Page 21 of The Trailer Park Twink
Our hands touch, fingers weaved, our grip unbreakable. Dallas lets out a gentle sigh and rests his head on my forearm, using me as a pillow.
I keep darting my eyes back, forcing myself to stop, because I don’t feel right staring at his ass without his permission. “Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I—I mean, would it make you uncomfortable if . . .” I close my eyes and sigh.
“You can look,” he whispers, nudging his head, motioning for me to watch as Clint tattoos his bare ass. His face is red and sweat is pouring down his forehead, so I grab a paper towel from the roll Clint has been using to wipe away ink, and gently dab to dry his forehead. As I’m toweling off the last remnants of sweat, Dallas grabs my wrist. His eyes meet mine, and there’s an urgency in them I’ve never seen before. “I want you to look.” His voice is smaller than I’ve ever heard it, and judging by his bloodshot eyes, I doubt he meant to voice that want, but I plant it in my secret heart anyway, hoping it might bloom big and bright and beautiful one day. “I need you to watch it happen, because I need you to know how much you mean to me. You’re my fuckin’ world.”
My breaths are shallow as I lean closer, touching my forehead against his. His tongue darts out, spanning the length of his lips. I pucker my lips just to feel his tongue against them, and Dallas will have to forgive me for falling victim to the moment. The second his tongue touches down, he moans louder than I’ve ever heard him. Louder than every single moan he’s shared with my mother combined. He’s gone fucking feral on me, and I want it. More of this beast of a man I’ve never met. More of his hunger and thirst. Fucking consume me. Devour me until I’m just bits of a broken twink, scattered across this trailer home’s floor.
Last night, when he flashed his ass at me, I didn’t think anything could ever match the moment. Now, sitting here with Daddy holding my hand, staring up at me like I’m the most precious person in the world as a man literally brands my likeness on his ass, I realize this moment tops it. This moment tops everything.
His butt is just as furry as I remember it from last night, and it pokes out at a delicious angle. It might not be the largest ass I’ve ever seen, but it’s definitely the nicest. Even better than Tatum’s and the Bens’. I stare at his crack like I’m studying scripture, wanting to dip my finger between his crevice and touch the place I’ve only ever dreamed of touching. Would he let me? Would Dallas let me trail my tongue across it?
“Does it look good?” he asks, sounding a little shyer than usual.
“It’s perfect,” I answer, unsure if he’s talking about the tattoo or his ass in general. Oh, well. Two things can be true.
He squeezes my hand, and when I look down at him, he looks deliriously drunk and super fucking hot. “Aussie?”
“Yeah, Daddy?”
He swallows. “I wasn’t talkin’ about the tattoo.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, because I know whatever I say next has the power to ruin whatever this thing between us is.
“Neither was I.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His smile widens, his big, bloodshot eyes burning holes in me. “Good boy.”
Holy fucking shit. I know I’m not drunk enough to be misreading the moment this much, but we did share a little pot earlier. Either way, stoned or not, this feels like the start of something more. Just the smallest hint of inevitability. An inkling of something that feels a lot like hope. I’m staring openly at his ass now, not even bothering to hide my roaming gaze.
I overhear Bubba and Johnny asking Dallas about his “party trick,” but I don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.
“Party trick?” I ask Dallas, and even though he’s drunk off his ass, the words register, and his cheeks darken.
Looking over his shoulder at Bubba, he growls, then slurs out, “I told you that in confidence.”
Bubba nods. “And before you whipped it out and proved it, I was confident you were lying. Now I’m just real goddamn proud to have such a talented friend.”
“I’m sorry,” the quiet one finally speaks up. “Party trick?”
“Yeah,” Bubba says, looking down at Dallas with pride in his eyes. “D-Bag can suck himself off.”
My jaw hits the floor, and Dallas jerks his head up. At first, I figure he’ll whirl it around to give Bubba a death-glare, but he doesn’t. His eyes find mine, his cheeks burning bright red.
Holy shit. Is that true? Dallas has sucked his own cock before? There’s been a cock in Dallas’ mouth at some point or another, and even if it was his own, it makes my dick swell in my skinny jeans.
“Can you?” I whisper, leaning closer.
Dallas bites his lip, looking nervous as he nods. “I know it’s probably gross—”
