Down a Notch Page 5

  “Uh, you know I’m not doing this for fun, right?”

  He shrugged as he reattached the bulb to the hose.

  Fuck. He settled his neck between Cris’s thighs. He flexed his hands, which were beginning to feel chilly. His shoulders ached and his elbows longed to straighten. But his head was comfortable in Cris’s lap.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Nine.”

  Almost four and a half hours left. How long could he have his throat fucked by a fake dick? What if he moves to a real— He shut that voice down, stat. Even so, his face flooded with the imagined heat of Cris’s crotch.

  “Ready?” Cris said.

  “Yeah.” He opened his mouth and took the dildo in, teasing it toward his throat, opening up to get past the gag reflex. He could feel it in there, where only food and air were supposed to go. And alcohol. When was he getting more alcohol?

  “Deeper,” Cris said.

  He drew it in another inch or so, until the side of Cris’s hand came to rest against his mouth.

  “Yeah,” Cris said in a low voice. “That’s it.” Slowly, he slid the cock out a few inches, then pushed it back in.

  That hard ridge in Cris’s trousers pressed against Nicky’s skull again.

  Fuck.

  Cris teased the dildo out a few inches again.

  Fuck.

  His own dick throbbed. He shifted his hips, pushed his knee out to the side, opening up his crotch.

  The next time Cris started to pull the dildo back, Nicky folded his tongue and lips around it, sucking as it drew out of his mouth.

  Cris loosed a shaky breath. Nicky suppressed a smile, the cock caught between his teeth. He let it go to take it back in. This time he actively worked it, putting on a show. Wondering when he’d have done enough to make it ‘come.’ Cris started to pull it back again, and Nicky lifted his head, following it, pulling it back. The sensation of the smooth plastic moving over his tongue, into his throat, filling him. It was compelling in a way he had no words for. Cris’s breathing picked up. From below, Nicky watched his nostrils flare. Watched Cris’s tongue dart across his upper lip.

  He wished he had his hands so he could grip Cris’s calves as he did this. Closing his eyes, he sucked and let it into him, felt it pulling out. He chased it with his tongue when Cris drew all but the head out of his mouth, and then opened his throat to welcome it back in.

  “Fuck. Nicky....shit. Shit.”

  He plunged the cock into Nicky’s throat and pumped the bulb until it was spent, Nicky feeling the urge to swallow even though the wine was completely bypassing his mouth. He dug his fingernails into his arms, his throat trying to clench the dildo—and then Cris drew it slowly out, wine-colored saliva threading from the end of it.

  He laid the dildo on his thigh and dropped back on the couch, catching his breath. “Nice show.”

  “I think I deserve more wine for that.”

  “You do.” He swung his leg over Nicky’s head and got up to retrieve the bottle.

  When he came back, he settled himself on the floor beside him. Leaning in, he put the mouth of the bottle to Nicky’s lips and tipped it up to allow him to drink.

  “Ahhh,” Nicky said after his allotted swallows.

  “Nick?”

  “Yeah?”

  Cris took a swig from the bottle himself. As he settled back against the couch, he shook his head instead of saying anything. They sat in silence, Nicky’s cock throbbing in his pants. He was trying not to imagine the obvious route they were traveling on, but questions kept bobbing up: would he just be mouth fucked? Or would there be kissing? Would he get to get off, or would he be sent back across the street with a set of blue bowling balls in his jeans?

  How often did Cris do this? How’d he get away with it?

  Was he going to do anything about this, after he was free?

  Do what? Call the cops? Tell his bandmates?

  Cris took another swig, the wine sloshing in the bottle. The clock ticked on.

  He itched between his shoulder blades, and the way his arms were bound, he couldn’t quite scratch it against the couch cushion.

  And the gag still sat on the table, at the edge of his vision. Drawing him to it.

  “So what’s next?” he said finally, unable to take it any longer.

  Cris laughed lightly as he rested his head back. “So many choices.”

  Nicky studied him, the sharp bones in his face, the line of his throat. He watched him lift the bottle to his red lips. His Adam’s apple slid up and down as he swallowed. He had one leg stretched out in front of him, like Nicky, and their lengths almost matched.

  He felt ridiculous again, trussed up and sitting there. His skin prickled at how must look.

  Cris held out the bottle, offering with a lift of his eyebrow.

  Nicky drank. And drank.

  Wine dribbled down his chin, and still he drank, closing his eyes, taking every gulp Cris poured into him, Cris on his knees now, looking down at him as he lifted the bottle higher, his other hand cradling the back of Nicky’s head. He could feel the man’s intent stare on his face, and the wine kept coming. The dribble skated under his chin, made its way toward his neck. Cris tipped the bottle all the way up, and Nicky drank down the final few swallows.

  When the bottle came away, he gasped for breath, and managed to get only half of one in before Cris’s mouth was against his, so quick and hot and unexpected that Nicky gasped again, his lips drawing back. His still-open mouth let Cris’s tongue in. The pad of Cris’s thumb made him swallow as it slid up his throat, catching the dribble, wiping all the way up its trail, until he had Nicky’s chin cradled in the crook of his hand.

  Cris tasted like wine and heat, and Nicky’s mouth was hungry to be used again: dildos, gags, Cris. Fill it with something. His lips tingled from the wine; his head had gone fuzzy. He started to turn his face away, but Cris’s fingers dug in, turning him back. He licked inside Nicky’s mouth again, and Nicky licked back, sharing the last heat of the wine.

  Cris drew away, only by an inch or two, their noses close enough to rub. He pushed a hand between Nicky and the couch. When the tugging started, Nicky realized what was happening. He tried to lift his back away from the couch to give Cris room, but Cris’s hand on his throat held him in place.

  The belt loosened around his arms. It dropped free. Sweat between his hands and forearms would have made it easy to pull the rest of him free, but he waited, Cris’s hand moving down his chest, against the thud-thud of his heart. He waited, watching Cris. Aching. Thinking about how he was going to grab him as soon as his hands were free. Grab him and pull back in for another kiss. Pull him down on the floor, on top of him, their cocks grinding through their clothes.

  Another belt came free. Air slipped in against his hot, damp skin. His shoulders let him know with a soft ache that they’d been strained for the past God-knew-how-long.

  Cris switched hands, leaning across him to fumble behind his back with the final buckle.

  Nicky crooked his knee and leaned it against Cris’s hip. Pressing. Breathing quick, shallow breaths. Wanting.

  The belt slipped free, leather sliding in sweat. Cris dropped it on the floor. Nicky’s elbows gave a sharp complaint as he unfolded them behind his back. He brought his arms forward, reaching for Cris’s hips, and Cris pulled away and stood in one smooth, efficient motion.

  Nicky curled a hand around his calf. His thumb caressed restlessly against Cris’s trousers.

  “Get out of here,” Cris said, his voice throaty the way Blake’s got after hours of trying to lay down vocal tracks in the studio.

  Now? Fucking now? His eyes hit on the ball gag lying on the table, the empty wine bottle on its side on the floor. The toes of Cris’s black boots. His fingers tightened on Cris’s calf. He was being let go. He was being set free.

  He’d be a fool not to take it, never mind what his dick said.

  Get out of here now. His arms were shaky as he used them to hoist himself to h
is feet. His footing was unsure, like he’d just stepped off a boat.

  It wasn’t 1:26 yet. It wasn’t anywhere near 1:26.

  His jeans were just as crowded as when he’d walked in here.

  “Go, before the rest of your band sends a search party out looking for you.” Cris raked a hand through his hair, drawing it back from his face. His mouth was wine-red—kissing red. His throat was flushed against the white collar of his shirt, and the shirt was dotted with wine stains, damp splotches of burgundy.

  “Fucking cock tease,” Nicky said. He snatched his shirt up from the floor, his face pulsing with heat. Pissed off that he was pissed off at being let go. “Stay the fuck away from me from now on,” he said as he headed for the door, tossing his shirt over his shoulder. Strap marks red against his arms.

  Cris didn’t say anything.

  Nicky slammed the door on his way out.

  He pulled his shirt on in the elevator. It didn’t cover the marks. He stalked across the road to his own hotel, his cock cramped and cranky in his jeans. The wine was going to his head. In the elevator back up to his own floor, he braced a hand against the wall and stared at the handrail.

  A frigid shower took care of his swollen cock. He didn’t risk examining the damage from the hunk of metal until he was so cold his teeth knocked together. Then he stretched his soft cock out and rubbed his thumb over the red dents left by the steel teeth. No skin was broken. The marks would fade eventually, but right now, with his skin turning pale-ish blue under the cold water, they showed up like brands. He closed his fist around them. His other hand shook as he cranked off the faucet.

  He scrubbed himself with a dry towel, shivering against it. When he bit his lip, he could still taste Cris—and the coppery pain of the split his ring had put there.

  Under the covers of his hotel bed, his body twitched, trying to warm up. He had the freedom of his arms, but could still feel the tension in his muscles from having them held behind him for so long. At the very thought, the feeling of having his arms bound came back to him like a ghost.

  The hardness of the floor grinding under his knees.

  Cris’s quick breaths.

  The burgundy splotches on his shirt.

  His throat opened at the memory of the plastic dildo going down it.

  This was Cris’s fucking fault.

  He wished he had some of those belts now, to keep his hands away from his cock. It was throbbing again. Weeping on the sheet. He rolled onto his stomach and shoved his arms under the pillow. He didn’t know what he was doing, or why, but he was determined to make it through the night without jerking off.

  But the thoughts forcing themselves into his consciousness—of Cris’s mouth, of Cris’s hands on him, of a ring gag being strapped into his mouth, and what that meant was in store for him—made for a long, slow, sleepless wait for a new day to roll in and overwrite the last one.

  ###

  Out Now

  Down Another Notch, the sequel to Down a Notch

  The heat’s cranked all the way up in this steaming sequel to “Down a Notch.” Guitarist Nicky Hazard no longer has a chastity device locked on, but he’s in no way free. Needs he doesn’t understand send him back to enigmatic singer Cris Warren, where he begs for the game to continue.

  "Down Another Notch" is a 24,000-word gay (m/m) erotic story featuring chastity, edging, denial, bondage, domination, submission, control, release, and a connection neither man can understand or walk away from.

  Find it at your favorite ebook retailer.

  Also by Zoe X. Rider

  “Whiskey & Bedposts” (Breaking In Bryce #1)

  “Skin in the Game”

  “Coming Clean”

  “Hotel Rooms (and Their Deleterious Effects)”

  “Caught in Cuffs”

  Available April 15, 2014 from Loose ID: Games Boys Play

  As Holden Wells

  Roughing It

  “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love”

  Zoe X. Rider writes dark and erotic fiction, usually featuring musicians. She doesn’t think twice about driving eight and a half hours to a dark armpit of a club to see a favorite band. She can’t play music (seriously: do not ask her to sing), but her life runs on it. When she’s not chasing bands the way some people chase tornados, she spends her time at home in the Appalachian mountains with two dogs and a very patient partner, who thinks she should get out more in the daylight hours—and not just to drive to another venue. Reading and eating are her other hobbies. Her favorite foods include Milky Way candy bars, collard greens, NY strip steak with butter, soy-mustard roasted Brussels sprouts, and rum milkshakes. (Milkshakes are a food, right?)

  Her first novel, Games Boys Play, will be released by Loose Id in 2014.

  Zoe can be found at www.zoexrider.com, zoexrider.tumblr.com, zoexxxrider.tumblr.com (NSFW), twitter.com/zoexrider and facebook.com/zoexrider.

  Table of Contents

  Summary

  Down a Notch

  Also by Zoe X. Rider