Page 11 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

As the drag queen shouts, “Gentlemen, to start your engines,” over the sound system “Jai Ho” by Nicole Scherzinger (featuring the Pussycat Dolls) plays. I’m not entirely sure who the hell is in charge of the musical selection tonight, but it seems like they’re stuck about twenty years in the past.

My eyes seek out Abi. I want him to watch me. For him to see the smugness on my face as I masturbate for a gaggle of drunken gays. My hand slides up and down to the song’s rhythm, as do the hands of the men at my side. Having every eye on me like this feels like my body’s gone supernova, imploding and swallowing the desire of each man in the crowd.

It’s over embarrassingly fast. One moment, I’m stroking my cock, not a care in the world. The next, I catch sight of him. Our eyes lock, and it’s all it takes. The second he mouths, “Come for me,” I do just that, spilling over in my jock. It feels like he’s ripping the load out of my shaft with his bare hands, dragging me toward orgasmic bliss with nothing more than three words and a smile.

My legs go wobbly, and I have to grab the drag queen for support. She turns and scowls at me, only to stop when she catches sight of Abi in the crowd. He points at the other three contestants before lifting his shirt and flashing the gun he has wedged in his waistband. My mouth falls open, because I’m pretty sure that’s a terroristic threat. Mental images of Abi dying in a shootout with police swirl like a terrifying tornado through my mind. Panic rises like lava, and I know I need to somehow smooth things over, but I can’t make my body move. Abi points at the other contestants and lifts his finger, twitching it left-right-left. I don’t know what he’s saying “no” to, but apparently the drag queen does, because she quickly steps to the man nearest me and grabs his wrist, stopping his movement.

“You’re not moving with the beat of the song. You’re out.” Without missing a beat, she heads over to the next man, a twink with chest hair thick as carpet. “You too.” Finally, she points at the last one. “Yep. You too.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the final man proclaims.

The queen looks panicked, nervously darting around the bar as if she’s seeking inspiration. She finds it in a half-drank bottle of beer resting on the edge of the stage. Bending down, she grabs the bottle and stealthily places it behind her back. Backing toward the man, she tips the bottleneck, letting the contents pour on the man’s shorts. When she turns around, she feigns a gasp before dramatically pointing.

“He’s ejaculated!” she shouts, and the crowd erupts into a chorus of applause. She makes her way to me, grabbing my wrist and yanking my hand out of my jock. My skin is still slathered in semen and the sudden motion sends stray globs flying into the crowd. I watch as a bit lands on an elderly woman in the front row. She’s wearing a t-shirt that says,I’m not gay, but my grandson is, and I couldn’t be prouder! Hashtag: Granny’s first drag show.There are so many thoughts running through my mind. Why in the world would anyone bring their ninety-something granny to a gay bar? And why would you allow them tostand in the front row of a masturbation contest being touted asHands on a Hard-On? And—perhaps most egregiously of all—why in the world has someone spelled out the word hashtag on her custom-made t-shirt?

The woman reaches for her face, wiping my semen onto her fingertip and staring at it like if she looks long enough, the liquid will morph into something less unsettling than a stranger’s load. She makes a face like she’s going to vomit, as do I, and the man standing at her side—her grandson, I’m assuming—is staring daggers at me. I don’t have time to unpack anything that’s just happened, because Abi storms the stage and heads toward me. My heart thunders in my chest, because I can’t read his current expression. Is he mad at me? Did watching me ejaculate have a stiffening effect on his cock? Not that I care about his cock, obvi.

He rips my wrist out of the queen’s grip before leaning down and pressing his forehead against mine. “You escaped again,” he says matter-of-factly. “Well done, little one. Daddy’s proud of you for getting away.”

My worry is replaced by annoyance. I hate when he acts like this. He may not mean to be condescending, but that’s how it comes across. I rear back my arm to give him one of our usual slaps across the face, stopping when he grabs my wrist mid-swing. My eyes widen as he brings my hand closer to his face. There’s still semen coating my palm, and as his lips approach, his mouth falling open, all I can do is shake my head.

Let me make one thing perfectly clear. Abi may finger my hole on a regular basis, but aside from the night we met, he’s never touched my cock, he’s never sucked me off, and he certainly hasn’t tasted my semen.

“Abi,” I say, feeling lightheaded and breathless. My heart is racing a mile a minute. “Abi, no.” He stops moving, his tongue extended, one eyebrow raised questioningly. His eyes say the words his mouth can’t get out. It’s like he’s begging me. Pleading to take this part of me into himself.

“Please?” he whispers, so low I almost don’t catch it. “I don’t ask you for much, but I’m asking for this.”

“Why?” I ask, trying to steady my racing heart.

He stares at the cum on my palm like it holds all the secrets the universe has ever known. “Because it’s a part of you, and I want every part of you.” His gaze intensifies tenfold as he squeezes my ass with his free hand. “Please, Tatum?”

He wants this. More than Abi’s ever wanted anything, he wants me to give him this. But I can’t. I shouldn’t. I shake my head, a twinge of guilt pricking my heart when I see the hope fade from his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I admit, because I really am. This man has turned my world upside down, and I’m still not sure if it’s for the better. The way he looks at me—the way he worships me—should be enough kindling to light a spark of hope in my heart, but it isn’t. He can’t mean any of this, because stuff like that isn’t meant for boys like me. Love isn’t in the cards for the unlovable. I’m little more than a twink reaching the prime of his life, drenched in dazzling stardust and bathed in youthful beauty. Once the beauty fades, what will I be left with? A waifish figure, but not much else to offer. God knows Benito’s told me I’m nothing without my beauty. Just a waste of space with an abysmal personality. It’s basically ingrained in me. Scorched into my subconscious. Etched into my DNA.

Abi’s eyes narrow. “I have upset you. I apologize.” He uses his hand to scoop the remaining load from my palm into his. He wipes the cum on the side of his jeans, not caring that every soul we see tonight is going to know he’s drenched in my essence. “I pushed too hard. I promise, I did not mean to offend.”

Even though I want to shout at him, telling him he’s done nothing wrong—kidnapping and drugging aside—I can’t seem to make my mouth work. So, like a coward, I wait. Wait for him to take the lead. Wait for him to realize I’m unworthy. Wait for him to take my world apart, piece by piece.

“Little one,” he whispers.

The drag queen slaps her hand on Abi’s back, startling him. “If you’re both done with ... whatever it is you’re doing, it’s time to crown the winner.”

And just like that, the moment’s gone. Abi’s squeezing my shoulder, telling me, “Go on. Get your prize. You’ve earned it,” sending me away with a kiss on the cheek.

This prize better be worth the emotional turmoil these last six months have put me through.

CHAPTER 2

ABI

“An all-expenses-paid trip to Guadalajara,” Tatum shrieks at no one in particular. “What the hell is even in Guadalajara?” His voice is coated in disdain, and I have to admit—I love when he’s like this. Bratty. Sassy. A bundle of righteous rage. “Guadalajara!”

“Yes, I was there. I am aware of what you’ve won.” I give him my widest smile. “I am very proud of you for winning.”

His eyes narrow. “Fuck off.”

He’s been pacing our miniscule cabin for over an hour, wearing nothing more than his usual jockstrap and crop top, only making eye contact long enough to scowl. I’m sitting at the foot of the bed, my legs dangling over the side. Fiona initially objected when I took a seat beside her feet, but went back to her book after giving me an unamused expression.

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