Page 85 of The Club

“Go finish your chopping.”

His hand slips into my sweats and cups my balls under my semi-hard cock. I grunt at the hot spill of arousal then glare at him for being such a tease when he mutters, “Fine,” and withdraws.

I take the chicken off the heat while I drain the pasta. I toss it with olive oil then add the chicken, tomatoes, and basil. I top it with Romano.

Rafael gets out the plates. I love that he’s getting to know my kitchen.

While we eat, Rafael’s enjoyment is a little over the top, so I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

“What? No. Why do you think that?”

“Because you eat at high-end restaurants and have very expensive meal delivery. I saw the boxes in your fridge. So you can’t possibly be impressed by this.”

“Well, I am. I don’t know how to cook much of anything.”

“Noah doesn’t cook?”

Rafael pulls a face. “It’s best if he doesn’t. All he really knows how to make is a horrible macaroni and cheese casserole with crumbled crackers on top.”

I chuckle. “Are you a fussy eater?”

“According to him, yes. According to me, no. I just like good food. Like this.”

After a minute, he says, “Noah raised me. After. If that’s what you were trying to ask.”

“Yeah, it kinda was.”

“He, um … well, my aunt was my legal guardian, but I kept running away to Noah. Eventually, he just let me stay with him. My parents were dead.”

“Yeah, I, uh, know about that. The gist.”

It’s hard that I want to know about Rafael, but every subject is so difficult. But we’re doing okay, I think. At least, he is. He’s trying. I haven’t been able to share much yet. Maybe in time.

My chest tightens at the thought of time with Rafael. A chance. A … future? I’ve never really thought about the future before. I’ve only followed the path set for me. Serving my father, then taking his place.

But this is what I want. More days like this.

After dinner, we move to the couch and scroll through the streaming options. I vote for an action flick, but Rafael makes such a fuss about it that we end up watching the comedy he picked.

He lies down with his head in my lap again. I don’t catch much of the movie because I’m too distracted my him. His smile. His laugh.

I don’t really like pitch blackness, even when I’m watching a movie, so I have some soft, low lights on. I’m glad, because it means I can see him.

I can’t help looking at him every few seconds. I can’t help touching him. His hair, his throat, his nipples. I can’t help getting hard.

Partway through the movie, he stops laughing. His eyes half close.

Then he rolls over to face me and grabs the waistband of my sweats. He pulls it down, exposing the length of my hard cock, and takes me into his mouth.

“Fuuuuck,” I breathe, shifting, widening my stance. I strain upward, pressing into his throat. His hand slides between my legs. His fingers tease my balls.

I throw my head back. I fumble for the remote and turn the TV off. I don’t want to hear the movie; I want to hear Rafael sucking me.

The suckling sound has me punching into the back of his throat. He chokes.

“That’s it,” I murmur, looking down and putting a hand on the back of his head, shoving him onto me. “Choke on my cock.”

His mouth vibrates around my dick as he moans. He shifts, angling to get me down his throat like he wants to swallow me whole.

---