Feuds and Reckless Fury by K. Webster
Canyon
It’s so fucking bright.
What the hell?
I squint, trying to understand my surroundings. I’m not in my room. Hell, I’m not even in my house. The lingering lime scent I know so well surrounds me.
Alis.
I’ve determined it has to be his laundry detergent. It’s strongest in his bed. I inhale the scent for a moment, wondering where he’s gone. I kick my feet over the side and stand, ignoring my morning wood, and eye the bed that’s half made up. I’m surprised he didn’t make the whole bed with me in it.
My amusement fades as I think about the reason why I ended up in his bed. Well, not specifically his bed, but here at his house. Mom. She kicked me out. Fuck.
Dad, surprisingly, was angry on my behalf. Not because he didn’t want me to come live with him, but because of how she’d treated me. Even as pissed as I’ve been at him, I can’t help but be grateful he didn’t turn his back on me too.
If he knows you’re hooking up with his fiancé’s kid, he might…
I stride over to my new room, wondering if Alis is hiding in there. When I push open the door, a shocked gasp escapes me.
Everything is unpacked.
And redecorated.
Just like in my old room.
My posters and pictures hang exactly like they used to. Everything is arranged just as it was. If it weren’t for the walls being light gray rather than dark tan and the windows in different spots, I could almost pretend for a second it’s my old room.
Alis did this.
I know it. I feel it down to my toes. Something about this sweet gesture has my gut twisting painfully. It’s such a simple thing he’s done, but it means everything to me.
I’m dying to stalk him down in this house, pin him to the nearest wall, and kiss the hell out of him for it. But I need a shower, and my breath is probably offensive as fuck. After a quick shower in a bathroom much nicer than my old one, I dress in a pair of black boxers before pulling on my navy Adidas wind pants. Since I’m still hot from my shower, I forgo a shirt as I brush my teeth. I comb through my hair, mess it up some, and decide all this primping can be done later.
I need to see him.
Now.
Strolling out of the room, I head downstairs when I hear voices and laughter. My heart pinches painfully at the light sounds. Everything has been so heavy back home. I forgot what it felt like for people to be happy in their own home.
Dad is perched at the bar in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and a bowl of granola and yogurt, scrolling through his iPad. Quinn is rinsing a bowl, his eyes glued to the small television under the cabinet as the newscaster analyzes stocks or some shit. Absently, they’re discussing their plans for the day that include swinging by the jeweler to have their wedding rings fitted. They don’t notice me yet, but I’m stunned by the domestic ease.
I clear my throat to make my presence known. “What’s for breakfast?”
Quinn whirls around, grinning at me. For not being Alis’s real father, they have similarities that can only be learned from spending time with someone. The easy grin that lights up his face. A probing intensity in his eyes as if he’s searching my expression for my mood. Both Quinn and Alis are on the smaller side, but where Alis wears more muscle on his athletic frame, Quinn is slender and almost elegant.
“Want some yogurt and granola?” Quinn asks. “We just picked up some more of your dad’s favorite granola at the organic market.”
Dad has a favorite granola?
I can’t refrain from rolling my eyes.
“Pass,” I grunt, unable to keep the bite out of my tone. “Got any donuts or Pop-Tarts?”
Quinn’s smile falters at my rudeness, and Dad stiffens at the bar. I dart my eyes back and forth between them, wondering what the hell is wrong with my question.
“Processed sugars are…” Quinn trails off, biting on his bottom lip as he frowns. I swear to fuck, Alis makes the same damn face.
“The devil,” Dad finishes, chuckling. “How do you think I’ve gotten so fit?” He curls his bicep, and it pops up. “Quinn is a hardass when it comes to our diet and what he allows in his house.”
“But,” Quinn rushes out, holding up both hands in a placating gesture, “we can get you what you like. Alis can’t live without his Coke, so it’s not like sugar is forbidden in the house, just frowned upon. It’s your father and me who don’t need to be consuming it because we’re getting old. Write whatever you want on the list we keep on the fridge, and I’ll make sure we get it.”
Dad playfully coughs out the word, “Softie.”
Quinn shoots him a stern look before smiling at me. “I could scramble you some eggs or something.”
“Yogurt’s fine,” I grumble. “Bowls?”
After I’ve made myself the world’s most boring breakfast and choked it down, I stare absently at the fridge where there’s a picture of Alis when he was a kid, maybe ten or eleven. Quinn is smiling, but Alis stares without expression. Something about the picture makes me sad.
“You okay?” Dad asks, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s okay to say you’re not. I can see it in your eyes. I’m here to talk about it if—”
I shake off his hold and shoot him an icy glare. “I do not want to talk about it.”
Defeat shines in his blue eyes, and he nods. “Right. Well, you know where to find me if you do. Quinn and I are heading out. Maybe the four of us can go out for sushi later if you’re hungry and up for it.”
“Maybe,” I grunt, though sushi sounds a hell of a lot better than granola yogurt shit.
I slip out of the kitchen, escaping the silent conversation they seem to be having with one another about me. I’ll save them the trouble. They can talk about me all they want when I’m out of their sight.
Anger churns in my chest as I damn near stomp up the steps on my hunt for Alis. Once again, he’s not in his room or mine. I eventually find him in his studio. Like before, he’s engrossed in his sculpture. His white-blond hair is messy and looks as though he spent hours running his fingers through it. He wears a yellow T-shirt that’s too small and too short, stained with paint and littered with holes. I will never understand this guy’s sense of style.
Never.
Yet, I still somehow find it incredibly attractive on him.
All my fury is gone as I admire his tight ass in a pair of dark gray skinny jeans that have seen better days. As though to taunt me, he bends over, scraping his tool over the clay, fine-tuning whatever it is he’s working on. From the looks of it, it’s shaping up to be a male torso. He’s clearly obsessed with the human—male—body as most of the sculptures carefully placed all over his studio are just that. Not many heads on them, really. Or hands or legs or feet. Mostly just bodies and backs and shoulders and biceps and abs and bellybuttons.
I step farther into the room, and the two dogs perk their ears up from the armchair in the corner, but neither of them gets up to greet me. They seem perfectly relaxed as Alis works. Slowly, I creep up behind him, overwhelmed with the desire to touch him and inhale him and taste him.
As I approach, I realize the sculpture is of a body leaning back and resting on its elbows, even though there are no arms or hands past the elbows. The dick is erect and large, with a pair of balls nestled between two thick thighs that end just above the knees. Both nipples are taut, and the detail with which he’s cut into the abs is impressive.
“Your dad doesn’t care that you’re up here making playdough porn?”
He jumps at the sound of my voice, dropping his metal tool on the table. Weary brown eyes meet mine over his shoulder. “It’s art, not porn.”
“Does your dad know your sculpture is of me?”
He lifts a dark brow, turning his body toward me. “Awfully full of yourself. It could be anyone—literally anyone—but you.”
“But it’s not. I recognize my own dick.”
A pink flush steals across his skin as his lips tug on one corner. My mouth waters to taste that almost-smile of his. To bite it from his pouty fucking pillow lips.
“Go away,” he grunts, his gaze sweeping over my bare chest. “You’re distracting. I’m working.”
“But I’m your muse,” I tease, stepping toward him until the tips of my bare toes are touching his. “I’m here to inspire you.”
“By getting your dick sucked again?” He lifts his chin and pins me with a challenging stare.
Up close, I’m able to get drunk off the lime scent that sends lust curling deep in my balls, making me ache to bury my face against his neck so I can inhale him.
“I thought I might return the favor.” My words make his entire body tremble like ripples on a lake. “Thank you for making my room feel like home.”
His thumbs hook into the top of my wind pants, and he teases the flesh beneath the waistband. “You want to suck my dick?” He scoffs. “You even know how?”
One of my fingers traces up the side of his arm as my other palm clutches his perfect ass. “We’ve already established I’m the best at everything. I may have never put a dick in my mouth, but I’m a guy. I know what feels good. Plus, you gave me a nice lesson yesterday.”
“Our dads—”
“Way to kill a boner, man.” I chuckle and dip my head down to his neck just as I craved to do earlier. Flicking my tongue out, I lick up the side until I reach his ear. I nip at the lobe, enjoying the shivers trembling through him. “I’m going to suck you off, Wonderland, and you’re going to fucking love it.”
He gasps when I start to pull off his shirt. It gets tossed away, and then my hands are on the button of his jeans. His briefs, this time, aren’t pink but instead an obnoxious orange. I’m turned the hell on by how his dick strains at the fabric, eager for escape. He groans when I palm him over his tight briefs, running my thumb over the piercing I can feel through the material.
“We shouldn’t do this.” He whispers as though he doesn’t want me to hear. I pretend I don’t.
The sharp sound of his breath as I push his briefs down, I do hear, though. It excites me and encourages me to continue to undress him. Once he’s naked and standing before me, I can’t decide what I want to do next or where to touch him.
“I want you here,” I growl as I grab his hips, hoisting him onto a free space on his worktable. “Need to see you up close.”
He leans back on his elbows, his taut stomach rippling with the action, and boldly spreads his thighs to present his cock and balls like a fucking buffet. I lick my lips, desperate to taste him. My mind reels at all the places I crave to touch him first.
His brown eyes are darker than usual, two portals in an abyss of lust and adoration. I don’t mind getting swallowed in his stare. I’ve never been watched with such hunger and need and desperation in all my life. It makes me feel powerful and also scared as shit.
What if I suck at this?
I mean…that’s exactly the point, but…whatever.
With a grunt of frustration at myself, I kneel, eager to know him so intimately. He gasps when my palms caress his inner thighs that are less hairy than mine but still masculine. I gently push them farther apart, exposing him more to me. We both make similar sounds of anticipation when I run my nose along the crease of his leg and groin.
Manly but sweet.
I am starved to taste him.
Fucking ravenous.
With a soft exhale, I flick out my tongue, teasing the prickly hairs on his flesh. His dick jolts at my touch, already leaking with pre-cum. As much as I want to swallow his cock down and run my tongue over the piercing, I enjoy taunting him a bit.
“Touch me,” he begs, his voice raspy and high-pitched. “Please.”
“Here?” I ask, running my tongue over one of his balls. “Or here?” His dick jumps when I tease the base with the tip of my tongue. “Hmm?”
“Fuck. Everywhere.”
I smile as I take his thick erection in my hand. His scent is intoxicating. I can’t seem to get enough of it. Never have I been so obsessed with the way another person smells, but with Alis, it’s all I can think about. I’m nearly consumed by it. But as soon as I wrap my lips around him and get a sample of the saltiness leaking from his tip, I realize I’ll grow addicted to tasting him as well. I toy with the piercing with my tongue, loving the needy whines that escape him. As I take him deep into my mouth, the metal piercing scrapes along the top of my throat.
Alis makes a sound that’s somewhat of a war cry and a whimper. I draw my lips back up his shaft so I can tease at the piercing and his slit, hoping to draw more of his pre-cum out of him. He groans when I suck on just the tip hard enough my cheeks hollow out. For a moment, I wonder if it’s possible for me to accidentally suck off the piercing. Glancing up, I admire how his head is thrown back in pure ecstasy, clearly not worried at all about anything, especially not a piercing mishap. His Adam’s apple bulges and his chest heaves with each starved breath of air he takes.
God, I could eat him alive.
I don’t know what it is about Alister Sommers that has me going insane, but it’s true.
I’m fucking obsessed with him.
I pull off his dick, enjoying the needy whine he makes, and explore his balls. Sucking one of them into my mouth, I wonder if this feels good for him. Based on his hoarse moans, I’d assume so. It’s empowering to watch him lose all control.
Because of me.
My mouth.
My lips and tongue and breath and teeth.
His breathing comes out sharp and ragged when I test the limits of my teeth around his balls. I latch onto his eyes, enamored by how he captures me in his gaze. I may literally have this man by the balls, with my teeth no less, but he owns me with his stare.
I pop off his tender balls to continue my exploration south to the puckered, dark pink flesh that intrigues me to no end. I’d teased him about wanting to fuck him, but all jokes aside, I crave it more than my next breath. The thought of slicking up my aching cock and pushing past the tight ring of muscle almost has me coming in my pants.
“Canyon,” Alis whispers. “I need—”
“I know what you need,” I interrupt before pressing my lips to his asshole. “You need me in all the ways. Just like I need you.”
The words are too honest, but I don’t reel them back.
Instead, I slide my tongue out and test out the forbidden hole I am desperate to own one day. He yelps at the sensation, tightening the bud, which only makes me want inside it more.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, hoping it sounds reassuring. “Let me make you feel good.”
I press into his body, testing the resistance. I’ve seen this particular act in porn enough to know that both parties seem to enjoy it. Feeling his tightness clenching around my slick tongue and the keening sounds rattling from him, I realize I do enjoy this. A lot. Having Alis come unglued by just my tongue inside his ass makes me feel like a king of the damn world.
Once his hole is nice and wet, I pull my tongue out, suck on my finger, and then slowly push it into him. For someone who’s got experience getting fucked, he sure is tight. My mouth finds his dick again as I ease my finger in and out, searching for the elusive pleasure button. I know the second I find it because he cries out, the only warning I get before cum barrels into my mouth. I’m caught by surprise as I struggle to swallow it down. Most runs out of my mouth, making a mess of his lower stomach.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he chants, his voice raw and barely audible.
I rise to my feet, slipping my finger from his ass, and push my wind pants and boxers down my thighs. Smearing my palm over his cum, I use it to lubricate my own dick. His deep wells of brown bore into me, watching me fuck my hand. He parts his pink lips and breathes raggedly as he witnesses my filthy act. It doesn’t take long for me to come. My nuts tighten, and I grunt, sending hot semen shooting all over his wet dick and balls. It runs down, a waterfall over his puckered hole, and drips to the floor.
“I can’t believe we just did that.” His brows pinch together, panic briefly flashing in his eyes. “That was—”
“Incredible.”
A smile pulls at one corner of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”
Our eyes hold for a long moment until I can’t help but lean forward, eager for his lips on mine. I never considered myself a particularly needy guy, but something about Alis has me continually desperate for another hit.
This thing between us is reckless.
Fuck if I can find it in me to care.