Interception a bully eve.., p.12
Interception: A Bully Ever After Novel, page 12
“Fuck...” His towel dropped away the moment I dropped him bodily on the bed. He bounced on his back, legs spread, cock reaching skyward.
A nice guy would have gotten down to business. Who said I was nice? I couldn't resist a final tease. Taking a hands-on-hips stand beside the bed, I regarded his flushed, hard body with an expression of feigned displeasure. “You realize we have a lot more to talk about.”
Noah pointed. “There's three kinds of lube in that top drawer. Let's start the conversation there.”
“Tsk. Some guys have a one-track mind.”
“True. And some guys appreciate a train that keeps running down that track.” He directed a laser-beam look at my swollen dick.
Hey, I'm not going to go all shy and full of blushes. My muscle isn't all concentrated in my throwing arm. You can't expect a hot-blooded guy like Noah to overlook a large, heavily swollen shaft like mine.
So I stood there tall and proud—in both senses of the phrase. To emphasize the bobble of my yearning balls, I created a subtle rocking motion by shifting my weight from foot to foot without quite lifting my feet.
Hot blood pulsed visibly in my engorged veins. Slick precum ran from my dripping one-eye.
He could see for himself how badly I wanted him. Needed him.
See for himself that I had everything under control.
I could be the bigger tease.
Or could I?
Noah sat up on his elbows to appreciate the view but he made no move to pull me down on top of him. A wicked gleam of mischief sparked in his eyes. “Fine. I can take care of this problem myself.”
Never looking away from my erection, he reached for the nightstand drawer to feel around for the first tube of lube that came to his fingers.
Then, lifting his legs and rolling his butt, he gave me an explicit look at where he was squirting the unflavored, unscented grease that advertised itself as “easy glide and easy ride.”
With a snarl of lust, I pounced on top of him. When it came to playing the tease, I was a fucking amateur next to Noah. My whole body was officially on fire.
Chapter 41
For all the oddities of the experience, there was nothing dreamlike now. Nothing unreal or surreal.
This was truth, my truth.
I was here, my body hard, warm, and sweaty where I wrestled with the equally hard, warm, and sweaty Noah. As he slid beneath me in sheets we'd rumpled the night before, the musky smell of his desire rose to tickle my nostrils.
You never smelled such a sexual musk in dreams.
On the way to play-wrestling the tube of lube away from him, I tweaked a pert nipple and then smacked a firm hip. Laughing, he took the hint to flip beneath me.
The firm globes of his well-shaped buttocks slapped flirtatiously against my belly. Against my hardon.
A needy gesture. He wanted.
His want called to my want. His need to my need.
I sat back on my haunches, my knees digging deep into the mattress on either side of his thighs. Time to slap endless layers of lube on my shaft. My toes curled against the soles of my feet in pure anticipation.
Noah. Noah. You're real. You're here. And you feel the way I do...
My eyes caught on the still-open nightstand drawer. As Noah said, there was an assortment of lubes. There were also two boxes of condoms as well as three—maybe four—blister-wrapped sex toys in a choice of colors.
My earlier fears slammed back home. This wasn't a dream, but it was maybe a little too real. Too porny. Without meaning to, I dropped the lube so hard it bounced off the mattress and down to the floor.
Despite the plush carpet, Noah heard and instantly understood.
He sighed beneath me, hard enough for me to feel the sigh—even though my main point of contact was my thighs against his thighs. Funny how a man can sigh all the way down.
“It's all right, Slate.” The sadness in his voice wasn't aimed at me but at the situation. “It really is all right. There are no cameras. I've checked and checked. And you checked it for yourself, remember?”
“I know, but...” What was wrong with me? Why was I delaying what we both needed so badly? And yet I went on. “There has to be a way to monitor what we're doing.”
I didn't need to spell it out. Noah must have already considered the problem himself.
Someone put those supplies in the bedroom, just like someone put supplies in the bath and kitchen. Invisible housekeeping elves didn't exist outside the realm of fairy tales. What did exist were creepy drugs that kept us unconscious while unknown people did whatever they needed to do.
And what was that? And why did they need to do it?
We couldn't seem to figure it out.
His story over breakfast hadn't taken anywhere near as long to tell as mine. They'd kept him deep in the dark—so deep he couldn't even begin to guess who was doing this.
He never saw anyone, at least not to remember seeing them. He never knew where they'd taken him in the past, or where we'd ended up, or even how he got from one place to another.
He was in the lost spaces when I arrived. Woke up to find me in the bed beside him.
Nobody understood my brief moment of panic better than he did. How many moments of panic had he been forced to endure alone?
“Even if they aren't using cameras, they're keeping tabs on us somehow. Audio. Heat and heartbeat monitors.”
They know what we're doing.
“I think so too, Slate,” Noah said softly. “They're keeping me—us—for some reason, and they want us healthy for whatever that reason is. They can't completely abandon us, even if we're on an uninhabited island or whatever.”
One of his theories was the island theory. Not that “uninhabited island” narrowed anything down. They might be rare in Europe, but they were common offshore all the other continents worldwide.
“The reason might be the obvious reason. They want to have us available for exchange if they can extort a ransom for our return.”
Finding a logical explanation calmed me. A little. Logical problems can be solved.
Say they took Noah for ransom, but couldn't find a taker because there wasn't enough evidence Noah was the high-value coder. They've still got this fancy setup, so they decide to take the boyfriend football player.
It almost made sense.
It mostly didn't, though.
Still, somebody probably was listening. If only to our heartbeats. They knew what we were doing. Here and now. In this bedroom.
Where I so desperately wanted to be alone, just me and Noah.
I sat above Noah, my knees vibrating where they touched Noah's outer thighs. My dick was still raging. A hardon doesn't care who's listening.
So why was I still hesitating?
Noah thought he knew. After a moment, he began to speak very carefully. “I don't blame you for not wanting other people to know about us. I've known who you are from the beginning. A football player. Somebody who has a big career ahead of him. Somebody who has to please his public. But...”
He hesitated.
“Tell me,” I whispered. “I want you to.”
“We need this,” he said plainly. “I need this. And I can't be ashamed of what we're doing or who we are.”
Me being in the closet had never been fair to him. I knew that on some level. Did I understand it also wasn't fair to me? In theory. But, until now, it had never hit so hard.
“I can't be ashamed either,” I whispered. “And I need it too.”
“Then take me. I'm yours.”
“Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.”
Chapter 42
Fuck the listeners. If there were any listeners.
There weren't any listeners.
There wasn't any other world.
Just this one.
Sunlight, golden, streaming through a window. Noah's skin golden and glowing too. The curve of his firm ass as solid as a priceless sculpture.
My hands slick from the goop they'd slathered from my crown to my shaft, I gripped with savage neediness at his tight buttocks. He lifted his ass in the same moment I pulled his cheeks apart. His hole fluttered, its eagerness visible.
I flicked my tongue into his sleek crack. A tease, a flutter, and a promise.
Was I moving too fast? Yet I couldn't make myself move any slower.
“Please.” Was it a word, or a groan? Noah sounded breathless. “I'm ready. I've been ready.”
My hands released their grip on his cheeks, although they didn't snap completely closed again. The pink velvet of his entrance was open and revealed to me.
He scooted up on his knees. The gap between his belly and bed made it easy for me to slide my hands around in front to massage the trail from his navel to his pubes. The pads of my fingers tickled themselves with his short and curlies.
I didn't want to grasp too recklessly, too greedily on his shaft. Pace yourself. Forcing myself to stroke his belly and inner thighs with a lighter touch, I managed to retain most of the lube on my palms until I was ready to grab his shaft for real.
Then I forgot about pacing. I began to rub briskly, faster and faster and...
“Oh, that's so good,” he whispered. “But I don't want to come too soon. Not till you're inside of me.”
I slowed, at least for a moment. My belly curved to fit itself to his open cheeks, my hard cock slotting itself neatly between those delicious buns. Already I was speeding up again. All I had to do was adjust my angle, and...
“Please,” he groaned. “Please.”
His voice was broken in the beautiful way of a man who'd forgotten how to form complete sentences. Forgotten how to give demands or commands. All he could do was beg.
“You want this,” I whispered. “You want me.”
“Yes. Yes. Please.”
One hand curled around the base of his cock. The other hand stacked up on top to coil itself around his upper shaft. His arrowhead poked free, and dribbles of precum drizzled onto the place where my hands gripped his hardon.
“Please...”
One of us said the magic word, then the other. We were both dangerously close to the edge. My dick nudged at his tight opening.
I've never felt so huge. Too huge, too fast?
But no.
I was right on time. At my touch, Noah's rosebud bloomed in a frank desire, the outer ring stretching enthusiastically to welcome my shaft—and then pull it even deeper.
It would be so easy to throw him on his belly. Slam him hard, slam him deep. He'd welcome it, that necessary roughness, and fuck knows I'd welcome it too.
Not yet.
If I flung him hard on his stomach, my hard-working cock-gobbling hands would be trapped under our combined weights, and I wasn't ready to surrender the seductive sensation of my two hands slipsliding freely and easily up and down the powerful length of his shaft.
A handjob was a small word for what it felt like to manhandle Noah's dick. Fingertips are hyper-sensitive, capable of savoring the smallest and most delicious sensations.
The vibratory pulsebeat of a man's excitement throbbing through his swollen veins.
The velvet silk of tight skin stretched over swollen flesh gone hard as steel.
The dual focus excited me in ways I hadn't always appreciated. His dick churning in my hands was a different thrill from the throb of my dick notched in his ass. Both thrills blended together to lift me to an impossibly high level of arousal.
For a delicious if indefinite period of time, I found enough self-control to stroke into Noah from behind without ever putting the full weight of my body on top of his body.
This is a true double fuck.
The stiff hardon I massaged with my greedy hands. The silken tunnel I gratified with my cock.
I kept murmuring soft encouragements into his ear. “Yes,” and “Fuck,” and “Oh, fuck, that's good.” At some point, some wicked impulse urged me to nip impishly at the shell of that tender ear.
He squealed, but it was a happy squeal—a sexual squeal. “Yesyesyes, fuckyes, Slate, fuckyesyesyes, dontstopdontstopdont...”
His ass bucked up and then away and then up again. Didn't matter how he bucked now. I was locked on, balls deep, taken to my final inch. Meanwhile, my busy hands were thrashing his cock as recklessly as his long tunnel was thrashing my cock, and we were in harmony, our screams of pleasure a reckless duet.
If anybody's listening, let them listen.
Let them wish it was them. Let them dream.
“Come,” Noah kept saying. “Come.”
The word was part warning. I'm going to come. And part demand. You come with me.
As if he had to ask.
The shared ejaculation was already happening. Our bodies shuddered in double-time, his spunk spraying messily through my fingers to soak the sheets while my spunk buried itself deep in his core. I nipped his ear again, an echo of the nip that set us both off together.
And then he collapsed flat on his belly, trapping my hands, but they didn't mind being trapped when we were both caught in the trap. It felt right to slump together like that, our bodies stacked up, me heavy on top of him. My breath hot on his neck. My naked body big and generous enough to cover him.
I can never lose this again. I can never lose Noah.
Chapter 43
Sleep, but not a long sleep. A shared shower, but not a long shower either.
Our bodies were happy and purring, but our brains were grumbling. Time to use our words again.
Knotting the towels back into place over our hips, we sat on the patio. The towels probably weren't necessary, but we weren't ready to hang around outdoors butt-naked in a strange place.
I studied the valley below us and the mountain across from us. There might have been a sparkle of blue to the north, but I wasn't sure, and there wasn't any guarantee the blue was a lake instead of an ocean.
“Where do you think we are?” Noah asked. “I think an island makes the most sense.”
Maybe it did, but there are a lot of islands. I shrugged. “No idea.” It was a pleasant day. Sunny. Blue sky. Fluffy white clouds. Less humid than back home, possibly because we were at a higher elevation.
Not really a lot of clues. Almost anywhere was less humid than back home.
“It would help if I knew how long I was out, but...” I shook my head. “Have you been able to figure out how long the drug lasts?”
“All I've figured out is that it works in both directions.”
“I don't understand.”
“You ever know anybody who was in a bad accident?” Noah didn't wait for my answer. He'd known a lot more homeless people than I did, and one of the ways you got there was personal tragedy. “When you black out, you don't just forget the time you were blacked out. A lot of times you forget the part before.”
I whipped my gaze from the horizon to his face. “I didn't know that. How would that even work?”
“The accident causes an interruption in the process that moves your working memory to your long-term memory. Those memories don't get stored.”
“The last thing I remember is talking to Mitchell,” I said slowly. “He was telling me that they'd found you, and they needed my help to rescue you. Nothing after that until I woke up here with you.”
“You said.”
“So I was thinking Mitchell slipped me something, but you're saying it didn't have to be him, and the last thing I remember doesn't have to be the last time anybody saw me.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I didn't like the implications. How long had I been missing? If I'd vanished from the party, even if I'd only been gone a day or two, the media might already be going crazy.
But if I'd vanished later...
If nobody knew I was missing yet, nobody was looking for me.
And there was another problem. What if Mitchell or somebody else in the NSA or the FBI or whoever had planned this? What if they had a cover story all worked out to explain my disappearance?
What if they said I'd quit?
Oh, come on. Who would believe that story? Football players don't just quit out of nowhere. Not good ones, not winners.
Ricky Williams, whispered my traitor mind.
Not a helpful line of thought.
“Why am I alive?” Noah asked suddenly. “Why am I of any value at all? By now, they must know everything I know whether I wanted them to know it or not. Now I'm a loose end that needs to be cleaned up.”
That was even less encouraging than somebody trying to paint me as the new Ricky Williams.
“Well, um.” I couldn't really think of a good reason. “Maybe they just want to keep you on ice in case they ever need you in the future.”
“Need me for what? The longer I'm gone, the less valuable I get. Anything I can do, they've already got an AI to do. And machine learning is only getting better. Faster too.”
I couldn't answer that. One thing a football player doesn't have to worry about is being replaced by machines. I'll leave that to the poker players.
“Why bring me here?” Noah asked. “There's no long-term in hacking. You're up to the minute, or you're out of the game. That isn't going to change.”
Suddenly, I knew. “They're tracking whoever's tracking you.”
He gawped at me.
“Terrorists get counter-terrorists get counter-counter-terrorists,” I said. “The NSA is in this because they think it's more than a case of cybercrime. Terrorists might be working up to an attack.”
Noah rubbed his chin. “Could be. So, before they attack, they need to know how close the cops are. How fast they can respond. That kind of thing.”
“Sure. This isn't a suicide bombing. They intend to survive and profit from whatever they plan. That's the beauty of a long-distance cyber attack from a distance.”
“So they're testing to see if they can get away with it. You know what.” He frowned. “That actually makes a certain kind of sense.”
“Told you I played with a helmet.” I wanted to make him smile, but Noah's sweet face stayed grim.
“If you're right and they get away with this shitty test, they'll move forward with whatever bigger thing they've got planned.”
