“You’ll end up with a man whose name starts with E. And he’ll rip through your life like a tornado. Then again, a tornado can handle a volcano.”
“Were we ever that beautiful?”
“You still are,” Roger told him. “Maybe we should make the most of the hurricane.”
“This was definitely foreplay.”
“It’s like Tumblr, the live version.”
Dave chuckled. “True. But I did not see it coming.”
“Maybe hurricanes affect gaydar?”
“How much did you have to drink?”
“Enough to pretend we can still have sex like that.”
“Needing someone this much couldn’t be fucking normal”
“You're doing it wrong."
"Son, I've got a gun to your chest and you're telling me that I'm doing it wrong?"
"Closer isn't better." He disarmed her with a swift motion, then offered the weapon back to her. "Further away you are, the less unpredictable I can be."
Della's eyes had opened wide with surprise, but she recovered fast. Took the shotgun back and said, "Okay. Knock again so we can start over.”
“Are we just going to keep having sex so we can avoid talking about what we need to talk about?"
Prophet pulled back and looked between Tom's legs.
"Just checking to make sure you still have a dick."
"Same one that fucked you through the wall while you begged for it," Tom pointed out, and Prophet eyes grew heavy lidded with lust again. "You're so easy, Proph."
“You are so fucking good for me and so fucking bad for me at the same time."
"It's not good if you don't have the mix of both.”
“Rules are usually in place because they help the people who made them, more than the people who have to follow them. Same goes for people who have questions they want you to answer. Keep some shit just for you. Gives you an edge”
“You stole his truck?”
“Borrowed,” Prophet corrected. “Remy thought of it when I took him home.”
“Did you just blame a fifteen-year-old kid for why you stole—”
Prophet shrugged. “Little bit.”
“Come on, bebe. Let’s play gator.”
“Tom smiled and surrendered to the inevitable. Because you couldn’t escape your fucking past, so why bother trying?”
“What did he say about me?” Tom demanded.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Told you,” Prophet said, looking quite pleased with himself. “Don’t say I never tell you anything.”
“His wrists ached. When they stopped hurting, it would mean the storm had definitely arrived, because when the pressure was high, there wasn’t any pain.
Just massive destruction—a typical metaphor for his life.”
“In the dark, Dave reached for Roger's hand as they watched the shadowed lovemaking. "Were we ever that beautiful?"
"You still are," Roger told him.
"Maybe we should make the most of the hurricane."
"This is definitely foreplay."
"It's like Tumblr, the live version.”
“You are an idiot," Tom informed him.
Prophet stared at the duct tape around his wrists. "I have no argument against that at the moment.”
“Bon à rien. Bad loque
Bad luck. Bad news”
“As their frenzy grew, so did the storm, as if the hurricane built off their furious energy. Prophet would never look at a hurricane the same way again.”
“There’s a hell of a lot you haven’t shared.” “Oh, I’m sorry. Be sure to send out invites to the pot-meets-kettle show you’ll be throwing.” “I’m sensing sarcasm. I think being in Cajun country’s given me some of your voodoo.”
“And that goddamned bald guy from The Weather Channel was in New Orleans. Everyone knew that the guy only went to the place that was going to get hit the worst. Like a bald, douche-bag weather angel of death.”
“He'll rip through your life like a tornado. Then again, a tornado can handle a volcano.”
“He walked back around and faced Prophet for a long moment, before putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing down. “On your knees.” His voice sounded husky to his own ears. Rough too, and his throat was thick—with lust, with a million other emotions that only intensified when Prophet sank down as ordered and tugged at Tom’s zipper with his teeth. Tom threaded his hand in Prophet’s hair and pulled him back. Pulled his own zipper down with his free hand, slowly, exposing his piercings one by one as he freed his cock. “That what you’re looking for?” “Yeah, Tommy,” Prophet murmured. “Fucking let me.” Tom”
“Tom guided Prophet forward by his hair, and Prophet licked the head of his cock, then sucked it into his mouth up to the ridge, swirling his tongue around and down, just enough to flick the first piercing. Tom”
“Prophet pulled back a little, a wicked look in his eyes as he looked up at Tom. He licked slowly along the ladder of piercings, and then he paid special attention to each one, tugging the barbells between his teeth until Tom hissed or groaned and tightened his grip on Prophet’s hair warningly. Each time, Prophet would comply, letting his dick go, and he’d wait patiently, and each time Tom brought his mouth back to his cock, he was rewarded with the tug and pull, lick-suck-twist motion. His pain-pleasure center intertwined to where Tom could barely pick out which was which. He knew he just wanted more. Prophet’s”
“Tell him to stop babying me,” Della said to him. Prophet looked at Kari with a smile. “Good luck.”
“He was hard as hell too, because he couldn’t stop picturing Tommy calmly rolling that gator, like it was nothing. His shirtless chest as he dragged the thing outside and shot it wasn’t a bad image either. It”
“Or maybe you just have some kind of alligator kink. The water shut off, and Prophet turned his head to see Tom exiting the bathroom naked. Tom stopped short when he noticed Prophet’s stare. He smirked a little and shook his head when Prophet shoved his hands into his pockets in a futile attempt to hide how turned on he was. Looking squarely into Tom’s eyes, Prophet knew what—who—he had a kink for. And the voodoo bastard knew it too. Knew”
“Or maybe you just have some kind of alligator kink. The water shut off, and Prophet turned his head to see Tom exiting the bathroom naked. Tom stopped short when he noticed Prophet’s stare. He smirked a little and shook his head when Prophet shoved his hands into his pockets in a futile attempt to hide how turned on he was. Looking squarely into Tom’s eyes, Prophet knew what—who—he had a kink for. And the voodoo bastard knew it too. Knew it. Liked it. Used it to his advantage whenever he could. Like now. Because he knows you like it. And”
“Want me to roll you?” Tom asked. “Not funny.” But Prophet was rock hard. Tom stalking over to him and crowding him wasn’t helping. “You still have that duct tape?” “Yeah. Why?” “Come on, bebe. Let’s play gator.” Prophet hated the way his body responded yes—eagerly—to that question. “Think you wanna. ’M’I wrong?” Tom’s drawl was thick as hell, went right down Prophet’s spine, as the man’s hand snaked around Prophet’s waist and pushed his own hard cock against Prophet’s cargo pant-clad one. “Yes.”
“He palmed Prophet’s cock and started a rhythm that made Prophet try to escape and move into it at the same time. Prophet groaned. “Now he listens to me.” “Never gonna forget that, right?” “No,” Prophet ground out. “Next time, we’ll do your legs too. Easier to position you.” “Next time, you’ll be the one taped and bound,” Prophet promised. “And over my goddamned knee.” “Proph!” Tom’s strangled cry sounded surprised, made Prophet close his eyes and shoot against his stomach and chest, hitting his goddamned chin because he came so hard. But Tom groaned then, bucked his hips up, and rode his climax against Prophet’s ass. After a few minutes, he laughed once. Then again, and said, “You’re such an asshole. Can’t even let me win. Have to call this a tie.” “What does this mean?” “Means our desire’s equal.” “That’s not a bad thing,” Prophet said.”
“I think being in Cajun country’s given me some of your voodoo.” “You are an idiot,” Tom informed him. Prophet stared at the duct tape around his wrists. “I have no argument against that at the moment.”
“Because staying away from me might’ve ensured we’d both be fine, but we weren’t happy. And I’d take happy over safe any day.” “You”
“I am learning there is much more to the world than can be plainly seen.”
“You would make a very ugly woman"
"I would not. I would be stunning”
“On the day I lost my passport I discovered, at the age of fifty-eight, that losing one’s native land implies more than parting with a circumscribed area of soil.”
“- [...] Ne trouvez-vous pas d'une stupidité caractéristique de l'espèce humaine qu'un homme qui n'a qu'une vie puisse la perdre pour une idée ?
- Il est très rare qu'un homme puisse supporter, comment dirais-je ? sa condition d'homme...”
“singing to the radio when you drive”
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