Page 41 of Dark Little Game
When I tug his hair hard again, I can feel him moan on my dick.
And when I put my other hand on his throat, I can feel my own cock thrusting inside it.
I lose all control at the thought of it.
When I know I’m going to come, I force myself to keep my eyes open.
Look at him the whole time.
As the sensation builds, and my sack tightens, I watch his brown eyes, sowillingand full of need.
I lose control and hold that gaze. Everything in me isreduced to one pure sensation. I come inside him, cursing loudly this time, not giving a damn who hears.
“Fuck, Rayne.”
I push in hard.
He swallows every fucking drop I give him.
I’m somewhere else entirely. Floating on air, for a moment. When he finally slides off my cock, he stands up and gives me a goddamnkisson my cheek.
And then he walks back over to the desk nearby, cracking his textbook open again.
Like nothing.
Like I’m not standing here with my cock hanging between my legs, still covered in his spit.
I shove it back in my pants and zip up, and a moment later, a student pushing a rolling carrel of books walks past the end of the stack.
Would have been better if you passed by earlier.
Put some fear in Colson’s veins.
I need to leave.
But instead, even after coming, some part of me lingers on Rayne, like there’s a tether luring me over toward him again, where I shouldn’t go.
I walk over to the desk and see his lips still slick from before, even as he flips through the textbook.
There’s so many things I could say to him, but only one comes out.
Something I’ve been curious about, and now I’m not holding back from asking.
“You say you’re not afraid of me. So why don’t you trust me, Rayne?” I say softly.
There are a million reasons why he shouldn’t trust me, but I just want to hear it from his lips.
He doesn’t respond. He turns a page in his historytextbook, pretending to read. I soon realize I’m not going to get anything more from him.
“Okay. Have a good study session,” I tell him. “I’ll wait a few desks down ‘til you’re done to make sure no one comes in to attack you.”
I stay there when I hear him speak again.
“You were always terrifying to me, Hunter,” he says quietly, “but I always thought there was somethinggoodin you.”
“Shut up. Spare me that sappy bullshit.”
“It’s real,” he says, looking in my eyes again. “Your artwork, for one. It was beautiful. You had so much talent, and then you juststopped.Why did you stop painting and drawing?”
