Page 52 of Nocturne
I look down and see him savoring it. Sucking likehe’d dreamed of this for years but never dared to ask. His tongue slides over every inch of my erection, licking it eagerly, sucking the head even harder. This kid knows what he’s doing. He swallows it all, to the end, and I moan again, muffled.
"Does my taste good, golden boy?"
"Fuck yeah…"
He pulls his cock out of his boxers and starts jerking off slowly while going back to sucking me. I press his head against me until I feel him choke.
"Get up. Now. I want to fuck you."
He obeys fast, hungry eyes. He looks around for something to lean on. Behind us, a white box—a broken air conditioner condenser, tagged up and covered with faded stickers. Looks like an abandoned relic.
"There," I point at it.
We run over and I push him against it. He rests his hands on the box and pulls his boxers all the way down.
My eyes fall on his ass, hard, round, pale, perfect, and my cock pulses with lust, craving to fuck him.
"You want me inside you?" I ask.
"Fuck yeah… I want to feel you all inside me," he says slowly, moaning between every word.
I wet my fingers with my own spit, the bitter taste of urgency still burning on my tongue.
“Get your legs open, right now.”
The voice comes out lower than I expected, rough, almost a growl, as if desire had cut my throat from the inside.
I crouch behind him. Hunter’s hot skin glistensunder the city’s faint light, tense, goosebumped, vulnerable.
I carefully wet his entrance, and the first touch of my finger makes his whole body shudder.
He lets out a moan, loud, raw, desperate. “Fuck... please, Damon... fuck me.”
His words break me and ignite me all at once.
Hunter stands, leaning over the rusty metal condenser on the rooftop, hands gripping the cold iron, chest heaving, back arched, muscles taut with need, his ass exposed, surrendered, begging. It’s a sight ripped from some filthy, impossible dream—and yet it’s real. Too real.
I hurry to slick my cock. My hands tremble—not from fear, but from intensity. From something that’s more than just sex.
I position myself and start sliding in slow, inch by inch, feeling the tight heat clamp around me like his body’s trying to trap me, swallow me whole, keep me from leaving. He moans in pain, but he doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t run. He’s so given over that pleasure and suffering blur together.
“Shit...” I murmur against the sweat-slick skin of his back. “You’re so tight...”
My hands grip his waist, and I start moving. Slow. Purposeful. Each thrust pushes a grunt from deep in his throat, a sound more like a prayer than a plea. I obey. I hurt. I care.
Boston’s cityscape stretches around us, cold lights and indifferent buildings, but none of that matters now.
Because here, on this forgotten rooftop, I’m abroken king. And he, my golden boy, is falling apart for me, and still begging for more.
I pick up the pace, feeling Hunter’s body react like fire under my skin. His moans grow louder, more desperate, as he arches his back, pressing his ass against my cock with a fierce, almost ravenous hunger. I fuck him like an addict, crazy to own every inch of him, to fill him up until his last breath.
Sweat drips hot down my back, chest, and face. The night air thickens with the salty, raw scent of desire—dense, heavy, electric. Our eyes lock, blazing with the flame of a forbidden, almost sinful pleasure that burns us alive inside.
“You’re the king of the streets… but with me, all you know is surrender, huh?” I growl, voice low and rough as I speed up. Hunter’s moans echo, filling every inch of this lonely rooftop like a scream of surrender.
“Do whatever you want to me...” he whispers between gasps, voice trembling, defeated.
“Out there, you run shit and everyone obeys…” My voice comes muffled, broken by moans and heavy breathing. “But here, you obey me.”
