Page 8 of Filthy Rock Stars

The words slide out before I can think about them, and he moans.

I shove my hand in my pants. The relief of gripping my cock pulls a shudder through me. “I’m going to jerk off while I suck you,” I tell him, my knees on the grass.

“Hell yeah. I’m already pouring like a hose.” His hand brushes my face. “Every time you tremble, I think I’m going to shoot.”

I swallow his cock, ravenous. Gurgly noises escape my throat, and precum pours into my hand, slicking my grip as I pump myself.

The spectacular thrill of doing this, actually doing this, tears through me. I’m here, wind tossing through the trees, a cock grinding into the back of my throat.

I’m alive.

I come first. My orgasm hits me out of nowhere, and I collapse against his weight and the tree as I spray. He’s buried in my face, both hands on my cheeks, and his crown thuds and pulses against the back of my throat as I climax, devastated by pleasure.

He convulses and dumps his hot load in my mouth, and I spasm and spray all over again.

“Fuck,” I gasp when I finally pull off for air, all my muscles weak.

“Yeah, foo,” he agrees.

I laugh. When I rub my mouth, I realize with surprise that I’ve swallowed his semen.

The man tucks himself back in his pants, and as I stand and do the same, he pulls me into a quick kiss. I’m dizzy, but the cool air helps pull me back to my senses, and when I look around, the park lights are illuminating the path in the distance, slivers of light through the trees.

He gives me a smile and gestures in the direction of his bike. “After you.”

“Wow,” I say as we step back into the park. “It’s so quiet. Were we loud?”

He slings his arm over my shoulder, surprising me. “You were perfectly composed and reserved,” he says. “A true gentleman of the park.”

I laugh and lean in to his weight. I’m loopy enough and drowned in orgasmic chemicals that I don’t stop myself from wanting it. “This might not be a big deal to you,” I tell him. My knees are wobbly, but I keep my voice steady. “You might do this kind of thing all the time. But I’m never going to forget this.”

He chuckles. “I don’t do this all the time. And I won’t forget it either.”

“I think I figured out what your story is.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, his voice suddenly tight.

“You want people to think you’re trouble. That’s why you’ve got the motorcycle and the tattoos and the choppy haircut.”

He rubs his hand over his head. “Is that right?”

“But I think you’re actually a good guy. I think you’re just a regular, good guy with a geeky side and everything.” I glance at him with a playful smile. “And who likes to get in a little bit of trouble.”

“Hey,” he teases, his voice low and steady, “I’m not the one who brought up my kink.”

I laugh. “Okay. Fair. But that’s my guess. Your secret identity is that you’re a nice guy.”

We arrive at the motorcycle, waiting on the street, and he pulls his arm off my shoulder. He’s got a funny, crooked smile, and he gives me a nod.

“Thank you for saying that. It’s what I needed to hear tonight.”

“I guess you picked me up for a reason.”

He reaches out and cups my cheek. “More than one. Can I drop you somewhere?”

“I got it from here,” I say and toe the sidewalk, tingling until he pulls his hand away. “Do we leave it like this? I don’t know how this kind of thing works.”

He scratches his beard. “I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s just…seeing you again would be complicated.”

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