Page 78 of Bruised

I lean in and whisper into his ear, “Want to have some fun, puppy?”

There. Back to our regular program: just sex. No attachments.

Lane looks over his shoulder and asks, “Some… fun?” As if he doesn’t know exactly what I mean.

I tug his shirt over his head, and he lifts his arms to allow me to slide it all the way off. His cheeks are bright pink as he looks back at me over his shoulder, eyes narrow, as if he’s saying, “Do you really have to?” But he doesn’t try to get away.

“Keep still now.” I take his wrists and place them on his lower back in a silent command to keep them there. Lane keeps wriggling, but it’s more out of a desire to feel my bulge rather than an attempt to escape me.

I strip him naked, pulling his pants down to his ankles before yanking them off along with his socks and underwear.

He lies panting on his stomach, the sun painting the faint hairs on his body golden. He looks back at me with a glare, as if to say, “Was that really necessary?”

I only grin and grab the sachet of lube from my wallet, then I smear the contents around his rim. It’s a special sort of treat to be fully clothed while Lane is naked and squirming underneath me.

I push a finger inside him, straddling his thighs. I could stay clothed and unbuckle my jeans and get my cock out, but the heat is making sweat run down my spine, so I wrestle out of my shirt and get rid of my pants while I’m at it.

Two fingers now. Lane has gotten pretty skilled at relaxing his hole, so it doesn’t take much before I can slide them in and out with only a quiet moan in response.

“Ready for more, puppy?” I ask, nudging the head of my cock between his cheeks.

He nods, and his body goes still and pliant, but his attitude is more of a “fine” rather than his usual “yes, please.”

I frown as I grip my shaft and ease myself inside, rocking into him in slow, languid thrusts. The wind rustles the trees above us, and birds chirp in the bushes nearby, but I pay none of it any mind. We’re not completely alone, but at least we’re safe from Oliver’s prying eyes.

When Lane reaches for my hand, I evade his touch and press his wrists once more to his lower back. No soft touches like that. Only fucking.

I thrust into him harder, part his legs wider, my balls slapping his ass in a determined rhythm, barreling me toward orgasm. It doesn’t feel as good as it usually does, but I don’t care. I just need to come inside him and show him what’s mine. Show myself I can treat him like the quick and easy fuck he was always supposed to be.

When it’s over, I pull out and pry his cheeks apart to study his clenching little hole, wet with lube and my cum leaking out of him.

This is all he is to me: my puppy. My little fuckhole. Nothing more. He can’t be anything more. If he gets any closer, he’ll find out who I really am—what I did. And he’ll leave.

He lies panting, still on his stomach with his hands behind his back, unsatisfied. I would make him come, but something about this whole encounter makes me feel dirty. It feels wrong. Like I did something I shouldn’t have.

All the conflicted feelings fight inside me until I can’t fucking take it anymore. I can’t touch him anymore. I don’t deserve to.

I get out a packet of wet wipes, clean myself off quickly, and pull my clothes back on. Lane gets the hint soon enough. He rolls over, wipes himself between his legs, and starts dressing himself, tugging his underwear over his still-hard dick.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, frowning.

No. Nothing. I’m the one who did something wrong, but I can’t say that to you or admit it to myself, so all I can do is ignore it and hope it goes away.

I pack up our shit, and Lane follows me back to the car and sits in the passenger seat with no complaint. Even when I’ve just treated him like a fuck toy, he doesn’t seem annoyed with me. Just confused.

As we make our way back to the house, he looks out the windows, resting his cheek in his palm. He doesn’t point out any landmarks this time.

Fuck, what have I done?

I grit my teeth and head onto the interstate, and just then, police sirens blare from behind.

What the fuck?

My heart kicks up a beat, and a slew of irrational thoughts race through my head.

Is it me they’re after? I broke my parole rules, and I had semi-public sex. Have I ruined my life twice over?

The police sirens come closer, closer, before they pass in a whirl of red and blue lights.