Page 33 of Saving Pookie

I can't want this, though. I can'thave this. Can't have him.

Braxton's hand crawls higher and higher until the only option left is to remove it completely. I hold my hands over my head and let him rip the shirt from my body, tossing it onto the ground beside us. He shifts his hand to my stomach and pulls my body closer to his.

Our bodies stick together like glue, my slick back on his sweaty chest.

I've never felt so fucking unchained, so fucking free in my life. I drape my head back, landing on the crux of his shoulder. He nuzzles me there, blowing hot breaths that smell of strawberries and mint against the side of my neck.

I rock into him, doing things no gay boy should be doing to a straight boy. And I swear I can feel somethingcoming to life behind me. Or maybe it's just his normal girth. Whatever the case, I need more. He doesn't seem to mind, either. He glides a hand over the waistband of my shorts, taunting and teasing, promising to inch lower, but never quite does. Stays there on the waistband, pressing harder and harder.

Fucking hell.

I'm tenting in my briefs, my cock fighting to tear through the cotton fabric first and then straight through my shorts. It throbs to the melody of the music, like the music itself is the cause for my impossibly hard erection. I palm my hand over his and guide him down until he brushes over my hardness.

He jerks away, backs up, and I know I've fucked up.

I turn slowly to him, but there's no sign of distress on his face. He pumps his fists in front of his face and pulls me back against his body, his nose brushing mine. I drop my gaze to his shorts to find his cock poking straight outward. That's why I don't wear boxers. It's impossible to hide arousal.

Braxton doesn't seem to know he's aroused though. Or maybe he does. Maybe he doesn't care. But surely, it's the drugs.

It can't be me.

A chill quakes from within. Braxton warned me the chills would come and go in waves, and even knowing that, it's still alarming. Here I am, sweating profusely on the dancefloor, and I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a blizzard.

He pushes the gum to the side of his mouth, leans forward, and scream-shouts into my ear, "Are you okay?"

I answer with a nod.

"Let me know if you're not, and we'll go get some air or water."

I nod again. Words feel too heavy right now. Too strenuous to force out.

Braxton's eyes search the crowd and then come to a rest. His face contorts into a groan and he immediately grabs me by the wrist and pulls me into the crowd.

I want to ask him where we're going, but again... words are hard. And I'm a follower, so I follow him. He finds another small opening in the crowd, pulls his shorts up to cover his boxers, and backs himself up against me. His ass isn't making full contact with my dick, but close enough so that every time he throws it back, I have to force myself not to throw it forward.

I don't think I've ever noticed his ass before. Not like this. Firm, round, and muscular. Shaking it like he's being paid for it, which I suppose is how he makes his living. Hell, I've seen his asshole up close at the bar and still never quite noticed him like this.

A hand drapes over my shoulder. I drop my gaze to see pink fingernails tapping on the skin of my chest. "Hi, Pookie."

Before I can turn around to see who's standing behind me, Braxton's dragging me away again. He pulls me through the crowd, and I catch a quick glimpse of Tamra alone in the crowd behind us. There are more people on this side of the warehouse, packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Braxton does his best to fight his way through, but it becomes a losing battle. His slick fingers break free from mine, and I'm swept out to sea.

I stand in place, turning in a circle, searching for him. But it's unfamiliar face after unfamiliar face. Strangers dancing. Strangers fighting through the crowd. Hundreds of shirtless men and scantily clad women. Tits in my face. Someone steps on my toes, apologizes, and continues on their way.

An ice-cold drink spills on my shoulder.

My chest tightens as the swarm tightens around me. I can't find Braxton right now. I just have to get the fuck out of this fucking traffic jam. I throw the weight of my body behind my shoulder and charge through the crowd, not stopping for anything. I become the guy stepping on people's feet and knocking their drinks out of their hands.

By the time I find the outer wall, I'm fully spent and gasping for air. Relief comes fast, though, washing over me like a bucket of water. Relief turns to cold as the chills return. And then the familiar sensation of euphoria as I lean against the wall and just watch the chaos all around me.

Beautiful fucking chaos.

I roll my head against the wall and spot a well-endowed man getting his cock sucked by a twink in a leopard thong. The man winks slyly at me and grabs the twink by the back of his head, guiding him over his cock.

To my other side, there's the bathroom, and I figure I might as well take a quick piss before trying to battle my way back through the crowd to find Braxton. I round the corner to find that it's completely pitch black inside. I stick to the inner wall, running my hands along the surface as I search for the light switch.

"Fuck," I moan, the music outside fading more and more the further I descend into the bathroom that never ends. And then I run into a warm body, hot and sweaty. I prepare to ask this man I can't see where the light is, but he seals my lips closed with his own. He pushes me back against the wall, pinning me to it with a knee forced between my crotch.

"This... isn't... a bathroom?" I question with a raspy huff.