Page 5 of Tempted to Touch (Straight No More #1)

I clasp his arms, my fingers digging into the bulging biceps and I'm on the verge of passing out, and I'm desperately trying to stop myself from wrapping a leg around him just to pull him closer, but it's hard .

Almost as hard as my dick, pushing painfully against my zipper.

"I don't know. Am I still considered straight if I let you fuck me?

If I ask you to?" At first, I wonder if I'm losing my mind.

After my next words spill out of me on their own accord, I'm sure of it. "If I beg for it?"

Hayden squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his teeth, his entire body shaking, vibrating as he takes a couple of long, unsteady breaths.

"I don't. Do. Straight guys." He snarls through his teeth.

"Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I'm not what you think I am.

I'm not patient. I'm not gentle. And I sure as fuck don't have it in me to teach you how to operate your virgin ass. "

All my restraint turns into a distant memory and I lift one leg, hooking it around the back of thighs, which is as high as I can reach and stand on my toes.

His grip keeps me in balance. "I must not be what you think I am either, then.

I don't need patience. I don't want gentle.

And trust me, my ass can handle you just fine.

Strap-ons exist, in case you weren't aware.

Guess I'm not the one who needs teaching. "

My entire body is buzzing, random tremors rip through me like thunder and yeah, I'm fucking panting.

And Hayden? Hayden goes offline for a second. Motionless, with his arm still pinning me against the wall, upper body pressed against mine he peers right into my eyes, as if trying to assess me, to gauge whether there's substance behind what I said.

There is. I meant every word. And even though all I want is to scream just that to expedite the process, I wait. I let him get there on his own. It wouldn't be genuine otherwise.

Hayden gets there in twelve breaths and three gusts of wind, and the moment he does it becomes perfectly fucking clear whatever free will I possess I have just submitted to him.

The low, grumbling groan he makes is long and controlled, a perfect juxtaposition to my clipped moan as he drops his free hand between our bodies and presses his large, firm palm right against my junk with energy and conviction I don't think I've ever felt before.

My dick reacts instantly, like he's now in full control of it, throbbing against his touch and leaking pre-cum.

Anticipating. I squeeze my eyes shut and lose control over my facial muscles, my teeth baring in a pleasured grimace, because it's... a lot.

He slides his palm up half an inch, and back again. "Fuck—"

"Shhhh." A hot tingle on my earlobe as he hisses high into my ear. "You wouldn't want to cause a stir now, would you?"

I suck in my lips and let out a shaky breath when he squeezes me again, before my eyes fall open as a new sound scratches my brain. Footsteps.

I'm so fucking horny it takes me a moment to decide which direction they're coming from. When I look to my left, I spot a sole silhouette, most likely male, getting larger with each step he takes.

Instinctively, I put my leg down, wondering if Hayden will back down. Hoping he doesn't.

He doesn't.

He steps in closer, eliminating whatever fraction of an inch there still was between us, trapping his hand between our bodies, making it invisible, while his forearm slides up, from the top of my chest to the base of my neck. It looks like he's mugging me. I guess that's the point.

The footsteps grow louder and louder, and with each step the man takes, there's a new squeeze on my cock.

My head's all but spinning and I'm whimpering, whatever control I still possess dedicated to keeping myself mute.

I vaguely register a hint of a smirk on Hayden's lips as he brings his mouth to my ear again just as the stranger's about to pass us. "Fix your fucking face."

Jesus . He's going to kill me. I'll die a willing, violenceless death.

I manage to comply and relax my muscles for all of three seconds, and then fail on every front. My head falls forward and I press my forehead to Hayden's collarbone to hide, and my throat goes rogue, producing a grunt the stranger would hear even if he were deaf.

That's what Hayden wants, I'm sure of it. Why else would he choose this time to move his hand up just enough to wrap his palm around the head of my cock and squeeze, over and over, fast and maddening?

It hurts so fucking good.

Eventually, the footsteps grow quieter. Once they're barely audible, there's a low, low chuckle in my ear, as if coming from somewhere inside my head, and the pressure on my cock eases. "Good boy."

Farewell, sanity. It was nice while it lasted.

Hayden kills me slowly, vacating my body piece by piece.

First, it's his breath, no longer warming my ear. Then, he loosens his grip on my cock before removing his hand completely. Then, the hand on my neck no longer supports me. When he steps away, I want to scream at him to come back, but I can't. I'm too busy trying to keep myself upright.

I drop my arms and plaster my palms to the wall, trying to grab it somehow, and my body's shaking. The image Hayden makes does nothing to help.

He steps back right into the direct glow of the streetlamp, his black curls now in slight disarray. Did I grab them? I don't remember doing that. That's a shame. It must have felt nice.

He has his head tilted back as he looks down on me with heavy-lidded eyes and his mouth is slightly ajar, curled up into a smirk I want to tattoo on the inside of my skull, and he looks almost unbothered.

Almost, because even though he's wearing all black, the kind, lovely, gracious light makes the large bulge in his pants very apparent.

Who knew it'd be the last part finally allowing me to find my voice. "Come back here," I rasp.

Look at me. Craving dick, and all. Surreal.

"No." He then tsks just as I'm about to protest, shaking his head slowly. "Here's what's gonna happen. You're going to stay here, in this exact fucking spot, and you'll wait. What for and for how long isn't your concern. No complaints. No bitching about it. Is that clear?"

My heart pounds a staccato beat and my ribcage doubles in size with every breath I take. Good thing he didn't ask me not to move altogether—I can't promise I won't collapse. I nod three times before I find my voice. "Yeah. Yes. Clear."

He gives me a slow, meticulous once-over and flicks the tip of his tongue over the corner of his mouth. Finally, he gives me a sharp nod. "Good."

As I watch him walk away, slowly, casually, I don't call after him. I don't whine and I don't sigh. I don't wonder how long I'll be waiting here and why.

I don't do any of the things I'd normally be doing, because for some reason, all I can think about is that he said 'Good', and not 'Good boy', and what a bummer that is.

I think I might have just lost it...