prev | blurb directly inspired by this ask to add context! | cw: oral sex, little bit of spiteful, enemy, cocky vibe
The roles are reversed this time, your grip seized tightly around Kyle’s wrist, dragging him along behind you as anger unravels out of your control.
You don’t need to glance back to know the shit-eating smirk he wears on his face. You can tell by the way he takes long strides behind you, not even struggling to match your pace as if your steps are too short and insignificant for him to care.
“Where ya takin’ me?” He asks edges of his words curled tauntingly, like the two of you are playing some sort of game, “Gyms the other way.”
You know that, obviously.
He knows that, obviously.
His stupid voice only makes you more irritated, each syllable dragging a dagger against your skin. You shove him hastily into the first dark closet you find, slamming him against the wall with full force, hope it fucking hurt. You’re determined at this point, fists clenched, and teeth bared, threatening your prey with fangs and claws.
“My turn to make you cum now, okay?”
It doesn’t even take him by surprise, the fucker just chuckles, pleased. “Well, let’s have at it.”
You unbuckle his cargos with a little more vigor than intended, but he’s perched himself against the wall, crossing his arms behind his head like he’s getting comfortable, waiting for you to drop to your knees and suck him off.
It drives you mad, makes you furious, rage pulsing behind your eyelids, so you toss your phone on a spare shelf, pulling up a timer.
He scoffs in disbelief. “Really, you’re gon’ time it?”
You yank his pants to his thighs, hovering your fingers over the band of his boxers, “You made me count, so now we see how long you can last.”
“Good luck with that.” He mutters, indignantly, as if his little game was suddenly ruined.
You fall to your knees unceremoniously, don’t plan to be pretty about the whole ordeal because he doesn’t deserve that. You tuck your fingers confidently into his underwear, tugging them low in one swift motion. An action that makes Kyle inhale a sharp breath through his teeth unexpectedly.
When his cock springs free it’s your turn to snicker, “Doesn’t look like it’ll be too difficult.”
He stands tall, eager, longer than you had imagined him to be. It makes you a little apprehensive, fidgeting on your knees at the sight because you’re not entirely sure you can fit all of that in your mouth, but you mask it the best you can. You’d rather die than let Kyle Garrick know he’s got a big dick.
You don’t necessarily have room to be nervous when Kyle is clearly painfully aroused, darkened tip smeared with a small bead of precum. Your apprehension outweighs his arousal, his smug attitude means absolutely nothing when his cock is leaking and desperate and you haven’t even touched it yet, entirely too excited with your sharp words and combative attitude.
Kyle doesn’t respond to your smart remark, doesn’t have the strength to when your palm engulfs his shaft. You don’t intend to take your time, be gentle in any way because you’re trying to prove a point, so as soon as you start the timer your mouth is on him.
You keep your eyes on his, want to watch the exact moment his smug face crumbles, the minute his ego diminishes into weakness and succumbs.
One broad swipe of your tongue, base to fattened tip, is all it takes.
His eyes flutter for a split second, lips parting to take a deep breath before he conceals it, eyes hardening once again like he wasn’t affected, but you know him better than that, can read him better than he likes to think.
That’s fine, as soon as you wrap your lips around his head his brows crease, jaw tensing, grinding his molars together when you slide lower and lower, taking him inch by inch. You barely get halfway before he’s in your throat, the sensation making you gag reflexively around him.
“Tha’ all you can take?” He snides, tilting his head, “Come on, doll. You can do better than tha’.”
You glare up at him, slightly regretting your situation. You can’t really snarl back when you’ve got a mouth full of his cock. You wish you could tell him to watch his own mouth, you’re not afraid to use your teeth on his precious cock, put him in his place with a few nips. So, you do the next best thing, swallow him down to the hilt, nose pressed to his curly pubes, and suck.
It makes him kilt over, hands flying instinctively to cup your jaw. He curses under his breath, tries to be quiet about it, but you hear it, deep and drawn out.
You build a rhythm, bobbing your head over his length again and again, swirling your tongue around his shaft with each motion. His swollen head kisses the back of your throat with each bob, it stings, each prod burning an uncomfortable stretch that makes tears well in your lashes.
You try your best not to choke or cough around his thick cock. You don’t want to inflate his ego any more than it is, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching fat tears roll down your cheeks. Except when you do look up at him, he’s got his lips parted in a strained moan, the whites of his eyes rolling as you make eye contact.
“Shit, don’t look at me like tha’.” He groans, voice ragged and pinched like it does something to him to see you making a mess of yourself, saliva dripping down your chin.
So, you do the complete opposite, gazing with hooded lids as you slap his cock against the smooth of your tongue. His head knocks against the wall at that, fingers digging shallow indents into your jaw as his balls tighten.
That’s all the sign you need to suction the head into your mouth, fisting his shaft with calculated strokes in tandem. He tries to push you off in response, weakly shoving your head away, but your willpower is a little stronger than his at the moment.
A string of incoherent words slips from his lips, hips involuntarily thrusting into the wet confines of your mouth, seeking out the mind-numbing sensation. He barely gives you any warning before he’s sinking to the hilt in one go, balls smacked against your chin as he lets out a guttural groan.
You swallow it all, licking the salty taste clean from his head as he jerks in overstimulation until he slips from your lips with a wet pop.
“Didn’t even last 5 minutes Garrick?” You mock.
The sight above you makes you chuckle, pride beating your chest because he’s completely spent, eyes lidded and glazed over like his soul hasn’t quite returned to his body.
The timer reads: 3 minutes and 52 seconds.
