Page 52 of Saving Pookie

I groan at the thought. I haven't been sleeping much lately, and I'm already on edge about this group scene for other, non-Gunnar-related reasons. Any other time, I wouldn't need any prodding because I love fighting with Gunnar. He's a certified goddamn prick. Today, though... "I was really hoping for a laid-back brunch with my friends."

"Gunnar isn't your friend," Talon so helpfully points out as he pops a tablet into his mouth, which I'm guessing is his adult candy. "He's your mortal enemy. Besides, he's aware you're coming for him, so he'll be ready for you."

"Great," I huff. "And what exactly are my grievances?"

He shrugs with a chuckle. "I'd suggest you figure that out before he strangles you for the comments you made about him being a mama's boy and getting kicked out of the Marines."

"Seriously?" I frown. "He's still pissed about that?"

He taps me on the shoulder again. "He's gunning for you. Saddle up, buddy."

He leaves me standing alone, and there's an itch I can't quite scratch—the itch to run away before I'm forced to face reality, and I'm not talking about fucking Gunnar. As I take my seat in between Boone and Dixon, I catch a glimpse of Pookie on the other side of the table.

One glance is all it takes.

Those goddamn puppy eyes, dark and mysterious, and hungry for this dick.

And look, I'm still not gay.

Sure, it—the sex—felt good.

His hole, so warm and tender, clenching and squeezing. Felt just like a pussy. Mmm, maybe slightly better? Fuck, I don't know.

I catch him looking again.

Fuckkkkkk. I can't even look the dude in the eyes. I'm always looking anywhere—over his shoulder, over my shoulder, at the wall behind him. I think he's starting to notice. This morning, he walked around the apartment with his head hung low, avoiding eye contact with me too. I hope he doesn't think he did anything wrong, because he didn't. If anyone did anything wrong, it was me. I shouldn't have done that. But ya know, my mouth likes running its mouth, and my dick... well, it likes things that dicks are prone to liking.

Hot, warm mouths.

Tongues.

Tight, smooth, warm holes.

Little guy just likes to feel real good, ya know?

I'm a giver. That's what I do. I give. You should see me during Christmas time. You get a present, you get a present, everyone gets a present!My cock was a birthday gift to Pookie, which actually makes me extremely generous. The problem is that it's a few days past his birthday, and I find myself wanting to unload another present inside him.

I was watching porn on my phone last night while safely tucked under the covers in my bed, the bright screen lighting up the wall behind me. Stud pounds college girl in her dorm after party. Real good amateur shit. On a normal night, I'd finish before the seven-minute clip ended. I was on my third video, and though my cock was reactive, it wasn't erupting the way it should. I beat my cock raw and red, dancing on the edge of release but not quite making it over the ledge.

I closed my eyes as I continued to pump my swollen, aching cock, and all too soon the woman's moans of pleasure deepened until it was the sound of Pookie's cries coming from my phone. Even though he was across the hall, sleeping in his own bed, I imagined he was face down on my bed, taking my dick like a professional slut. Took about twenty more seconds, and my fist was coated in a thick load of hot, sticky regret.

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I saw was my cock winking at me. It'd climbed through the cock-slit of my boxers. Harder than a fucking rock and leaking at the tip. I didn't have much time to battle my cock's new proclivities, though, so I beat my meat thinking about him. Thinking about fucking his ass, turning him over, and painting his lips with my jizz. In the end, it was my own lips that were painted with my own cum as I exploded in my fist and sprayed my face.

And now we're here, having to pretend we're just friends in front of the camera.

What the fuck, bro?We are justfriends. Nothing has changed. Nothing needsto change.

The cameras start rolling, and everything is going well enough. Nobody is fighting yet, but I keep catching stray glares from Gunnar. I watch as he takes a long sip of water, his dark eyes peeking over the glass. Truth be told, I'd rather confront his bitch-ass than confront Pookie's sweet ass.

I choke on my own water in a desperate attempt to stuff the thought of Pookie's ass down, but it's a hard pill to swallow, and the continued memory of Pookie's warmth gets lodged somewhere halfway down my throat. I hold a hand against my chest, trying to relieve the choking sensation, but my mind wanders—as it tends to do—to the thought of Pookie's throat and how fucking good it felt on my cock.

I wince at the intrusive thoughts and push away the images playing in my mind. Instead, I think about how good it'd feel to wrangle my hands around Gunnar's throat. It's thick and veiny, and...

"How dare you?" I seethe at Gunnar across the table. Confronting him is the only way to shake Pookie from my mind. "You're a real piece of shit, you know that?"

Gunnar grins and nods. He's been waiting for this. "I'm the piece of shit?" he asks rhetorically. Maverick's eyes dance between the two of us, clearly caught off guard by the sudden excitement. "Please tell me what I've done to you."

"You know what you did." I wag my finger at him and grit my teeth, desperately trying to remember what exactly he's done to me. I glance at Talon, who stands behind the filming crew, hoping for a cue card or something. It never comes. "I..." I sink back in my chair and spit out whatever the fuck decides to come out of my mouth. "You never paid me back for that lap dance I bought you at The Golden Heel."