Page 3 of Ruin (Hell’s Mayhem MC: Maine Chapter #2)
Jeremy is hot, I’ll give him that. He’s got the standard country boy look.
Thick and rugged. Always wears a backwards hat and jeans that are tight enough you can see everything—and they’re always stained with oil or dirt.
But he’s married with kids and so I shouldn’t be doing this, but his problems aren’t my problems and there aren’t many gay men in this town—especially ones who bottom.
Venturing out to get what I need isn’t worth it.
I’d rather put on some porn and fuck my hand than drive into the city.
“Couch.”
He nods, moving through my small kitchen and around the corner to the right, where my living room is.
I get down to my jeans before following him.
He’s sitting on the couch and looks up when I walk in.
There’s a bottle of lube and condoms in the end table that I grab, before nodding at him to get up.
“I don’t have all day,” I tell him, and he quickly gets his pants off. “Bend over the back. ”
He gets onto the couch on his knees, leaning over the back of it with his legs spread wide, his pink hole on full display for me. I lube my fingers and press two inside without hesitance. He groans, body flinching, and my dick stirs.
It isn’t giving Jeremy pleasure that gets me hard, it’s the memory.
It’s knowing what having someone inside you feels like.
It’s recalling that first pinch of pain, the way it hurts for a split second but then feels good.
And with each thrust in and out, it feels better.
With care and consideration, it’s even better.
It’s being watched and told what to do, how good you’re doing, and how good you make them feel. It’s pride in taking a fat cock all the way to the base, when at the beginning, you think it’s impossible.
It’s the low, raspy voice praising you one second, but calling you a dirty little cock slut the next.
My dick is aching as I think of him, hating how he’s still the only person who gets me hard.
It’s vile and pathetic.
I pull my fingers out of Jeremy.
“Fuck,” he hisses, resting his forehead on the couch. I free my dick, put the condom on, lube it up, and step forward to press against his hole.
Jeremy likes to tell me, and everyone else, that he’s straight. But I’m pretty sure wanting to be fucked in the ass by a dude means your gay. Or at the very least, it just means you’re not straight .
I don’t really know what I am—other than royally fucked in the emotional department.
I don’t go easy on Jeremy. I don’t have time for careful and easy, because as good as it’s about to feel, and as relaxed as I’m going to be after I come, the self loathing follows and that’s a bitch.
I push inside him, watching as his hole swallows my cock greedily.
“Fuck, Kolton, your ass is so tight, baby.”
A soft hand runs over the bottom of my back, so much better than the harsh touches I’m used to.
“You’re such a good boy for me.”
“Fuck, yes. Harder, Snapper. Fuck me harder!”
I dig my fingers into Jeremy’s hips, and pull him into me as I take out my frustrations on his ass. I fuck him hard and fast, not caring whether it hurts or feels good for him. He isn’t telling me to stop, so it’s got to be fine.
“Oh, I’m going to come!” he calls out. I pull out of him and step back, panting. “What the fuck?” he growls, looking at me over his shoulder, his face flushed. “I was about to come.”
“Well, I wasn’t, and I’m the one doing all the fucking work.”
He growls a frustrated sound, slamming his hand on the couch. His hole is gaping at me, and I so badly want to sink back into him and finish this.
See, once I get going, I don’t want to stop. It’s just getting through all the work in the beginning.
“Okay, I’m good. Keep going,” he tells me .
I roll my eyes, and step forward, my chest heaving. I add more lube, then slide back in. I thrust three times before he groans, and I feel him pulse around my cock, the scent of his cum filling the air.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I growl. “You were not supposed to come yet.”
“Fuck, sorry. It’s been a while,” he says. “You can keep fucking me, if you want.”
I pull out of him, tear the condom off and head toward the bathroom.
No fucking self control. None whatsoever.
“Just get dressed and get the fuck out.” I slam the door, and stay in there until I hear my front door open and close.
I breathe through the frustration that’s settled in my chest. In deeply, out deeply.
I urge it away, but of course it stays, threatening to never go away.
I start to tremble, my eyes burn, and my throat gets tight.
I turn on the shower and step right in, the cold water like a thousand ice picks all over my skin.
I hate him.
I hate him for breaking me. I hate him for fucking ruining me.
The freezing water does nothing to make me feel better, but it snaps my body out of the physical reactions I was having. Now I’m shaking for another reason entirely. A shock to my system is the only thing that pulls me out of those episodes nowadays.
I stay under the water until I can’t take it anymore. After I’m dried off, I head upstairs to my bedroom to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before going downstairs to clean. I pick up my clothes to put them in the washer, finding my phone in my pocket. There’s another text. From him .
Him : Just wanted to make sure you got that text?
I grit my teeth, gripping my phone so tight it creaks. He doesn’t deserve an answer from me. He can keep wondering, the same way I did nine years ago.