Page 23 of The Contract

“Mm, yes.”

He massages the underside of my cockhead with his thumb. For a while, I just pant and let the sensations burst through me. Then I gasp, “You put that thing in me while I was unconscious.”

He’s staring at my cock, seeming to study it. If he didn’t look so enthralled, I would feel self-conscious of his attention. No one has ever looked at me, not any part of me, like he does.

“You made wonderful little sounds. And it was beautiful to watch you harden. Your body is incredible, Tristan.”

“This isn’t right,” I say, compelled to point it out.

His dark eyes meet mine at last and he says, “Who cares?”

At that, I’m stumped. Stalled. But then I don’t have time to think about it anymore because the vibration intensifies in my ass. I arch, thrusting my cock through Dante’s grip.

He doesn’t stroke me, but he keeps closing his hand at the top so my cockhead hits the resistance before punching through. The vibration goes up a notch.

Now I’m moaning and screaming as my hips snap up again and again. Every time they do, the dildo hits something inside me that make the world nearly explode. I know it must be my prostate. I’ve heard it feels good, but oh my fucking god, I had no idea.

“That’s it,” Dante murmurs as his other hand grips my balls.

I cry out hard and loud as my orgasm seizes my body. I feel the pulse and strain deep inside me. I feel the release pump from my balls through my cock. Hot cum splashes onto my abs and chest and even my face.

“Hnnnn!” I keep vocalizing as I strain. “Fu—hnnnn!”

“Oh, good boy,” I hear as I collapse, gasping and shuddering through the aftershocks. My mind is shattered. I can’t think.

I cry out as the dildo is removed bead by bead. I’m left empty and exhausted, and I sink quickly into oblivion.

EIGHT

Dante

As soon as I walk into Lush, I can tell Tristan is furious with me. My dick stiffens as I watch him from the shadows. His usually elegant act has a sharp edge. There’s a snap in his wrist as he mixes a drink. His back is ramrod straight.

I can’t wait to peel back the layers of his anger. I want to know what lies at the heart of it. There are so many possibilities.

When Tristan bends to get something from the fridge, I make my way to my favored table. It’s late and Lush is clearing out, so I don’t have to oust anyone this time.

I settle into the banquette as Tristan straightens with a bottle of cranberry juice. Saylor says something to him. He gives a sharp nod.

Has he been this angry all night? All day?

When I took him back to his apartment last night, I was tempted to plant a couple of cameras so I could watch him wake and see how he reacted, but I prefer to see things in real life.

I didn’t even take a picture of him as he lay so beautifully spent in the play bed. I can still see it though. His hands, which had been so tightly fisted, hanging limp from the leather cuffs. The dildo glistening on the black sheets between his spread legs. His spent cock lying fat against his lean abdomen. Creamy splashes of cum all over him, even his face, peaceful in sleep.

Usually, I have to get rough with myself when I jack off, using the aggression to override other thoughts, but the sight of Tristan lying there? The memory of his confusion and anger and submission? There was nothing else in my mind as I wrappedmy hand around my leaking cock and stroked until my cum landed in thick strands on his smooth skin.

When Tristan emerges from behind the bar to deliver the Cosmo and a glass of champagne, I get my first full look at him in his crisp white shirt, black pants, and narrow black tie. He was wearing these clothes the night I first saw him. Now, I know what lies under them.

His steps are clipped, but the rest of his performance is so classy and elegant that it works for him. It does, however, get him a few extra glances. Two from women. One from a man. I can’t tell if Tristan notices, but I sure as hell do. My lip curls slightly. And that’s the expression Tristan catches when his eyes land on me.

He halts. His gaze cuts right back at mine. His nostrils flare. He heads my way.

He stops at my table and glares down at me. I love his anger. I want to feel it burn hotter. I want to be inside him at its most intense, when he comes. Then I want to feel it fade out of him as he quiets on my cock.

“Drink?” he snaps.

“No. I’m waiting for someone.”

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