Page 57 of The Club

He wraps his hand around his cock again and strokes.

“Faster,” I order.

He obeys. His lips are parted, his eyes dark. His stomach is contracting hard.

He’s leaking enough precum to slick his cock, but lube would help. He’ll be sore. I don’t care. He deserves it. He should be glad I’m letting him come at all.

When he’s almost there, his hand frantic, his body curling, I tighten the constriction on his throat. He lets out a choked cry as cum leaps from his cock. It almost makes me come just seeing it.

His body tightens as he spurts, cum shooting high to land on the floor. My eyes want to close as the waves of arousal crash through me, but I force them to stay open. I don’t want to miss a second.

As the last of his release rolls down his hand, I use the belt around his neck to pull him backward, forcing his back onto the floor. His legs unfold. As he lies there, spent and staring up at me, twitching as the massager continues to vibrate inside him, I stand.

It doesn’t take much for me to come as I look down at him like that. A few strokes has my back tightening, my balls pulsing, andmy cock shooting out ropes of cum that land on his chest and belly and cock.

The relief is brief and shallow. I’m still so damn angry with him. For ignoring me. For making it so I had to punish him, which punished me—because I didn’t get to come inside him.

I’m tempted to let him pass out here on the floor. He’s close to it, with his eyes half shut like that.

With my belt around his neck, with him covered in my cum, I’m reminded of how we started. How I left him that first night.

I almost do it. I know I should.

But instead I reach between his legs and turn off the vibrator. I pull it out. I get a kitchen towel and clean him up.

I even wipe away the tear that leaks from the corner of his eye before I haul him up and make him go to bed.

EIGHTEEN

Rafael

“So,” Noah says as he settles in his armchair with a beer, “you’re doing this. With Dominic.”

I pick at a loose thread on his couch. “You’re more concerned about that than the information I asked you for?”

“Nope. I’m just starting with that.”

“And I have to answer your questions before you’ll give me what I asked for? Do you even have anything?”

“Rafael.”

“Why does everyone say my name like that?”

Noah doesn’t take the argument bait. He knows me too well, knows I’m trying to distract him.

I look around the two-bedroom apartment that I sort of grew up in. Nothing’s changed since I was fifteen and Noah brought me here from the Island.

My aunt, my father’s sister, was actually my legal guardian, but I ran away so many times, came here so many times, that she stopped trying to get me back. I’m sure it was a relief to her. As soon as I turned eighteen, she moved back to Puerto Rico and I haven’t seen her since.

Until that day, however, she signed papers when necessary, even though Noah was the one who took care of me.

I know I was a shitty substitute for the son he lost, a boy who didn’t make it back from the Island.

I’ve caused Noah so much trouble, so much pain. It shows. He’s only 54, but he looks older. He’s still fit, his forearms all corded below the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt, but his hair is mostly gray, his face weary.

“Did Dante call you?” I ask. I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice.

The thing is, I love Dante. I will nevernotlove him.

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