Page 17 of Antidote

I do as he says, jacking my length fast and hard as he fucks my ass with his fingers. My toes curl, and my back arches off the bed, and within a few passes over my prostate, my vision is going black. I’m so close to?—

“Come for me, Ollie,” Hunter begs. “Come for your brother.”

My cock starts shooting cum all over my abdomen and chest, and he keeps pumping me with his fingers, milking me dry. I try not to scream in pleasure, instead I bite the pillow and moan so loud I’m sure my parents are probably going to wake up from it. Only that doesn’t seem to stop Hunter.

When I open my eyes again, Hunter pulls his fingers out and braces himself on the bed, jacking himself over me. His neck veins are prominent as he goes faster, and his chest muscles flex with the effort. I reach out and massage his balls, squeezing them lightly, then rub his taint.

“Shit.” He groans. “Yes, Ollie, fuck.”

I smile, then put a little more pressure behind my rubbing, and soon enough, he’s moaning again. His mouth is wide open, his eyes closed. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever witnessed.

“Ah, God.” Hunter moans, “I’m so close...where do I come?”

“Where do you want to?”

“I want to paint your face.” I grin as he leans over, putting his big cock right in front of my face.

“Come all over my face, Hunt,” I taunt, then let my finger slip toward his rim and begin to rub. His hips stutter and he moans oh shit under his breath. “Fuck.”

I open my mouth just in time for his cum to cover my face, my lips, and my tongue. Surprising me, he leans over and kisses me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth where he can taste himself.

Fuck, that’s so hot.

We groan in unison as the kiss gets deeper, and soon enough he’s lying on top of me again, rubbing his half-hard dick against my leg and rutting against me. I can’t get enough of him, so when he grabs my hardening dick, I moan at the contact and thrust my hips up.

I don’t know what’s happening—or what the hell we’re doing. But I do know he’s going to be the fucking death of me. Recovering from the heartbreak he will bring me will be the most traumatizing experience of my life.

I can already feel it.

Hunter and I have been spending more time together than we used to. It’s no longer limited to sleeping together, seeing as now we’re hanging out in the light of day. Our parents haven’t said anything about it, and they must be happy because they haven’t even looked at us in a weird way. I know it’s a bit odd, considering we haven’t made an effort in a while, but things have changed. A lot. Now, we can’t get enough of each other.

I wouldn’t say we’re going on dates, but we are hanging out at school, going to the movies, and even parties together. Ever since Hunt became my keeper, people stopped paying attention to me. The bullying has ceased to a minimum, and everyone seems to be scared to approach me. I wonder if he said something about it and threatened them. After the cafeteria incident a few years ago, I bet the assholes who wouldn’t leave me alone are scared. It helps that he is built like a man at eighteen years old. I guess that happens when someone has been an athlete since they were little.

He’s honestly a masterpiece, carved from freaking stone. His abs are something out of this world, and so are his legs. I don’t know what he sees in me, or how he’s with a scrawny little shit, but I’m not complaining. I get to touch those muscles whenever I want, even if it’s with the lights off, in our own little bubble.

The scratching of my pencil is loud in the silence as I sketch him—his face. I love drawing his eyes and lips; those are my favorite. His brow is scrunched in concentration as he reads Pride and Prejudice, which is apparently required for his AP English four class. One of the things I love about Hunter is that he’s not a typical jock—he doesn’t fit the stereotype. He’s really smart, and he's taking almost all AP classes this year. English is his favorite subject, and he wants to study English Literature in college. I know he doesn’t plan to use his college degree since he wants to be drafted by the NHL, but he’s still trying to make something of himself.

Hunter sighs, “I love this.”

I smile, feeling it all the way in my heart. Everything he does is something I love. “What?”

“You sketching me.”

“How do you know I’m sketching you?”

Hunter sits up from his place at the foot of the bed, and my back straightens, hiding my sketchbook against my chest. We both know he’s what I sketch the most. My little obsession is out of control. Even so, he still doesn’t make fun of me for it. He loves it. Loves me. He doesn’t have to tell me all the time for me to know.

“I know it in here.” He taps his chest with his fist and my stomach flutters. “I can just tell, okay?”

“So you’re psychic now.” My lips tip up on one side. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“You’re predictable, Ollie.” I rip the page from my sketchbook and offer it to him. He takes it with a grin, holding it at a distance and letting his eyes skim it. When his eyes connect with mine once more, he beams. “See what I’m saying? Predictable.”

“Whatever.” I huff playfully. “You love it when I draw your pretty face.”

“I love that you think I’m pretty.” He looks at me slowly, from my face to how I sit cross-legged across from him.

Butterflies attack my stomach. “I always think you are.”

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