Page 53 of Choosing Hope
“Don’t give me your shit, Spencer,” he hisses. “I deal with it too. You forced me away because you wanted to be Mr. Fucking-Normal.”
He leans closer again. His aggression rolling off him in waves.
“You’ve always hated the fact that I get you off harder than any woman could. Haven’t you?” He flicks his chin up. “You try to conceal it. Even from the women we fuck, but you need me just as much as I need you.”
I slump back, stunned by his vitriolic words.
“Sorry to shatter your illusion, sweetheart,” my tone drips with sarcasm, “but this is about me not you.”
“Really?” he challenges me. His hand brushes up my thigh.
The moment it touches me, my cock twitches for him.
He signals to the bartender, ordering six shots of tequila.
“What are you doing?”
“Loosening you up,” he admits.
We glance at the bartender who's pouring our drinks, neither of us speaking.
When the server moves away, my focus shifts to my friend. Our gazes lock as he licks his hand and pours a little salt onto the damp skin, before passing it to me.
Instead of using it, I watch as the flat of his tongue gathers a few grains of salt from his hand. The visuals he’s creating are sexy; I’m unable to tear my eyes from him. He downs his first glass of golden liquid in one, before pressing the lime into his mouth with a grimace.
Once he’s repeated the process one more time, he speaks again.
“You know, it hurts like fuck that you’re still ashamed of me.” His eyes flick to mine and the heat in them is impossible to disregard. “I miss you, man.”
His shoulders fold, and he hangs his head, leaving his words to circle in the surrounding air.
To distract myself, I tip some salt onto my hand, drinking back the liquid fire. For my second, I don’t bother with the salt, enjoying the burning sensation which distracts me from the torrent of emotions I’m dealing with.
I’m feeling a slight buzz. I pick up my third glass and neck that too.
At our all-boys boarding school, we weren’t the only boys who were inquisitive about each other’s bodies during puberty. But I suspect we’re the only ones who still partake from time to time.
I’ll never be able to deny to myself how much Carlo turns me on. But in the cold light of day, it seems wrong, very wrong. It wasn’t until Sophie said what she did that these concerns properly took root, but over the last few years they’ve matured.
Yet, no matter how hard I work to push them away, when we’re in the club, and I’m watching him bury his dick deep inside some woman we’ve only just met. It’s him I can’t take my eyes off, not her.
It’s as if an insatiable sense of possession sweeps over me, consuming me. I find it almost impossible to control. Hence, why recently I’ve made a point not to be there when he is.
On the first occasion, we were together after our relationship with Sophie ended, Carlo was determined to keep our fun going. He surprised me with a solution to guard our secrecy, while still enjoying each other’s bodies, and whatever pussy we had in the room.
His solution was to insist the women we were with wore an eye mask. He removed their vision and added noise-canceling headphones, which gave us a little more freedom.
Carlo understands I’m trying to resist him, but he’s also all too aware how to bait me. Frustratingly, I rise to his challenge every time.
Even tonight, I’m certain once my cock is in his mouth; I’ll be toast.
“I took Adrian Thomas to the club with me a few weeks back.”
My eyes shoot up to meet his.
“The guy with all the piercings from the gym?”
He nods, watching me closely.
