CHAPTER SEVEN

Despite the heat that seems to linger with every conversation with Blaine, dinner progresses without incident and without any sexual suggestions from Blaine or I. We talk about the small details about our loves; music we love, fashion we hate, celebrities we love to hate, movies we cant live without. Im surprised to learn that Blaine and I have so much in common aside from our mutual desire to tear each others clothes off, but Im even more surprised to learn how well-spoken and intelligent Blaine is. Clearly hes not just a pretty face with some promising social connections. But I can only dwell on this for too long before I begin to question every lingering glance and touch that Blaine seems all to willing to dole out.

I cant help but feel pulled in too many directions with his haphazard emotions but obvious goal of doing anything to get in my pants. It seems like every part of his "game" involves luring me into his bed, but sometimes I cant help but feel slightly blindsided because he changes everything as the wind blows. Yet everything that passes between us is a move in this elaborate game of lust, and Im afraid that while Im planning my next turn, Blaine will sneak up behind me with some strategy I havent even considered.

By the end of dinner, Im too riled up from all of the strategy Ive been considering and feel overwhelmed and under-rested in the wake of his emotional endurance. "Can you take me back to my room?" I ask coyly as I peek at Blaine. "Ive been lost too many times to be willing to get lost one last time when I really just want to sleep."

"Of course," he says, sliding a finger along the back of my palm. The touch is both confusing and riveting and the silent tension I feel on the way back to the room is thick in the air. Though no words pass between us, the touches never seem to cease with a casual touch on my arm to the way he slightly pushes against my lower back when he holds a door open for me. I try to ignore it as best as I can - not wanting to give in to his game; nobody messes with a Hummel, especially not one as stubborn as me.

When we reach my room, I turn quickly and stand in a way that will surely captivate him; hips slightly jutting forward and rolling my neck back to highlight the spot he couldnt seem to get enough of in the gallery. "Thank you for walking me here. And thank Martin for another wonderful dinner. I quite enjoyed myself this evening."

"I hope you found my company stimulating."

"Thats one word for it." I flash him my most devilish grin. For a moment we both stand there, each waiting for the other to speak or move. Its as if neither of us is willing to give in; give in to temptation, give in to leaving each others presence, give in to admitting that something more might be at play here other than a simple game of cat and mouse with the ultimate prize laying beneath our well-fitted pants.

But we dont stand there too long before I cant help but give in a little. Its as if I cant help what my body is doing when it decides to reach out to finger along the hem of Blaines collar, near the hollow of his throat. I can hear his breath quicken and I can feel my pulse racing beneath my fingers. As I near the line of his skin, he swallows. My fingers start to move along his neck, until suddenly I realize what Im doing. They freeze just below his ear.

"Goodnight," I say sweetly, as if I intended this all along. "Pleasant dreams." I withdraw my hand and reach for the door, but I can still feel the intensity of Blaines gaze on me.

"Goodnight," he says roughly.

I cant allow myself to turn around so I shut the door behind me, unwilling to see if I just slammed Blaine in the face. Ive never been so attracted to a man before and its terrifying.

I hardly sleep at all that night, thinking of Blaine; his hands, his mouth, his lips, his words - each one imprinting a tattoo of him on my brain that Im unable to shake whether it be in sleep or consciousness. I dont know what has made me feel so... obsessed... but it only seems to be worse now that the bet is on the table. I thought I would have the resolve to resist him, but my mind seems to have a mind of its own and it isnt listening to the logic Im trying to pull out from my core to stop myself from giving in to him. I feel like Im burning from the inside out, tortured by lust for someone I shouldnt even like, let alone want. I tell myself it all comes down to that twisted law of the universe that you always want what you cant—or shouldnt—have. Blaine has the power to destroy everything Will has spent his life building and a cause I feel fully invested in supporting.

Ive finally found an opening; a way to win back what he denied us, and my bodys bent on betraying me. After tossing and turning for a couple of hours, I finally get up and go over to the fireplace. Im tempted and move the poker to the side, opening the doorway to the passages that allowed me the initial glimpse to the man that I cant help but think about; beckoning me to call upon its dark corners again. I can feel my cock hardening at the prospect of what lies behind the walls of the secret passage.

The scene from the other night is still so vivid in my mind. I dont know what I hope to accomplish by taking this path again tonight. I dont delude myself into believing Ill witness another similar scene. And I certainly dont intend to go barging into his room in the middle of the night. Its all just a fantasy. All of my time in this house feels like an elaborate sexual dream, and Im not sure whether I want to wake up or live in it forever.

Im only a few steps into my lust-ridden journey before I lose my reserve. I turn around quickly and run back into the room and put the door back in its concealed state. This place is clearly getting the better of me, but Ill stick it out and will prevail. Tomorrow, Ill win back some of the money that he took from the center and Ill figure out how I can break him.

The next morning its still raining, but this time the gray scene outside my window brings a rush of relief. I have more time to win back the money for the Center. I shoot Will a quick text to update him on the situation—I cant bear to hear his hopelessness over the phone, not when I need all my strength today—and I head into the extra closet to do some strategic dressing.

I end up selecting a pair of skinny pants again, since Blaine seems to respond well to those. These are white and fit quite well against my ass but allude to my package in front without being salacious. The white exudes purity while the fit suggests anything but.

Perfect.

He arrives at my room just as Im slipping on a pair of shoes that Ive stowed at the end of the bed, Im slightly bent with my ass in the air as I tie the laces. I can hear him audibly groan before I turn around and see him with his eyes wide and lust obvious in his stare. "You like?" I tease.

"That doesnt even begin to cover it." He reaches out and touches my cheek at my hairline, letting the strands slide through his fingers.

I catch his hand. No one touches my hair; not even for the Center. "Are you going to stand there and drool, or are you going to take me downstairs?" I say. "Im starving."

He pulls his hand away and clears his throat. "Of course, Mr. Hummel," he says, his voice like matching his honey eyes. His eyes linger on my exposed neck thats encased in the boat neck-style sweater Id found.

Easy, Mr. Anderson, I think as I take his offered arm. I find this practice of his to be slightly antiquated and also somewhat demeaning since I am certainly no high society lady, but I cant really care - especially when it means that Im in close proximity to him and can easily use this to my advantage. I place myself a little closer to his side as usual and I can feel his shirts heat touching my arm as we walk down the hallway, can feel the muscles in his arm contract as I step even closer as we round a corner.

Our little dance only continues over breakfast. Im driven by the same sense of wild recklessness that has possessed me all weekend, and I find myself toying with him: first a gentle touch on his wrist, then an "accidental" nudge from my foot beneath the table, then the intentional way that I suck the fruit Martin has prepared out of my fingers and lick the juices from my hand. Blaine certainly isnt going into this battle unarmed; he finds ways to send me lust-filled glances and sweet smiles with every touch and each one seems to be a sufficient counter to my moves. Damn him.

"Tell me," I say, trying to distract myself from the way his knee is brushing against mine beneath the table. His legs arent nearly as long as mine, but that doesnt mean that he isnt figuring out how to drive me mad despite his shorter stature. "Any wild stories from all that time you spent in Europe?"

His eyes widen. "Im not sure you want to hear any of those."

"No?" I brush my finger gently across his knuckles. "I bet you have some good dirt on some of those models you dated. What was that one with the pink hair? Elliott something?"

He catches my roving fingers and holds them tight. "Do you really want to start up a conversation about our past lovers?"

Lovers? Who even calls them that? What sort of weird romantic notions does this man adhere to? Well, not entirely romantic given the fact that no antiquated romance novel would willingly stick their hands down the front of a mans trousers. Still, thinking about Blaine and his perfect ex-boyfriends or fuck buddies or... whatever... is certainly one way to keep my wits about me. Just the thought of him buried in some other mans ass is enough to make me want to barf.

As if he sensed my discomfort, he clasps his hand over mine and his eyes beam with promise. "Besides, I dont want to talk about them when I have an incredibly gorgeous man right in front of me."

I shouldnt let his flattery get to me, but I find myself squirming in my seat at the compliment. "Well you must have done something else," I say. "In Europe, I mean. Besides...dating. And partying."

Blaine chuckles. "Despite the paparazzis best efforts to paint me otherwise, I did in fact do more than take a more... leisurely path while in Europe; my father made sure of that." He lets go of my hand and relaxes in his chair. "He wanted me to be cultured; have an understanding of the world outside of what we know here in Manhattan and he wanted me to see art, theatre, writing, business and all that outside of what we see here. He wanted me to experience the masters of all things in person rather than just see them at an exhibit that passes through town. Im fluent in five languages but I also served on the advisory board of many museums and universities while I was there, ensuring we had a contributing interest in all cultural endeavors."

"Wow," I say, genuinely impressed. "That must have been amazing."

He looks at me as if I just claimed the sky was green. "It was ridiculous, thats what it was." He runs his hand through his hair. "There I was, some entitled twenty-something who wouldve much rather been in a nightclub than debating the finer points of Manet and Monet with some stuffy old men. And yet my father had promised them some piece of his collection or a new wing or something, and suddenly Im at the heart of all these important decisions. While I think it was a good thing to experience, I didnt savor it as other people who were truly passionate would have. Besides, I never wanted that responsibility, and honestly, they shouldnt have given it to me in the first place. No organization should rely on the whims of the wealthy. "

"Thats a bit harsh," I say.

He shrugs. "Its the truth. I couldve suggested we keep live giraffes in the lobby and they would have applauded my genius, all because they were afraid to lose my familys contributions. If I was more of an idiot I could have run these institutions into the ground all because they were afraid to stand up to my father or potentially lose money." I can only stare at him in shock. But hes not done yet. "Thats the problem—desperation. These organizations are desperate for money, and theyll sacrifice their better sense to get it just because they feel the need to appease their donors. Its a ridiculous model. What happens when the moneys not there? What happens if they say no to the giraffes? What happens if their rich donor suddenly decides hed rather invest in ice cream or jet-packs than a worthy institution?"

"I dont know, Mr. Anderson," I say, my voice hard. "What happens?"

He looks up, suddenly aware of what hes said; what hes insinuated. "Kurt, I—"

"No." I drop my fork on my plate, no longer hungry. "Tell me, Mr. Anderson, since you seem to be an expert on such things. What happens to that organization that dares to rely on the goodwill of others?"

"I shouldnt have been so blunt, but I think Im making a valid point here. People will, first and foremost, look out for their own interests. If they have money and goodwill to spare, then they might share it, but you cant rely on that generosity if youre trying to run a successful business. In this economy, you must be cutthroat, even if you are a not-for-profit institution."

"And you learned this how, exactly?" I say, rising. "During your time asking museums to put giraffes in their lobbies? Or was it from all those years you spent climbing the corporate ladder?"

"Kurt, if—"

"No," I say, fighting the urge to punch him. "Who the FUCK do you think you are to tell me - or anyone - how to run a nonprofit. You dont know what its like to have to struggle to find money! You have loads of it! You could probably buy all of the giraffes from the Prospect Park Zoo and still have room for more animals!" He tenses, but I continue on my tirade. "The only reason Will is struggling and were barely able to make an impact in the community that we love is because of you and somehow youre making it seem like its my fault for wanting and relying on others for money. Thats how nonprofits work! We have to rely on others knowing how valuable we are in our community and supporting our cause. Your father signed a contract; a contract that for some reason you like to think is not legally binding and what Im willing to stick my neck out for to actually fight for."

Blaine tries to grab my arm, but I maneuver out of reach. "I cant believe that I thought, even for a minute, that youd..." I shake my head, trying to ignore the feelings Id accrued over the past few days and the notion that he was a decent human who would somehow understand how important our cause was and how earnest we were to continue to help others.

"Kurt please," Blaine tries, but I yank away from him once again.

"Im done, Mr. Anderson, and dont worry - I wont impose on your generosity ever again." I storm out of the room - something that my high school self would have truly admired - breaking into a run as I reach the main hallway and to the front door. I dont bother checking behind me to see if hes following as I push through the front door, head out into the rain, push past the front gate, and get into my car.

Damn him. Damn him straight to hell. After everything hes put us through, who the hell gave him the right to lecture me about how to run the Brooklyn Center? Screw him. We dont need his money anyway. Adams helping us now—maybe he can scare up an even bigger donor. Or maybe Will and I will find a way to revamp our classes without leaving our students to make up the difference in our funds. Well make do without Blaines help. We have to.

I seek respite my poor, beat up car that now has a parking ticket and yet is blocked in due to construction cones that have blockaded the street due to the large sinkhole near the river side of the street. Its then, only then, that I realize Ive left my bag back in my room. My wallet, my phone, my keys... My cars still unlocked, thank God, which is the only thing that keeps me from having a complete and total breakdown in front of the Andersons gate. Im an idiot for leaving my car unlocked in the middle of Manhattan, but with the sinkhole at the end of the street and the fact that my car is a piece of shit, it seems no one had an interest in the contents of my jalopy.

I open the door and throw myself down on the backseat. I rub my cheek against the rough fabric of the cushion and force myself to take a couple of deep breaths. Its all my own fault, I know. I dont know how to keep my emotions at bay but I cant help but know that I was right to say what I said. But I shouldnt have run away, I shouldve just let him rant and focused on winning the bet and maybe not take such a forceful stance when opposing Blaine. Now Ive let that final opportunity slip out of my fingers.

My physical reaction to him doesnt help anything. It only gets me worked up, and my efforts to fight down my attraction only make me more frustrated. I try to focus on the patter of rain against the roof of my car. Hes a cheap, heartless bastard, I remind myself, but it doesnt make me feel any better.

At the end of the day, he has no respect for the work Will and I do. I repeat that thought in my head, over and over again, until eventually, mercifully, the sound of the rain sends me off to sleep.

Im woken by a sharp rap against the window. My eyes fly open. I jerk upright, looking frantically around as I try to remember where I am. By the time the details of my current situation come back to me, Blaine has already opened the door, bringing a rush of cold and rain with him as he slides inside.

"Move over," he says. Still half asleep, I obey without a word. I push a strand of damp hair out of my face as he settles down beside me and pulls the door closed once more. He seems somewhat tall despite his actual size while standing and broader in the backseat of my tiny Honda, and his leg and hip are pressed against mine.

Hes warm, even through our damp clothes. "Ive been looking everywhere for you," he says, an edge to his voice.

Our argument comes rushing back to me, and my own annoyance flares up. "I told you I wasnt going to rely on your generosity anymore," I say. "This is clearly outside of your precious property so I wont infringe on your welcome wagon any longer."

"I didnt think youd go running out in the storm!" As if to add weight to his words, thunder crashes overhead, making the car tremble.

"What was I supposed to do? Go sulk in my borrowed room in my borrowed clothes?"

"It wasnt my intention to kick you out."

"It doesnt matter now. Whats done is done and we can both go on our merry ways."

"Whats that supposed to mean? Do you intend to stay in your car?"

"For now, yes."

"Dont be ridiculous, Kurt. You dont have your keys. Its cold out here with the rain and wind. You dont know how much longer this storm will last not to mention the fact that the street is blocked due to that sinkhole. It might still be awhile before you can make it out of the street, let alone back to Brooklyn." There comes a point sometimes in arguments when you know youve lost. When your pride and your anger have backed you into a corner and a sensible person would throw up their hands and walk away. Id like to think that Im normally a sensible person, but the past few days have left me with a confusing jumble of emotions.

I panic. "Ill stay out here," I tell him. "Im sure Ill survive somehow."

He makes an exasperated sound and runs his hand through his wet hair. "This is crazy."

"No. I think Im being pretty reasonable, actually. Unless you feel like continuing our earlier argument, I think its better if we stay apart."

"We can stay apart in the house."

"But Id still be your guest. Believe me, I dont want to be out here, but I wont go back in that house. I refuse to owe you anything."

"Im not going to let you sleep in your car, Kurt."

"If it werent storming and if the roads werent blocked, Id be halfway home right now," I remind him. "Wed probably never speak again, and I dont think either of us would have a problem with that. Lets just make this easy."

He stares at me for a long moment, and Im afraid hes going to keep arguing. But he only runs his hand through his hair again. "Fine," he says. "I wont drag you back." I wait for him to get out of the car, but he doesnt move. "One thing before I go," he says. His eyes move down my body. "Im going to need those clothes."

I gape at him. "What? Ill ship them back to you, I promise."

"Im afraid I cant take that risk. As you said, after you leave here well probably never see each other again."

"You have the contact information for the Center," I remind him. "You can find me there. Plus you have my bag back in the house."

He shakes his head. "You said yourself that you no longer want to owe me anything. Im assuming that extends to my friends generosity as well." Fuck. Hes turned my own words against me.

"Fine," I say. "Get out of the car and Ill hand them out to you."

"So you can lock me out in the rain? I dont think so."

"If youre that concerned, the keys for this thing are back in the house with my bag." If I could get him to bring them out here, all the better, but he doesnt fall for it.

"Im not leaving here without those clothes." He leans back in the seat and stretches his arms over his head, waiting. "You have two choices: give them to me, or come back to the house with me." He finishes with one of those smug little smiles of his. He thinks hes won the argument, that by insisting the return of the clothes hell get me to go back inside.

He doesnt realize that Ive already abandoned my sense in favor of my pride, and Im willing to go down with this ship. Im a proud, stubborn man and fuck Blaine Anderson if he thinks hes going to best me. I only have one weapon left to use against him. I reach behind me and slowly pull down the zipper of my pants; might as well go in for the kill early. His eyes widen when he realizes what Im doing, but I dont stop. When Ive finished unzipping, I slide the pants down my legs one by one, rolling the fabric down and exposing the white (and now slightly less opaque) boxer-briefs beneath. His gaze follows every moment of my hands, and his eyes linger on my cock, then my legs, before flicking back up to my eyes again. He wasnt expecting this, and in his surprise he lacks the composure to hide the hunger that burns in his eyes. I feel wanton, powerful, as I reach around my down once more and grab the hem of the boxer-briefs. I pull them off and shove it into Blaines hands.

They nearly fall out of his grip, hes so focused on my newly exposed penis, but he manages to grab the underwear. Still, his eyes remain on me, burning with such an intensity that my entire body goes hot, despite the fact that Im half-naked in the back of a car. I grab the fabric of my shirt at my waist and raise it over my head slowly. Blaine watches the fabric catch around my arm and then raises his eyes to mine once more. Its all I can do not to throw myself into his arms. I pass the shirt and pants over to him, but he hardly seems to notice.

Meanwhile, Im hyper-aware of everything: the rough fabric of the seat against my bare skin, the cold air on my nipples, how my cock is hardening and unashamed despite being exposed in the middle of a somewhat abandoned Manhattan street aside from some emergency crews, the tiny hairs lifting on the back of my neck. Im aware of the way Blaine smells, his natural, manly scent only enhanced by the damp in the air blending so perfectly with the scent of my cologne that permeates the car. Im aware of each of his breaths, to the point that my own breathing begins to match its rhythm.

"Enjoying the show?" I say, my voice husky. Maybe all isnt lost. The universe seems to have taken pity on me after all—its handed me the perfect chance to win my bet against Blaine. He gives a slow nod. His shoulders are tense, and for a moment I think hes about to lunge toward me and grab me to him. My heart careens madly at the thought, but as much as I want to, I know its a terrible idea to just fall into his arms. In this moment, my restraint gives me the power—and Im not about to give that up anytime soon.

"Here are the shoes," I say, grabbing the shoes from the floor and tossing them at him. "Thats everything."

He looks down at the pile of clothing in his hands and then back at me. "You said it yourself," he says, his voice deep and rough. "When I leave this car, its over. Well probably never see each other again." He wants me to crack, to be the first one to give into the baser sensations running through my flesh.

But I know Im stronger than he expects. "Probably not," I say casually.

Still he remains in the car, his eyes fixed on me. His grip on the clothes is so tight that his knuckles are white. I feel my own resistance start to crumble the longer we sit here, and I know he has to leave if Im to get out of this with my pride—and my sanity—still intact.

"Well?" I say. "Youve got the clothes. Shouldnt you head back to the house? Our business has concluded."

He frowns. "I guess I should."

Im afraid for a brief moment that hell stay anyway, but it appears that the intense moment between us has passed. Blaine opens the door and climbs out, leaving me alone in the car. And—oh yeah—completely naked. This isnt a high point of my life, thats for sure. No bag, no keys, no phone, no clothes. Im not really sure what to do, but all of my options look pretty bleak, and most of them involve me going back to Blaines mansion.

I reach over the back of the seat for the emergency car kit I keep in my trunk. Theres a thin blanket inside, and I wrap it around my waist. On top of everything else, the nasty, rainy weather ensures my self-induced imprisonment will be freezing. But in spite of it all, Id do everything again in a heartbeat.

It was completely worth it to watch Blaines face, to see him, for once, flustered and overwhelmed. That little taste of power had an intense effect on me, and Im surprised at how aroused I am. I feel intoxicated. I lie down again, the emergency blanket wrapped around me. Im so high after my mini-victory that I tell myself its all right to slide a finger down my body—down my chest, across my stomach, toward my cock thats still standing at attention from Blaines gaze.

Its all right to imagine its Blaine touching me instead. I can still feel his breath on my neck, his warm fingers grazing my skin. All the desire thats been building over the past couple days comes to the surface. My whole body reacts to the gentle caress of my fingers. Prickles dance across my skin as I imagine what might have happened between us had either Blaine or I been the tiniest bit weaker. Logic is thankful that we both resisted, but my body right now is yearning for the satisfaction that would have resulted if either of us had given in to our lust. What might have happened if Id let my guard down—or if Blaine had learned that I spied on him the other night. My hand slips along and firmly grasps my cock, and I bite back a moan. And then I see the movement out of the corner of my eye. I jerk upright, clutching the blanket to my chest. Blaine stands outside the car, a bag in his hand. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes burning with such desire that I feel as if he can see right through my meager covering. He reaches for the door handle.

"What are you doing?" I squeak, scrambling back against the other door as the cold air rushes in around him. "Youre supposed to be back at the house!"

"I was," he says, leaning through the open door. His voice is low and thick. "But I felt bad for leaving you, so I brought you your things."

"Fine. Leave them here, then." He shakes his head. He still stands halfway in and halfway out of the car. "Youre not supposed to be here," I say desperately. "Youre not supposed to watch someone when they... when theyre..." I remember my actions in the secret passageway and my cheeks burn even more. This cant be happening. I want to run away again, but theres nowhere to go. Blaine takes no pity on my obvious distress; he clearly seems very fine with discussing - or watching - masturbation.

"Tell me you werent thinking about me," he says.

"What?" I choke out. He cant be serious.

"Just now. Tell me you werent thinking about me as you touched yourself, and Ill turn around and walk right back to the house."

Im having difficulty breathing, but I force myself to look him in the eye. "And if I was?" I manage to breathe out.

His own eyes are half-closed as he watches me, and when he speaks, his voice is little more than a growl. "Then youre in trouble, Mr. Hummel." He dives into the car, slamming into me so hard that my head knocks back against the window behind me. But he either doesnt notice or doesnt care, and before I can even utter a sound of pain, his lips are on mine.

For the briefest moment, I consider pushing him away. But as desire flares between us, bright and powerful; I lose what little sense I have left. I grab the front of his shirt in my fist and pull him harder against me. His mouth moves against mine, rough and unyielding, while one of his hands slips around my neck. The other moves between us, yanking the emergency blanket from my grip and tossing it aside.

"Fuck, Kurt," he murmurs against my mouth. "Fuck, I want you." His hand moves across my chest, down my stomach, to my hip. He drags me toward him, holding me against the bulge in his pants, and all the while his lips are moving against my own. I meet his rough kisses with equal passion, slipping my tongue into his mouth to dance with his. He half-lifts me toward him, his hand moving over my bare ass. His fingers press against my flesh as they slide across the curve of my bottom and slip between my legs to the hole thats been trembling since I first lay eyes on him. I quiver at that intimate touch.

He tears his mouth away from mine. "Tell me," he rasps.

Im just as breathless as he is. "Tell you what?"

"Tell me what you were thinking about when you touched yourself." His finger moves along the edge of my ass but no further. "What made you this hard? Made you clench like you are now."

Heat washes over my face. "I—I dont know."

"Tell me," he begs. He slides back, but only so he can bend his head to my neck. He trails kisses down the column of my throat. His other hand moves down my chest to my ass, squeezing and kneading as his hot tongue slides over my skin.

My fingers dig into his shoulders. "I was thinking of you," I whisper.

His teeth graze the skin at the hollow of my throat. "Tell me more."

"I was thinking of how you—" I gasp as he nips at the skin over my collarbone. "In the gallery, the way you..."

"The way I..."

No ones ever asked me to describe things like this to them before, and I have to struggle for the words. Normally masturbation is a very private thing, even if I hadnt held myself to that same standard for Blaine. "The way you touched me," I say awkwardly. "The way you—the way you played with my dick and teased me."

In response, he gives a firm squeeze to my ass before he rests his hand on my dick. "Like this?"

"Yes," I breathe.

His free hand moves to cradle my balls, repeating the motion. I moan and squirm, but hes relentless. Meanwhile, his head is moving lower, falling until I can feel his warm breath against my chest. His lips are rough on the sensitive skin, but I dont care. When he removes his fingers to close his mouth around one of my nipples, I whimper and grab him by the shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. He sucks and nibbles at my tender nub. Pleasure and pain sweep through me as one.

"What else?" he growls around his mouthful. I can hardly think straight anymore. All of my senses are heightened, and the throbbing of my cock increases with every ragged breath and with every light touch of Blaines hands as he paws me. I was already close to finishing when he found me, and now Im about to slip over the edge. I slide my hands up his neck to tangle them in his thick hair.

"What else?" he says again. This time he bites down on me, and my hands close into fists around his dark locks.

"The way you slipped your fingers around my cock," I say, my voice cracking. He moves his hand down my body, and before I can even shift in response, he tugs one hand on my cock while his other hand teases at my hole before finally pushing two in and all I can see is bliss personified. Pleasure shudders through me, and I cry out and yank at Blaines hair as the world explodes around me. My cock spasms, and my hole clenches by the fingers he still moves around inside of me, lightly brushing my ass cheeks as he continues to thrust them in and out of me, no lubrication involved but I cant even feel the burn Im sure will linger once Ive come to my senses.

Wave after wave it comes, sweeping through me with an intensity that leaves me trembling in its wake. I lie there against the seat, weak and breathless, as Blaine moves his mouth to my ear once more.

"Those must have been some pretty vivid thoughts, to get you worked up like that," he murmurs. His fingers are still gripping my cock loosely, and he moves them slowly, sending aftershocks rippling through my flesh. "What else?" he whispers into my ear. "What else do you want me to do?"

I can hardly put together a coherent thought, let alone speak. My hands are still clenched around his hair, but the rest of my body is languid and warm. "Maybe," he rasps after a moment, "I should tell you what I want instead." He increases the speed of his hand once more, and already I can feel the tension building in me again despite the sensitivity.

"Ive been thinking of you, too," he says. He slips his fingers from around my cock suddenly and reaches up, pulling one of my hands from his hair. His grip is slick, dripping with my own cum, but I dont pull away, even when he moves my hand down to the bulge in his pants. Hes rock hard beneath the fabric, and his erection jumps at my touch. When he releases me, I keep my hand there, sliding it slowly down his length. He makes a sound deep in his throat. His entire body is rigid, his arms and shoulders so tense that I can feel them quivering beneath my touch.

"What do you want me to do?" I whisper, almost as if I dont know what I would possibly do with his dick in my hand. He doesnt say anything as I continue to rub him slowly through the fabric of his pants. Finally I reach up and tug at the hem of his damp shirt, thinking to pull it over his head, but his hand clamps around my wrist.

"My restraint only goes so far," he says. His eyes bore into mine. "I want you, Kurt. I want to fuck you until you cant move, until you cant think, until youve forgotten everything else but me. It wont be gentle. If you dont want that, then tell me, and Ill leave this car. But if I stay... I dont know how much longer Ill be able to control myself."

His words light a fire under my skin. Ive never had anyone stare at me with such hunger, or speak to me with such passion. I know I should tell him to leave. I should throw on my clothes and grab my keys and drive away from this place without looking back. What happened to the love and romance and lingering touches Id dreamt about when I was a teen? Would I really be okay with being subjected to Blaines admittedly enticing sexual torture?

But my body is bent on betraying me. In this moment, I dont care about whats smart or right or logical. I dont care about what hes done to the Center. I know only that my body comes alive at his touch, that Im drowning in such desire that Im not even sure which way is up anymore.

I give Blaine a single nod.

"Youre sure?" he rasps. I nod again, and this time he doesnt hesitate. He grabs me and yanks me against him, his mouth attacking mine. Heat surges between us as he pushes me down on the seat. I reach again for his shirt, and he helps me tug it up over his shoulders, exposing his perfectly muscled chest. My hands flutter to his stomach then slide up his torso, gliding over the ridges of his body. I could spend an hour inspecting every hard plane of his flesh, but Blaine isnt that patient. He pushes me back down, pinning me beneath his weight, and his lips crush against mine once more.

I moan and raise my tongue to meet his. My hands move to the waistband of his pants, reaching desperately for his fly. His own hand slips between us to help me, unfastening the button as I tug at the zipper. He slides his pants and boxer-briefs down in one motion, not bothering to push them past his knees. Neither of us care at this point. My body aches with need for him, and I can tell he feels it too. The long, hard length of him is wedged between us, the smooth skin hot against my lower abdomen.

He reaches down and grasps for his pocket. After a couple seconds of searching, he produces a condom and lube. "Always prepared, huh?" I ask breathlessly.

He smiles. "After everything thats happened between us, it seemed like a good idea to have this close." He tears the wrapper open with his teeth and slips the condom quickly over his impressive length. I hardly have any time to admire him before he grabs my legs and pulls them up, hooking my ankles over his shoulders. My bare toes brush against the ceiling of the car and I relish in how the skin of my legs looks against the muscles of his chest and arms.

He takes the lube and slathers it over his fingers and slowly pushes in where he once had been practically clawing at my opening. All I can do is sit back and take the immense bliss as Blaine shifts quickly from one finger to two and when three becomes a struggle, I am sweaty and fully hard for the umpteenth time tonight and all I can think about it how amazing Blaines dick is going to feel inside of me.

When hes satisfied with my preparation, he lowers himself slowly, trapping my thighs between our bodies and positioning his cock between my legs. He only allows me the briefest of moments to relish the feeling of him against my opening. I take a ragged breath, and he plunges inside of me, ramming himself to the hilt in a single thrust. I cry out in pleasure and dig my nails into his back.

"Fuck," he breathes against my neck. "Fuck, you feel good." He turns his face and claims my mouth, slipping his tongue between my lips. I cling to him as my body throbs around his cock, adjusting to the sudden fullness. When he begins to move, I feel as if the world is crumbling away around us. He drives into me, slowly at first but quickly increasing in speed. Over and over and over again he buries himself, and he leans harder against the backs of my thighs with every thrust.

I cant move even if I wanted to. I can only submit to his body, to the demands of his mouth and his cock. I curl my fingers, pressing my nails further into his skin. He pauses only once, to grab my arms and yank them up, catching them by the wrists. He presses them down on the cushion on either side of my head, trapping them in his grip. Its cramped—one of my arms is bent against the seat, the other elbow rubs the back of the seat in front of us—but I dont care. I dont care about anything but the heat of his skin against mine, the fullness of him inside of me, how my cock is pressing against his abs with the muscles providing just enough texture to make the pleasure nearly unbearable, the joys of his body.

"Fuck, Kurt," he chokes out. I catch his mouth with mine and suck his bottom lip between my teeth. He curses against my mouth, but he moves faster, pounding into me with wild abandon. My head hits against the car door, but I dont care. The pain only adds to the intensity of this moment, and pleasure surges through my veins.

I thought my last climax was a big one, but its nothing compared to the ecstasy that suddenly explodes through my flesh. I shake with the force of that violent wave, lost to everything but the pleasure coursing between us, wild as the storm outside.

Blaine curses again and gives a hard, deep thrust. His body goes rigid on top of mine, and then he shudders as release pours through him as well. After a moment he leans back and slides my legs off of his shoulders, and then he lowers himself gently on top of me.

I can feel the galloping of his heart against my own, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders. Its too easy, like this, to forget how much I hate him. To forget that Im supposed to be in control of myself and my emotions and this situation. To forget why I came here, and why I stormed out to the car in the first place. But I dont care. I dont care about anything but the warmth of his breath against my ear and the softness of his skin against my own.

Here, right now, thats enough.