Page 40 of Saxon

From Nowhere To Nowhere

Terra

He's passed the fuck out. Snoring with his pants still around his ankles. I can’t help but laugh at that, just a little. I pull them up, and he's dead weight. Fortunately, I have plenty of experience handling male dead weight, and I have no issue getting him dressed again.

I climb over into the driver's seat and adjust it, marveling at the luxury of the vehicle. Fucking money, this thing. I rev the engine—it's been tuned. Nothing stock sounds like that, not even the highest-end luxury hand-built motor.

I avoid thinking about what just happened…until I'm back on the freeway. It's after one in the morning, so the freeway is mostly abandoned, a few cars zipping past as I bring this monster up to speed. A touch of the pedal and we're at ninety. Fuck me, this thing is magic.

It's heavy, though—I can feel the weight of it.

The huge touchscreen infotainment center displays navigation—a blue line indicating my route; the display tells me we have three hours left in the drive. I check my mirrors, happily noting the absence of anyone on our tail, for now.

Finally, settling in for the drive, I let myself reflect.

I like sucking cock. Sue me, okay? I like the power of it. I like how stupid men get when you're done. I like…well, everything about the act. But when a man is well-endowed, clean, attractive, and a halfway decent dude? I like giving pleasure. I like seeing him enjoy what I’m doing.

Saxon? Well. He's a whole different topic.

That shit was…there are no words. His cock is utterly perfect. Just big enough—because, yes, there's such a thing as too big, although that's as subjective as anything else—perfectly shaped, mostly straight with a slight inward curve. A plump, fat juicy head, thick shaft ripping with veins. He's a grower, not a shower, which I also prefer. His balls are tight, taut, and heavy, a good handful.

Talk about responsiveness, though. Fuck. Every touch, everything I did, he responded like it was the best thing he's ever felt. His hands in my hair? So fucking hot. When I finally made him come, he still maintained control over his hands, gripping my hair and my head with his huge strong powerful hands, but not forcing me. Encouraging, helping, holding, but not controlling. Perfect. He was clean. Smelled amazing. Even his cum tasted better than any other.

I glance at him in the rearview—that scar is so wicked, so scary. I wonder how he got it. It almost took his eye.

Asleep, he's still rough, hard, intimidating—frightening even—but despite all that, he's also absolutely, devastatingly beautiful. All hard, sharp lines, rugged angles, devilishly perfect.

He scares me.

Not because he's a confessed killer—I've known them. He's different—there's good intrinsic to his soul that I don't think he even sees. No, what scares me is that I crave him, already. Right now. I want more. I want to pull the car over and get him hard and suck him off all over again, just to enjoy the beauty of him, the intensity of him, the power in him. His vulnerability slew me, left me shaking. Aching for him.

I see his secrets. I know the shape of them, if not the details. He thinks he's hiding his demons, but I see them. His worth, his view of himself—those are his demons.

I have my own, but I've had Emily to help me along the way. Tommy. Even Yates. They're good friends. But Em? She's never let me fall into the trap of self-loathing. She builds me up, shakes me out of my stupid feelings, and forces me to face my shit.

I don't think Saxon has ever had that.

Well…now he does. That's what scares me. What if he won't let me in? What if this shitstorm we're in is too big? What if he dies? What if he can't open up?

Fuck, so many questions, and no answers, just risk.

Risk of heartbreak, when my heart is already tattered and ripped and torn, pieced together and taped and glued into fractal, kaleidoscopic shards whose edges will never quite line up correctly.

See, a secret only Em knows about me is that I fall hard and fast for people. When I met Em, I knew within five minutes of talking to her that we would be best friends and soul mates. I actually met Tommy first, at a party. He was wasted and needed a babysitter, but his friends had all ditched him, so he was wandering around the kegger spilling beer on himself and trying like hell to seem cool. He was obviously out of his element—it was a real rager, with debauchery in every corner and gnarly fistfights breaking out frequently, taking place in the back of an automotive junkyard in a seriously bad part of town. I took pity on the poor bastard, hung out with him and talked to him, mainly to keep him from getting rolled and left for dead in a ditch somewhere—everyone knew better than to fuck with me, not because I'm so scary or intimidating but because of who I knew.

I realized within about sixty seconds of hanging out with Tom that he was a one-of-a-kind person. Genuine, compassionate, funny, attractive in a clean-cut, good-side-of-town, middle-class kind of way, grounded… everything I'm not. A good influence on Emily, who, despite coming from a similar background to Tom, has a predilection for bad choices. I fixed them up, and the rest is history.