“Life’s full of shitty decisions. What’s another one? And, anyway, since you texted me, I’ve been only getting wetter and wetter in anticipation. So, we’re doing this.”
We’re doing this.
Yeah, he liked this woman.
Not only because she liked sex, but because she was honest. Genuine. Down to Earth.
“Since you texted me back, been hard as a fuckin’ rock.” He could be honest, too.
The hand on his cheek dropped to his lap and she pressed it to the evidence. He covered her hand with his and, lifting his hips a little, encouraged her to stroke him over his jeans.
Yeah, he liked this woman.
She unashamedly liked sex and didn’t play games by acting hard to get. She wanted his dick and wasn’t shy about it.
But tonight, she was getting his mouth first. He’d figure out a way.
He wrapped her fingers around his balls and squeezed. When she kneaded them gently on her own, his breath hitched.
He said the next slowly and carefully, so he didn’t fuck it up because he wanted her to know it wasn’t an option. “Want you to ride my face.”
Right before he turned fifteen, he was trained on how to please a woman with his mouth by an older woman who was very experienced in training boys. Being trained by her was nothing like the ten years spent with his ever-changing male owners. It was completely different.
Once Julian discovered his desire for women—their softness, their motherly instinct, their gentle touches—he remained in the woman’s possession. For the most part willingly.
Even though she was firm with him, she’d been nothing but kind. Her training methods weren’t harsh or painful. The more he tried to please her, the more she spoiled him. For a couple of years, he lived like a prince after a decade of living like a pauper.
She never once called him stupid or retarded. But she also never tried to educate him. Except to pleasure her.
Then once he turned seventeen, grew more body hair and his voice deepened, he was again too old.
But instead of being sold, he was set free.
The only reason he had a good idea of his age was because it was always a selling point when he’d go back on the block to be sold or traded. Every bidder, buyer, or trader was looking for a specific age range. For some that range was narrow, others much wider. Though, sometimes the broker lied about his age. But Julian did his best to keep track.
One thing he never forgot during those years was his birthday because when he needed to escape inside his head, he’d close his eyes and remember the ice cream cake his mother had given him on his fourth birthday. The last birthday he ever celebrated.
None of his owners wanted to make a deal out of his birthday, even if they knew it, because it meant he’d gotten another year older.
No. Not now.
“Are you okay?”
No. “Yeah.”
“You disappeared. Are you having second thoughts?”
“About you? Fuck no.” He slid her hand from around his balls back up his hard shaft. “Proof of how much I want you. Was just tryin’ to figure out the best way to give you my mouth in this fuckin’ car.”
“It would be easier in a bed.”
He only grunted because he couldn’t argue that.
“But who doesn’t like a challenge?” she asked lightly with a shrug.
Yeah, he really, really liked this fucking woman.
“Can you answer a question for me first?”
Christ. Yeah, he liked her, but not all of her damn questions. Having sex in a cage shouldn’t take a lot of conversation. Only an exchange of bodily fluids and orgasms. That was it.
He should say no, but he had a difficult time telling her that. For that reason, he sucked it up. “If you gotta.”
“I do.” She climbed onto his lap, straddling it, and studied his face carefully when she asked, “Why do you want me?”
Her hot, soft pussy was now pressed against his hard-on and she felt the need to ask that? “What d’you mean?” He sank his fingers into the round curves of her ass, realizing she wore thin leggings like the first time he fucked her.
“Shawn...” She raised a hold-on finger between them. “You never told me the other night what you want me to call you. Now I know your name isn’t Shawn, it feels weird calling you that. Do you prefer Julian or Shade?”
Never Julian. “Shade.” Because that was who he was now. He was Julian in a past life. The one he no longer lived. “That the question?”
If what to call him was her question, it was an easy one and he could now move on to burying his face between her thighs. With his mouth busy, he couldn’t answer any more fucking questions.
“No. Am I like... robbing the cradle here?”
Fuck, he hated even the slightest trace of insecurity in her voice. “No.”
“The reason I ask is... I turned forty-one two months ago. How old are you?”
“Not forty-one. Agreed to one question. You asked more than one.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
Again, insecurity colored her question and he needed to make things clear with her so he wouldn’t hear it again.
“Age ain’t nothin’ but a number, beautiful.” He didn’t give a fuck how old she was. He didn’t give a fuck she had two daughters who were practically adults. He gave a fuck about her. End of discussion.
“Sometimes that number matters.”
“Not to me.” Most of his life, he’d been with people older than him. Whether by force or by choice.
The only exceptions had been in the last couple of years with sweet butts, but he avoided tangling with them as much as possible. Mostly because they were nosy and needled him to get naked. They’d get pissy when he’d refuse to answer questions or do anything more than yank down his jeans only enough for them to blow him or let him blow his load inside them.
Since they only served one purpose for him—the whole reason they wanted to be a sweet butt—he would like it better if they left him the fuck alone. He never approached them, they approached him.
But those weren’t the only reasons he avoided the club girls.
After he discovered he liked women, he quickly learned he didn’t prefer younger ones. They always seemed to be too loud, too pushy, too everything. Everything Shade tried to avoid. What might be a turn-on for his brothers, wasn’t for him.
“Wouldn’t give a fuck if you were fifty-one, Chelle.”
“I’d have a problem if my girls dated someone too old.”
“You ain’t too old, beautiful. You’re just right. Don’t see a number, see you. Your girls ain’t done cooking yet. So, yeah, they don’t need someone who’s too old shapin’ their lives, someone who ain’t their smart momma. You’re the only one they should listen to right now for guidance, not a man who wants to mold them to his wishes.” Or needs. Or to fill his sexual desires or perversions.
She frowned. “Are you talking about grooming?”
Fuck, he went too far. He should’ve just shut her up with a fucking kiss. “Somethin’ like that.”
“What do you know about grooming?”
The real question was: what didn’t he know about it?
Christ. “Nothin’. Just sayin’. No more questions. Not tonight. I’m hard for you, Chelle, that’s all you gotta know.”