Target on Our Backs
Page 38
I dance.
Naz mostly stands there, but I can feel him slightly swaying along, in tune with the beat. Two songs pass, or maybe it's three, before the sound of Bell Biv DeVoe rocks through the speakers.
Poison.
I'm surprised he's giving me this much, but I know it won't last, and I'll probably never get a repeat, so I'm going to make the most of it. Pulling from his grip, I turn around in his arms, glancing at him.
He's singing.
Holy shit, he's singing.
Okay, so not really, because not a sound is coming from his lips, but he's damn sure mouthing the lyrics, which means he knows them. He stops when he realizes I've seen it, and he just stares down at me, but it's too damn late.
I caught him.
"Ignazio Michele Vitale," I say playfully, intentionally flubbing the middle name, just to get more of a rise out of him. "I can't believe you were singing a song from the eighties."
"You were seeing things."
"I don't think so," I say. "I think maybe you like that song. I mean, I know it's no Hotline Bling, but..."
His eyes narrow slightly as his hands slip down, around, resting on my ass. "It's also not from the eighties."
"Of course it is."
"No," he says. "It came out in 1990. I was in middle school. I remember it."
I want to argue but he's probably right, and well, I hadn't been born yet, so I certainly don't remember it. "Well, whatever... doesn't change the fact that you were singing, old man."
His eyes darken when I say that.
It sends a chill down my spine.
"Keep talking to me like that," he says, "and I'll fuck your throat so hard you'll never speak again."
There's no emotion in his voice.
It's matter of fact.
Jesus Christ, that's almost terrifying, but for some reason, I get a thrill out of it. "What if I like that idea?"
"Me destroying your voice box?"
"No, you fucking my throat," I say. "Sounds like it could be a good time."
I don't know what's come over me.
Hell, I'm turned on by the thought of it. Goose bumps cover every inch of my sweaty skin. He's always been one to turn away from a blowjob. I've never had him take initiative in that department.
He stops moving and stares at me, eyes scanning my face, like maybe he isn't sure what to say. After a moment, he pulls away, snatching the drink from my hand. He sniffs it just like I did before taking a sip.
"Water," he says, like he thought maybe I'd broken my promise and had been drinking tonight.
"Yep."
Nodding, he downs the rest of it, before grabbing my hand and pulling me off the dance floor, tossing the empty cup in the trashcan as we pass it. I think maybe we're leaving, like he decided it was time for me to go home, and I look around for Melody, to say goodbye, having no idea where she ran off to with Leo.
But once outside, Naz diverts a surprising direction, veering away from the street, instead into a small nearby alley. Oh my god, he can't be serious. He stops about halfway down it, but I've still got a wide-open view of the street, where anyone can walk by anytime and see me.
"Are you...?" I stare at him incredulously as he starts undoing his pants, unbuckling them. "You're serious. You want to, I mean... here?"
"Figured it wouldn't be a problem," he says, "since you like the idea of being watched and all."
Somewhere, deep inside of me, resides a prim and proper lady, one with a sense of modesty, one who doesn't say 'fuck' very much... if ever at all. She's pretty, and kind, and blushes like a virgin at the very idea of ever dirtying her reputation. That girl is frantically shaking her head, shouting that this is preposterous. We can't just do that here. It's completely insane.
But another is holding that girl captive.
This one has a bit of a wild streak.
This one says, "Fuck it."
"You sure about this?" he asks. "I need you to tell me."
"Uh, sure," I say. "I'm sure."
He gets his pants unbuttoned and grabs my arm, pulling me around, pushing me back against the side of the brick building, into the shadows. He's rough as he shoves me down to the ground, and I hiss when my bare knees hit the filthy asphalt.
Shit, that hurts.
He grabs my head, wrapping crimped hair around his fist, jerking my head toward him as I cringe.
"Open your mouth," he growls, and I'm so damn surprised I can do nothing but oblige. He pulls himself free with his other hand, stroking it, before guiding my open mouth at him.
Whoa.
One thrust, one stroke, and I'm already struggling as he forces me down onto him, sliding the whole way down my throat. I'm trying not to gag... trying... and trying... but he's too big and a hell of a lot harder than I remember him being. I choke as he bucks his hips, fucking my throat, his balls slapping against my chin. I don't want to bite him but my jaw clenches in response, and I can feel my teeth grazing against him, over and over. He growls at the sensation, and I know it has to hurt, but instead of easing up on me, it just sends him into a bigger frenzy.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He's watching me the whole time. I can feel his eyes on my face. I peek up curiously, meeting his stern gaze. There's something in his expression, darkness I can't shake. His grip on my hair tightens as he pulls my head up, forcing it back, opening my throat more to him.
"Relax," he whispers. "Relax your throat."
I try to listen to him, but well, how? How the fuck can I relax when I can barely breathe, when my eyes are starting to water because of it. He looks almost angry, like I'm disappointing him, but I don't know what to do.
I've never done this.
It's only a minute.
Maybe two.
I don't know.
He yanks me off of him, and I inhale sharply, sucking in a gulp of air. I'm breathing heavily, frantically, as he strokes himself, fast and hard.
He's not messing around.
His hand is still tangled in my hair. I watch in awe as he pleasures himself. It can't be more than another minute before he pulls me back to him, again thrusting down my throat.
One stroke, and that's it.
I can feel it when he spills in my mouth. The bitterness gags me, but I force it down. Tilting his head back, Naz groans, loosening his hold and pausing his movements as I suck him.
There's a noise near the alley. Movement. Voices. Naz moves away from me, and before I can even get a grip on what's happening, he pulls me to my feet. He's tucking himself back away, fixing his pants, while I just stand there, startled, unsure what to do about anything. I run my fingers through my hair... not like it'll make a difference.
Before I can stress over any of it too much, Naz pulls me toward him, putting his arm around my shoulder as he steers me down the alley, toward the disruption. The club is getting out already.
Where did this night go?
I'm nervous, maybe irrationally. I don't know. My body is trembling as I tuck in at his side, almost like I'm shrinking away. Did he even enjoy that?
"You did good," he whispers, like he can sense my worries. Naz was always good at reading me.
I peek up at him, seeing a lazy smile on his lips. It's like a burden was lifted from the man's shoulders. Okay, maybe he did enjoy it.
Naz mostly stands there, but I can feel him slightly swaying along, in tune with the beat. Two songs pass, or maybe it's three, before the sound of Bell Biv DeVoe rocks through the speakers.
Poison.
I'm surprised he's giving me this much, but I know it won't last, and I'll probably never get a repeat, so I'm going to make the most of it. Pulling from his grip, I turn around in his arms, glancing at him.
He's singing.
Holy shit, he's singing.
Okay, so not really, because not a sound is coming from his lips, but he's damn sure mouthing the lyrics, which means he knows them. He stops when he realizes I've seen it, and he just stares down at me, but it's too damn late.
I caught him.
"Ignazio Michele Vitale," I say playfully, intentionally flubbing the middle name, just to get more of a rise out of him. "I can't believe you were singing a song from the eighties."
"You were seeing things."
"I don't think so," I say. "I think maybe you like that song. I mean, I know it's no Hotline Bling, but..."
His eyes narrow slightly as his hands slip down, around, resting on my ass. "It's also not from the eighties."
"Of course it is."
"No," he says. "It came out in 1990. I was in middle school. I remember it."
I want to argue but he's probably right, and well, I hadn't been born yet, so I certainly don't remember it. "Well, whatever... doesn't change the fact that you were singing, old man."
His eyes darken when I say that.
It sends a chill down my spine.
"Keep talking to me like that," he says, "and I'll fuck your throat so hard you'll never speak again."
There's no emotion in his voice.
It's matter of fact.
Jesus Christ, that's almost terrifying, but for some reason, I get a thrill out of it. "What if I like that idea?"
"Me destroying your voice box?"
"No, you fucking my throat," I say. "Sounds like it could be a good time."
I don't know what's come over me.
Hell, I'm turned on by the thought of it. Goose bumps cover every inch of my sweaty skin. He's always been one to turn away from a blowjob. I've never had him take initiative in that department.
He stops moving and stares at me, eyes scanning my face, like maybe he isn't sure what to say. After a moment, he pulls away, snatching the drink from my hand. He sniffs it just like I did before taking a sip.
"Water," he says, like he thought maybe I'd broken my promise and had been drinking tonight.
"Yep."
Nodding, he downs the rest of it, before grabbing my hand and pulling me off the dance floor, tossing the empty cup in the trashcan as we pass it. I think maybe we're leaving, like he decided it was time for me to go home, and I look around for Melody, to say goodbye, having no idea where she ran off to with Leo.
But once outside, Naz diverts a surprising direction, veering away from the street, instead into a small nearby alley. Oh my god, he can't be serious. He stops about halfway down it, but I've still got a wide-open view of the street, where anyone can walk by anytime and see me.
"Are you...?" I stare at him incredulously as he starts undoing his pants, unbuckling them. "You're serious. You want to, I mean... here?"
"Figured it wouldn't be a problem," he says, "since you like the idea of being watched and all."
Somewhere, deep inside of me, resides a prim and proper lady, one with a sense of modesty, one who doesn't say 'fuck' very much... if ever at all. She's pretty, and kind, and blushes like a virgin at the very idea of ever dirtying her reputation. That girl is frantically shaking her head, shouting that this is preposterous. We can't just do that here. It's completely insane.
But another is holding that girl captive.
This one has a bit of a wild streak.
This one says, "Fuck it."
"You sure about this?" he asks. "I need you to tell me."
"Uh, sure," I say. "I'm sure."
He gets his pants unbuttoned and grabs my arm, pulling me around, pushing me back against the side of the brick building, into the shadows. He's rough as he shoves me down to the ground, and I hiss when my bare knees hit the filthy asphalt.
Shit, that hurts.
He grabs my head, wrapping crimped hair around his fist, jerking my head toward him as I cringe.
"Open your mouth," he growls, and I'm so damn surprised I can do nothing but oblige. He pulls himself free with his other hand, stroking it, before guiding my open mouth at him.
Whoa.
One thrust, one stroke, and I'm already struggling as he forces me down onto him, sliding the whole way down my throat. I'm trying not to gag... trying... and trying... but he's too big and a hell of a lot harder than I remember him being. I choke as he bucks his hips, fucking my throat, his balls slapping against my chin. I don't want to bite him but my jaw clenches in response, and I can feel my teeth grazing against him, over and over. He growls at the sensation, and I know it has to hurt, but instead of easing up on me, it just sends him into a bigger frenzy.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He's watching me the whole time. I can feel his eyes on my face. I peek up curiously, meeting his stern gaze. There's something in his expression, darkness I can't shake. His grip on my hair tightens as he pulls my head up, forcing it back, opening my throat more to him.
"Relax," he whispers. "Relax your throat."
I try to listen to him, but well, how? How the fuck can I relax when I can barely breathe, when my eyes are starting to water because of it. He looks almost angry, like I'm disappointing him, but I don't know what to do.
I've never done this.
It's only a minute.
Maybe two.
I don't know.
He yanks me off of him, and I inhale sharply, sucking in a gulp of air. I'm breathing heavily, frantically, as he strokes himself, fast and hard.
He's not messing around.
His hand is still tangled in my hair. I watch in awe as he pleasures himself. It can't be more than another minute before he pulls me back to him, again thrusting down my throat.
One stroke, and that's it.
I can feel it when he spills in my mouth. The bitterness gags me, but I force it down. Tilting his head back, Naz groans, loosening his hold and pausing his movements as I suck him.
There's a noise near the alley. Movement. Voices. Naz moves away from me, and before I can even get a grip on what's happening, he pulls me to my feet. He's tucking himself back away, fixing his pants, while I just stand there, startled, unsure what to do about anything. I run my fingers through my hair... not like it'll make a difference.
Before I can stress over any of it too much, Naz pulls me toward him, putting his arm around my shoulder as he steers me down the alley, toward the disruption. The club is getting out already.
Where did this night go?
I'm nervous, maybe irrationally. I don't know. My body is trembling as I tuck in at his side, almost like I'm shrinking away. Did he even enjoy that?
"You did good," he whispers, like he can sense my worries. Naz was always good at reading me.
I peek up at him, seeing a lazy smile on his lips. It's like a burden was lifted from the man's shoulders. Okay, maybe he did enjoy it.
