Page 13 of Twice as Twisted

“You want it, you take it any way you can get it,” he growls, his palm working over my shaft, circling my glans, tugging my skin down with the tightness of his grip. The thought of someone seeing us like this turns my guts liquid, but my cock throbs hard in Colt’s hand, precum oozing into his palm on his next pass.

The corner of his lips twist into a smirk. “Good boy,” he breathes, pressing up closer, crowding me against his truck as he works. His strong, tattooed arm frames my head, his fist still inmy hair, his mouth a maddening tease in front of mine. His chest pins mine, solid muscle on solid muscle, rising and falling as rapidly as mine, his arm between us, flexing with each rough tug. He steps in even closer, like he can’t get close enough either. His thighs pin mine, and I can feel the soft, cool brush of skin on skin through a hole in his jeans. My head goes all dizzy and fucked up again, like after I hurt Olive, and I can’t find my breath.

“Fuck,” I groan, and the pressure that’s been building at the base of my spine releases suddenly, my groin tightening painfully for one second before sweet relief flows through my limbs, my veins, my cock. A choked sound escapes my throat, and Colt drags his hand slowly up my length, thumbing the sensitive nerves at the base of the tip before sliding up the seam to feel his triumph.

He fists the head of my cock as it throbs out another spurt of hot cum. A quiet, deep moan rumbles up through his chest, but he bites his lip to hold it in. But I heard it. I fucking heard it. The sight of him barely holding back does something to me, makes something like madness take hold. I slam my head back against the window, a roar erupting from my throat as another wave crashes into me, this one even harder than the first. It wrings me dry, leaves my limbs shaking and my throat so thick I think I’ll choke on whatever is swelling up inside me.

It can’t be what it feels like. I don’t do emotion—especially not with Colt.

“Such a good boy,” he murmurs, stepping back a few inches, giving me room to breathe. He slowly rotates his palm over the bulbous head of my cock, coating it with my release, then lifts his fist, cum dripping between his fingers. Without warning, he pushes two into my mouth, deep enough to make me gag on the thick, salty slime.

“What the fuck?” I bark, shoving his chest.

He sways into me again, slowly smearing his hand down my chest, painting my shirt with streaks of cum. And then his mouth is mine, or mine is his. He comes in open, his teeth clashing with mine, the kiss deep and rough and dominant, with no tenderness, no teasing, no working up to that level of passion. His tongue drives against mine, fucking my cum down my throat, sucking it down his.

It’s the first time he’s tasted me since that day in the basement, after we fucked up his sister but before the worst things we did to her; when my brothers and I put him on his knees and then stood there looking at each other, like “What now?” I don’t think any of us knew what to do then. We knew what needed to be done, but Royal and Baron weren’t going to do it, so I did. I did what needed to be done. I took my dick out, and I fucked Colt’s virgin mouth until I came, and he threw up on my feet.

That day, there was no question of who belonged to whom. That day, he wasmine.

For three years, I’ve been trying to get there again, to feel the way I felt with Colt Darling kneeling at my feet, choking on my cock until tears poured out of his eyes as they burned with so much hatred it could incinerate the world, helpless to do anything but swallow my cum. I tried until I couldn’t tell if I was trying to get to Mabel through him or him through Mabel. I tortured him, made him scream to hurt her, made her scream to hurt him. I beat his face in trying to get it out of my head. I crawled at his feet trying to get him to beat it out of me. But no matter what I’ve done, I’ve never been able to return to that same high.

He pulls back slowly, the stroke of his tongue pushing the salty slickness back onto mine one more time before he draws away, a string of cum and saliva stretching between our mouths for a second, as if prolonging the kiss. Then his laboredbreathing breaks it, and it’s only his hand in my hair connecting us. We stare at each other, breath mingling, wet mouths close, the hard lines of his body achingly close but unreachable as he leans in, only a whisper separating us.

I can’t take it another second, and I sway my hips forward, grinding them into his. I can feel how hard he is, how much he wants it, and it’s all the vindication I need.

“Fucking queer,” I say, trying to twist free.

His fingers clench in my hair again, and he yanks my head back against the fractured pane. “And yet, you’re the one with his cum all over my hand.”

“Because you couldn’t stay off my dick,” I snap.

His shiny lips twist into a smirk again, and his gaze dips down the front of my shirt, where he wiped my release off his fingers. He speaks slowly, lazily, as if it’s all inconsequential. As if his breath doesn’t smell like cigarettes and beer and cum—mycum.

“I love how much you hate how much you love this.”

This.

At least he didn’t say, “me.”

“I hate you,” I growl, throwing my superior weight at him.

“I know,” he says, releasing me this time and stepping back. “That’s what makes it fun.”

I glower at him. “For you.”

“For you too,” he says with a shrug. “Hop in, I’ll give you a lift.”

“I don’t need a fucking ride,” I snap. “I need…”

I don’t know what I need, and it’s slowly driving me insane. I needmore.Even when I have it all, when there’s no more to get, to gain, to take, I crave it like a drug. Once you do it once, it’s not enough. The next time has to be further, faster, harder, higher, more intense. I thought that losing would reset the score to zero. That’s why I did this with him the first time.But it’s the same shit, different font. It didn’t make me humble. It didn’t make the smallest win feel like victory. It just made me need to lose harder the next time, to sink lower, lose more.

I always need fucking more.

Feeding the demon.That’s what Baron called it. The more I give it, the bigger it grows, and the bigger it grows, the hungrier it gets, and the more it needs to sustain life.

“Don’t be dumb,” Colt says, opening the passenger door. “It’s a long walk to your house.”

“I’m not going to my house,” I mutter, climbing in while he goes around and hops up behind the wheel. “Give me a ride to the hospital.”

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