Page 39 of The Chosen Son

The computer’s speakers didn’t do him justice. With a shout of triumph, he bucked his hips one last time and came, thick ropes ofhis jizz unspooling across his chest and stomach. Mm, I could almost taste it, and my mouth filled with saliva, thirsty beyond belief.

As much as I loved to drag this out, the heat and pressure had crested to an agonizing peak, and I couldn’t hold off any longer. With Cameron’s orgasm achieved, I gave myself permission to follow him over the edge. I released my balls and increased my pace. One, two, three more pumps of my fist, that was all it took. It wasn’t a sweet slick ass, but it would have to do—for now. With my eyes on Cameron’s sticky mess, his name on my lips, I let loose, and my cum arced all the way up to my shoulder.

Panting, I collapsed back in my chair, collecting myself. I felt broken in a way I’d never been taken down before. I looked down the length of my body, over my ruined shirt to where my cock was still hard, begging for a go at the real thing.

“Damn,” I grumbled, suddenly regretting my lack of planning. “I really liked this shirt.”

I peeled my shirt off, balled it up, and tossed it in the corner. My eyes drifted back to the screen where Cameron lay like a starfish on the bed, arms and legs reaching toward the four corners of the mattress. His body sated at last, he went limp, eyes at half-mast. He chuckled sleepily. “Did you like that?” he asked, and I froze, leaning toward the screen.

Surely he wasn’t talking to me…

Cameron turned his head and looked straight at the camera, but his sleepy smirk slowly collapsed as he sighed. “I’m such an idiot. Of course you’re not watching.” He rolled off the bed, heading for the partitioned bathroom to clean up.

I watched him disappear through the door with a mixture of conflicting emotions. He’d been hoping I was watching? Or maybe it was only in theory, a sexy fantasy, slumming it with the bad boy that gothim hot. It didn’t change anything, I told myself, even as I felt the very real shift. I’d been picturing siphoning his power from him all this time, but now when I thought of the look of betrayal in his eyes, I felt a twisting stab right in my gut. It felt…human. Was thisguilt? Uuuugh, how awful! This must’ve been what my brother felt all the time. I decided I could’ve gone my whole life without feeling this. It sucked some serious monkey balls. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.

Could I live with myself if I did it anyway, then spent eternity remembering how devastated he was when I betrayed him? Well, yes, obviously, I was no saint, and it was totally worth it anyway, but what if I didn’t have to?

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, deep in thought, as I wandered toward the kitchen, the cool, damp underground air kissing my bare chest. Which reminded me… “Zeek, the shirt on my office floor—wash it,” I called vaguely, assuming he would hear me.

And sure enough, down toward the back of my quarters, I heard him reply, “Yes, master, right away.” The little cretin really was handy to have around.

I paused in the kitchen doorway. It was time to make a very special dinner for my guest, one he couldn’t resist. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hit dial and turned on the speaker, setting it on the counter while I began to assess what ingredients we had.

Phobos picked up before the first ring had even finished. “You owe me a new sofa,” he snarled. “The synthetic material went up like a Roman candle.”

I snorted. “That one was hideous, I was doing you a favor. You’re welcome. My suggestion? Stop with all the white décor. Don’t be afraid of a little color, make a statement.”

“I think you make enough statements for us all.” His sigh was so familiar, reminding me of all the times growing up togetherwhen I would try to push his buttons. He always seemed to have an infinite amount of patience, and instead of taking the bait, he always sighed just like that.

“Are you only calling to gloat or is there another reason for your call?” he asked with barely restrained anger.

“Yeah, just wondering if Cameron has any allergies.” I opened a container of yogurt and gave it a sniff. I couldn’t remember when Zeek bought it.

“Any allerg—wait! Did he have an allergic reaction to something? Is he okay?!”

“He’s fine,” I assured him, more than a little annoyed at how protective he was of Cameron. Did he really think I would let something happen to him? But then I remembered thatIwas about to happen to him, and I decided that maybe Phobos wasn’t so wrong in assuming the worst after all. “I just mean for food. Is he allergic to anything, any aversions? What’s his favorite meal?”

A beat of silence passed, in which I pulled out some spinach and a plastic clamshell of strawberries. “No allergies that I know of. Why?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

I blew out an exasperated sigh. “Because I want the man to be comfortable! So sue me!”

“What game are you playing at, Deimos? Is Cameron there? Can I speak with him?”

“Nope, I’m afraid he’s in the shower, cleaning himself up,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. Was it my fault if my brother misunderstood the meaning? “You never answered my question about his favorite meal. Phobos? Hello?”

A dial tone was his reply. “He hung up on me!” I sputtered. This whole Cameron situation had really gotten under his skin. I didn’t think I’d ever seen my twin so wound up about anything. Iprobably should’ve felt bad about putting him through this, but instead, all I felt was a perverse sense of amusement. He’d get over it. As soon as I was done with his sidekick, I’d hand him back to Phobos, no harm done.

The thought of giving up my new plaything pricked at me in an uncomfortable way I chose to ignore.

Without my brother’s input, I decided to make Cameronmyfavorite meal instead. A strawberry spinach salad with candied almonds to start, followed by a chicken curry, and a tub of chocolate peanut butter ice cream for dessert—with two spoons, one for each of us. And I topped it all off with a heavy dose of horse tranquilizers.

I was going to take Cameron’s powers one way or another—and one of those ways just happened to involve less of this awful human guilt.

Zeek watched me load up the tray of food, his short pudgy arms crossed over his barrel chest, his toadlike face scrunched in a scowl. “You’re feeding that to our guest?” he asked, heavy on the judgy tone.

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?” I narrowed my eyes, waiting for his reply. He’d never questioned me before, never talked back. Had he suddenly decided to grow a spine?

He shrugged. “Why would I? It’s not like he was nice to me or anything…” He shot one last parting glare at me over his shoulder on the way out of the room, but I felt his judgment long after he was gone.

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