs ever so slightly as pleasant dreams pass through his head, keeping his attention off me.

He’s so damn handsome. Short, with delicate, youthful features and such a delicious softness to his ass it’s a blessing he often hides it with that long cardigan, because if he didn’t, I’d never get anything done.

On a whim, I kiss him on the knee, just because I can, because he won’t judge me when he’s sleeping.

This is why my nickname is Creep, and I’ve accepted it.

I run my fingers over his thigh, amazed by how warm his skin is, and how his fine hairs tickle my flesh.

I’m so aroused I have to stop myself from groaning.

Every now and then, I glance up to his face, but his eyes remain shut, and his lips are parted as if inviting either my cock or fingers.

My dick twitches at the very thought of slipping in there, then filling his mouth with cum. There’s something so unbearably arousing about the innocence of his sleeping form. I climb onto the bed and hold my breath when he lazily turns to his back.

If he woke up now, he’d be finding a naked man with a raging erection in his bed.

I have to take a few deep breaths to calm my excitement when a drop of my pre-cum falls on his T-shirt. I rub the tip of my finger over my cockhead to gather another, and spread it over that plump bottom lip of his, leaving him a taste to dream about.

I bite the inside of my cheek when he smacks his lips, then sucks them in while I look over him, touching my cock as I breathe in the scent of his shower gel.

I lean down, until my nose is against his soft skin.

I bet he doesn’t have to shave most days, and as I lap at his jaw, feeling only the barest hint of stubble, my breath catches.

No one has ever allowed me this close, but this angel in human skin let me have my way with him while he sleeps, off to beautiful dreams, away from the filth of my monstrous self.

I have to remind myself to stay silent when I almost moan at the taste of his skin. For a while, I stay braced over him, smelling, nose to cheek, as I lower my hips and rub my erection across his stomach.

I have to reach to the base of my cock and squeeze it to not come already. He’s beyond hot, and living the fantasy is more arousing than I ever could have imagined. It’s as if I’ve only ever seen a ghost, and now I get to touch the real thing.

With utter care, I move his arms a bit farther from his body to roll up his T-shirt and reveal his chest. I smile as I rub one of his exposed nipples. I’ve never felt this free to explore with another person, without worry about them judging me or the things I want to do.

“I bet you like that, nasty boy,” I whisper, but I don’t mind him hearing it.

No, I want him to hear it.

But I also don’t.

I’m a mess of filthy desires thrown into a glass and shaken. But if he allows this, if he’s not yet kicking me off the bed in disgust, then maybe deep down he’s as depraved as me?

He makes the tiniest sound, a catch of breath, and I nearly come, but this can’t be the end, so I lift my hips and move my face under his jaw, lips to the pulsing artery that now kisses me over and over.

I’m overwhelmed.

Overheated.

I don’t deserve to kiss and handle his body, but I can’t stop myself and place my hands on his chest, squeezing his pecs, maybe even a bit too hard as desire makes my cock so sensitive I’m glad I’m not wearing any underwear.

He’s so soft under my fingertips, and his chest expands with every inhale while I get to stare wherever I please.

I shamelessly allow my tongue a trip lower, past the bunched up T-shirt and to his nipple, which soon goes hard in my mouth.

Every inch of him is mine to play with while he slumbers.

I can’t wait any more. With my heart beating ever faster, I shift back to slide my thumbs under his waistband and pull slowly, to avoid waking him up. I hold my breath when fabric rolls over his cock, and I leave his shorts half-way down his thighs, just enough for me to get the perfect view.

I force myself to pause, take him in, burn every detail into my memory. The way the veins run along the shaft, the pink flush at the tip, already leaking…

He wants this.

So bad he’s dripping for me.