Adore (On My Knees Duet Book 2), Page 2

  The plug is thick enough to stretch me, and it’s deep enough that if I move in certain ways, it grazes my p-spot. I’ve sort of worked out what movements lead to that, but sometimes they can’t be avoided. Like leaning down to pull up boxer-briefs…or ducking into a car.

  My phone, on the shelf, vibrates just then. I step over to it, gritting my molars as I try to grab it without moving my legs. There’s a text: Hi V, check your porch! Your order has arrived! –DC

  “Fuckk.”

  Moving down the stairs has me doubled over by the time I reach the bottom, hard as steel with my damn balls so full, they feel stuffed into my briefs.

  I clench around the plug and get a deep breath. As I walk toward the door, I try to think of something to deflate my dick. A cemetery. Spiders. Those commercials with sad puppies in cages. Fucking hell, man. I’m still mostly hard, my cock tucked against my abs as I step outside and scoop up a small package with sweaty hands.

  I rip it open in the foyer. Discreet Couriers, the label says. Something pale, and in translucent packaging.

  I tear it open and check out the tag. Support briefs…with waterproof lining.

  “Fucking hell.” I sort of laugh. I’m like two wrong moves from blowing on myself. I decide to swap out what I’m wearing right here in the foyer and walk slowly to the kitchen for some sort of breakfast.

  I’m hoping the briefs will be uncomfortable enough to help me deflate, but they feel sort of like spandex. They’re a little tight, holding my hard cock up against my abs, pressing my balls against my taint. I feel around back, and I realize that the absorbent padding is back there too. Good. Might help hide the outline of the plug’s base.

  I pull the boxer-briefs on over them, take a second to tuck myself in, and move slowly toward the kitchen.

  I get out some grapes and put them on the counter. Then I realize… “Fuck.” I better go food-free today. Might even help my dick go down a little faster.

  I climb up the stairs slowly, stopping twice to groan when the plug hits me just right. Back in my room, I have to lean down to go through my bag again. The plug makes my knees shake like crazy. I don’t want to come now with the underwear on, so I grit my teeth and try to focus on clothes.

  I’ve got my old, ripped black jeans. They’re a little loose. I put them on and button them, and oh fuck! The plug’s pressed deeper by the seam of the pants. It feels…so good.

  I throw on a thin T-shirt and look through my bag for the old, paint-stained plaid button-up I packed in case I got cold in the atrium. It’s not big, but long enough to cover my backside.

  I get my phone and charger, drink some water from the bathroom sink. By the time I get back down the stairs, I’m feeling dazed and so fuck-ready that I don’t think I’ll make it to the church without blowing my load.

  I sit on the couch and take my dick out. I press a palm against the plug’s base and stroke my thick tip…lie back on the couch with my knees spread. Just a few strokes, and I come in my hand, sticky white stuff seeping through my fingers. I don’t have a napkin, and it’s dripping—so I grab a blanket.

  “This is crazy.”

  But I’m only half-hard now, which means my whole cock fits into the briefs.

  I go into the kitchen and have a few swallows of vodka—because why the fuck not? Then I get a text saying my ride is waiting. I’m full-on hard as I get in, and this time, my cock’s not tucked against my belly. It’s trying to tent my pants. I try to rearrange as I say hi to the driver—a pretty girl with a blonde bun.

  “Hi there, Mr. Rayne, how’s it going?”

  “All right,” I say. “What about you?”

  She shrugs. “Oh, you know, can’t complain.”

  I have no clue what we say as she drives me to the church. Every time the car bumps over the road, the damn plug lights me up. When she stops at the back of the church, I almost tell her to take me back.

  But—no. He wants that. He wants me to chicken out. I can go a few hours wearing this thing. Show him that his clever welcome idea doesn’t phase me.

  “Have a great day,” she says. I’m pretty sure I say it back. My eyelid is twitching. I can feel warm tightness low in my belly. I can feel the fullness of my balls with every step. I stop in the hall and take some deep breaths.

  Can’t come till the bathroom. After that, I won’t move as much, and this’ll be more manageable. I just need to get off one more time in the men’s.

  Think of baby animals. Dead ones.

  When I walk, it shifts around. I have to clench. And when I clench, my balls feel different. Maybe fuller. My dick is so hard it hurts. Hurts so good I—

  Someone appears in the hall. It’s a woman. She says, “hi,” and I don’t know what happens. Something about being startled makes my ass clench, I guess, and the plug moves deeper. I’m about to come as she says, “Are you lost?”

  I crack a smile. “Oh, no. I know where I’m going.”

  “You must be the artist in residence.”

  “Vance Rayne.” I don’t know how, but I swing my hand out. I realize my mistake as she frowns down at it. Sweaty and shaking.

  She squeezes it anyway. “Nice to meet you, Vance. I’m Maria from accounting.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  I wave as I start to walk again. Why does it feel so good? My knees buckle as I’m hit with a fierce swell of lust.

  Fuck, I need to come. Right now.

  You’re almost there. Just hold on…

  I manage to avoid encounters in the eating area. I briefly consider sitting on a bench and coming in the garden. Just keep going. I pass a prayer room. My legs are really shaking now. I can feel my heartbeat in my dick.

  Oh shit. Fuck me.

  Somehow I make it to the atrium, where my scaffolding awaits me, plus all the supplies Pearl promised would be here today. I clench my sweaty fist and look around. No one. I head toward the bathroom, and there’s Pearl, striding toward me from the wide hallway that’s right beside it.

  “Hi, Vance.”

  I smile. “Hi there.”

  Her eyes rest on my face. I send up a desperate prayer that she doesn’t look down at my cock. She smiles. “How are you today?”

  “All good. Little bit hungover.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Not a habit. Drinking. I don’t do it much. I’m more of a weed guy.” I wince as my hole clenches and the toy pushes my prostate. “Sorry, God and Jesus.” I give an awkward laugh.

  She laughs. “He made the good green stuff, right?”

  I chuckle, then turn partway around toward the mural wall, so she can’t see the strain on my face. “I see all the stuff made it here.”

  “Yep. Let me know if you need something we don’t have. We can get it delivered. Within the hour a lot of times.”

  “Thanks.”

  She gives a sympathetic smile. “You do seem a little bit under the weather.”

  I nod toward the bathroom. “I think I’m gonna wash my face.”

  “I’ve got some Advil if you need it,” she calls, as I start that way.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll come check on you after my conference call is over,” she says over her shoulder.

  “I’m fine if you can’t,” I say, straining to sound casual. “Don’t go out of your way.”

  I’m rubbing myself through my pants as I step into the bathroom. Empty. Into a stall… I take my dick out. Two strokes, and I’m coming into a thick wad of TP. Oh God. I still feel fucking stuffed, but I think I can do this now.

  I fix my pants and wash my hands and try to walk back to the atrium like there’s not something in me.

  Adjusting the scaffolding requires some movement, and my legs are still a little shaky. I stop for a while and sketch in a sketchbook. My hand is sweaty, and my fingers are tense. I swallow and try to focus. I can do it.

  I sketch some grass and trees, ignoring the low level buzz in my pants and one unexpected bump of the plug on my p-spot.

  I breathe sl
owly. When Pearl shows back up, I’ve just finished setting up more scaffolding. I kept my dick down by thinking about funerals. Which has me feeling kind of raw, but at least I’m not on the verge of cumming my pants.

  “How are you feeling?” Pearl asks.

  “Better.”

  “I’m so glad. Did you sleep okay at your place last night?”

  “I did.”

  I make it through the small talk, and she’s gone again.

  It’s almost time for Luke—if he shows like he said he would. I’ve been thinking I should go into the bathroom so that when he presses the remote, I can come without making a scene. He might get pissed that I’m not in the atrium, but that works for me. I’d like nothing more than to defy him.

  Instead, the buzzing starts ten minutes early—when some people are walking through. I swallow a moan, sinking down into a crouch because my legs won’t hold me. He walks by as I pretend to fumble with a box of brushes. I’m breathing heavy, pouring sweat. I see his hand go into his pocket, and the toy jolts. I stand halfway up and sink back down again. Then I half run to the bathroom, where I come in my briefs, clutching the sink.

  The fucking plug’s still going. I text him with shaking hands. Stop. It happened.

  The toy goes still. It feels heavy in me. My eyelids feel heavy.

  A certain Star-Lord will be here in a bit. We’ll be coming through.

  You wouldn’t.

  ;)

  I wipe sweat from my temple with a hand that shakes. Then I step into a stall and pull down all the shit I’m wearing. I find my dick half flaccid for the first time today. The briefs are cum-pasted around me. I try to clean them, but they still cling to my junk. I grit my teeth and tell myself he wouldn’t turn it on when they’re in the room. That’s way too risky.

  I wash my hands with soap and splash my face with water from the sink. Then I clench around the plug. It’s pretty snug, but I’m still sort of worried I could lose it somehow. Still, I leave the bathroom feeling more collected than I have all day, trying to forget its dragging presence when I move—which I try to avoid doing.

  I manage to do a few more sketches of parts of my Eden scene, standing by the scaffolding in case I need to grab onto it. When I feel steady enough, I move slowly around the room, gritting my teeth as I inventory supplies. When Pearl comes through again, I tick off a few more things I need, and she says she’ll get them by morning. I show her the newest version of my scene, and she says she loves it.

  “We trust you, Vance. Our committee loved your work. A lot.”

  I crosshatch the canopy of trees, trying to figure out proportions. That’s when I hear the sharp echo of footsteps. I hear low male voices and shut my eyes.

  Please don’t do it.

  I pretend I’m still sketching as their shoes clack behind me. I can hear them talking, but they don’t get close. After a minute, the footsteps amble on. Half a minute later, I jerk as he starts me up again.

  3

  Luke

  I can tell he’s struggling from the way he moves around the room—lots of small, slow steps and random pauses. After I get back to my office and find him out of the camera’s eye—presumably back in the bathroom—I turn the plug off. He texts a few seconds later.

  Fuck you.

  I turn it back on and get a Christ and then a stop.

  I stop, and a few minutes later, he strolls back into the atrium. I watch as he leans against some scaffolding. He’s got a pencil in hand, but there’s no way he’s working. When my guest and I walked by a little earlier, I could see the tension in him.

  For the next two hours, I watch as he moves slowly around the room. I notice that he tries not to bend over, and it makes me smirk.

  I’ve worn what he’s got in him, so I get it. And I know how good it feels. I check all the cameras in the halls around him. When I’m positive no one’s nearby, I hit the button again.

  He grips the scaffolding, and I turn up the toy until I know it’s thumping on his prostate. Until he’s panting, and I’m aching hard beneath my desk from watching. I switch up the settings, and he leans over, still gripping the scaffolding. He lets out a grunted groan, and his muscles tighten as he comes.

  He stands back up and looks around. Then he walks toward the men’s room.

  My phone dings a second later.

  What the fuck are you thinking?

  You seemed to like it well enough.

  Are you watching me?

  Do you want me to be?

  Yeah I know how you like watching.

  I smile at the memory of his body in the moonlight.

  Get going, Vance Rayne. Your car’s waiting out in front.

  It’s only 3.

  True, but I think you need to change your pants.

  He sends me the middle finger symbol.

  Don’t touch MY dick. I’ll be there around 10:30 to help you unplug.

  Vance

  I get to my temporary home and head for the bed, where I strip down, jerk off, and open my eyes sometime later to full darkness.

  Fell asleep. Guess that’s not a surprise. I check my phone and feel relieved to see it’s 9:15. Fuck, my ass feels achy. I clench around the toy, drawing it deeper; my cock hardens in response. I squeeze the head and roll onto my back. My eyes shut on their own. I pull them open…try to wake up.

  I don’t want him seeing me like this. I think of his smug smile. I think of my cum-caked briefs. Somewhere, there’s church footage of me clutching the scaffolding while I came so hard, I think I shouted in the atrium.

  I think of him stealing into this place last night—coming here in secret, telling me to leave. The arrogance tightens my stomach. Thinking of him in his suit tightens my cock.

  If I come again, I’m gonna pass the fuck out. I get up with my hard cock, walking with care so I don’t disturb the plug, and start the shower. I look over at the mirror and my tired eyes…the jutting cock and swollen balls. I bend so I can see the back of the plug.

  I should take it out before he gets here. Even as I think that, I know I won’t. I’m fucking desperate for his hands on me. I want to hear what he says as he pulls it out. I step under the hot water and start to wash. That’s when I notice the dye he mentioned. All over the underside of my balls and the base of my cock…dripping down from the back—I guess each time I came.

  Fuck, this shit gets me hot. I feel like a deviant, but there it is. Told him I’m depraved. And anyway, it’s his church.

  I come in the shower after leaning down to pick up soap. By the time I step out, spots are swimming in my eyes. I sprawl on my back in the bed and wait for him, already hard again. When I hear footsteps on the stairs, I start to pump myself.

  Luke

  I’m would up tight when I get to the JJ House, and he’s nowhere in sight. When I push open the bedroom door and find it dark, a wall of dread slams into me. Then I hear the springs creak. Warm relief has got me grinning as I stride to the bed. I find him on his back, his cock long and hard, his body bathed in the glow of the street lights beaming through the filmy curtains.

  “Hiding in the dark.” I move onto the bed beside him, run a palm up his calf. “After the show you put on for the cameras today, I can understand why.”

  I get on my knees and stroke his thick erection, working him from base to tip, where I find a slick bead of precum.

  “Kind of like a toy, really. Given the right batteries…”

  I reach between his cheeks and tap the plug’s base. I press on it, and he grunts. His muscled legs fall open, and I hit the button in my pocket.

  “AHH!”

  I’ve got the toy pumping inside him, so he feels the need to lift his hips…to arch his back and try to bring it deeper.

  I turn on the vibrations, and he pushes his dick into my hand. I stroke slowly…lightly. A rivulet of precum streams down his shaft. He’s rocking his hips, flexing his legs. I think of his erection trapped inside the briefs I bought him…of the sweat that he kept wiping from his brow o
n camera…of the careful way he moved about the room with the plug stuffing him—and I can’t help needing to suck him.

  “Oh God… fucking shit…Luke.”

  I dial the toy back so it’s throbbing just a little bit right where he needs it. Then I blow him like I’m starving for his cum. Like I’m delirious from aching for him all day. Which I am. I wore my own skin-tight briefs under my suit…but unlike him, I didn’t get to blow in my pants or hide out in the men’s room. I’m groaning from my heavy balls and steel erection.

  Still, I take my time enjoying him. He likes getting licked along the frenulum. I mostly use my lips and tongue, so at the end, when I start sucking, I’m rewarded with another spurt of salty precum.

  He comes hard a second later, his hand grasping my hair, his cock shoved down my throat, his whole body quaking almost violently as curses spill from his lips.

  When he’s finished, he’s still mostly hard, and when I squeeze his base, he gives a low groan.

  “Tired, are you? Roll onto your stomach.”

  I lube his hole with careful fingers. If he seems too tired or sore, I’ll wait till I’m back home and jerk off.

  “Relax. I’m gonna get this.”

  He moans as I work the plug out. Purple dye drips between his cheeks and down his balls. I dab the stuff up with a sheet, spread a little bit of numbing cream around his hole. Then I move my hand and watch his cheeks come back together. I wash up and get a cold bottle of water and a towel-wrapped ice pack from a mini fridge that’s in the closet.

  When I go back over to the bed, he’s exactly how I left him, stretched out on his stomach. I check out his back and shoulders. Thicker than before. I think he’s got at least fifteen extra pounds of muscle as he’s moved into his later twenties.

  I crawl onto the bed with him, moving slowly because I’m still so hard, and I don’t want to brush my dick over the covers—or him. I stretch out on my side, looking at his face for a second before brushing damp hair off his forehead. “You thirsty?” I bring the bottle to his lips, and he gulps half of it.