Page 9 of Filthy Little Secret

He hisses, surely from how hypersensitive he must be right now.

He grips onto my hair and yanks my head away. I gaze up at him.

I’m nothing more than a sex toy for him.

He squats before me and offers another kiss, tasting himself on my tongue.

A rustling sound above us catches my attention. As I look up, I see that same girl looking down at us, her eyes wide with disbelief. She must’ve been too curious not to keep watching.

She turns and darts up the stairs.

Though she’d probably never admit it, she wouldn’t have stuck around if she wasn’t enjoying the show.

I turn back to Tim, who has a smile spread across his face, clearly amused by the exhibition.

“You like it when people watch?” I ask.

“Nothing wrong with an audience.”

He winks and rises, his cock dangling before me once again.

4

TIM

Just like every other stuck-up rich kid, he wants a little kink. To live on the edge.

He craves it.

Keith liked it wild, too. The problem with Mark is that he has all the power. With Keith, it was fun fucking around, but I never felt like he was taking charge. Mark isn’t like that at all.

He knows what he’s signed up for, especially after what Keith surely told him about how I don’t do more than sex.

He likes that there’s no commitment here. That we can fuck without emotion or a care in the world. That it can get as dirty as he wants it to get, and that at the end of the day, even if someone finds out, it’ll seem like a crazy rumor to anyone who might matter.

After we finished up in the stairwell, I left Mark scrambling for his clothes. I didn’t ask for his number, even though I wanted to. I didn’t tell him I wanted to hook up again, even though I do. I just told him, “See ya ’round,” and got the fuck out of there.

We’ll see each other again. We move in the same circles. Hang at the same parties. His buds need me for drugs. I need them for cash. And between what we experienced in the basement and the stairwell, I can’t imagine he’ll be able to walk away from this.

Hell, I sure as fuck can’t.

I would never admit it, but damn. I thought I’d already had enough sex in my life to know how good it could get, but I was wrong.

So fucking wrong.

I ride my motorcycle to my supplier Jesse’s place.

I keep replaying that hot encounter in the stairwell over and over again in my head. How even when I accidentally came too soon, Mark lapped it up like it didn’t even matter. Like all he wanted was to have me inside him.

I park outside Jesse’s, alongside the street, where cars are packed in front of his place. He’s obviously having a party. I make my way around to the back. The pool is illuminated with a green light, but it’s too cold out for anyone to be in it. A DJ blasts music from a tent on the far side of the pool, next to a bar. A group congregates around the tent, dancing. Beside the DJ tent, a couple of kids hold a guy upside down as he drinks from a tube attached to a keg on a stand.

Jesse’s parties are always little more than frat parties for those of us who didn’t opt for college.

I see Jesse in his usual location, sitting in the hot tub, his arms around girls on either side of him. They’re laughing at some joke he’s telling as I approach. I doubt they find him amusing. Figure they humor him in hopes that he can hook them up with some free drugs.

As Jesse spots me, I can tell by how his eyes light up that he’s been using his stash. He hops up and runs through the water and gets out on the other side of the hot tub. Grabbing a towel off the back of a chair at a nearby table, he rubs it across himself quickly. Water drips from his neon green speedo down his legs. He’s not the kind of guy who can get away with wearing a speedo, but no amount of discouragement from his buddies seems to work. He runs his wet hand through his thinning blond hair, which I assume is expected now that he’s in his forties, maybe fifties—hard to tell with all the Botox his face is pumped full of.

“Babe, how’s it going?” he asks as he approaches.

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