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Tirone: Chapter 24

Jo

A Few Months Ago

 

“Your neighbor is having a party. There are too many people coming and going tonight,” Ty said over the phone.

My shoulders slumped. “So you’re not coming over tonight?” I was so used to his sleeping next to me I didn’t think I could ever sleep again without him.

“No fucking way I’m gonna miss a night with you. Leave your bathroom window open, baby.”

A huge grin replaced my frown. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’m coming in Romeo style. It is the east, and Jo is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, and open that goddamn window now.”

I giggled. “Now?”

“Yes, Jo, now.”

I hurried to the bathroom and opened the window. Then I peered at the fire exit ladders. They were old and tricky to climb. “But the orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here.

“With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these stairs; for rusty metal limits cannot hold love out.”

I giggled again at how silly and yet so romantic this was. Tirone knew his Shakespeare and that alone was enough to make me fall in love with him. That and his incredible abs and Adonis belt along with his hopeless sweetness underneath the dark surface.

A cap appeared down the building. Then his head popped up, and I saw his grin. He hung up and started climbing. I couldn’t look. If he slipped or got hurt, I’d scream and everybody would know about us. I mumbled a prayer until his head peeked in from the window.

Swiftly, I helped him in and threw myself into his arms. “Thank God.”

He shut the window. Then he took off his cap, his lips possessing mine. He cupped my ass, picking me into his embrace and putting me on the bed.

“So glad you’re here. I’m so tired and sleepy,” I teased.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I feigned a yawn.

“Well, I’ll make you sleep, but not before I punish your holes hard and long, starting with that mouth. Get on your knees and keep it open, you little slut.”

My whole body tingled with arousal. With Ty, I’d discovered I had a degradation kink. I liked it when he called me names and treated me like a whore. His whore that needed to be punished because I was such a bad girl.

It was a form of therapy that eased my guilt about our relationship and helped with some of my daddy issues, too. Not to mention how much it turned Ty on. There was nothing that could bring me to the edge as fast as the groans and growls Ty made when he was aroused. 

Blushing, I went down on my knees and opened my mouth wide waiting obediently for his cock to punish me.

He watched me, taking his time, and then he just sauntered to the bathroom. It was a part of the game, the wait, the anticipation, a form of punishment on its own.

That and I knew he was going to clean up after that climb. Ty was a neat freak and incredibly clean, not just for a boy, but for people. Another thing I loved about him, but sometimes it hovered around OCD. Not just a little like he’d said.

When he came out, he was shirtless, bestowing me with the view of his strong pecs and gorgeous abs. He tipped my chin up and held my gaze long enough to build on my desire. Then he pushed his thumb inside my mouth. “Suck it.”

I licked it first and then wrapped my lips around it like I’d do with his cock. Then he put another finger, and I sucked them both. His eyes darkened, and his chest puffed out with a hissing inhale. He started to work his belt, and then the button of his jeans.

I glanced down at the forming bulge, but he tilted my chin back up quickly. “Did I say you can take your eyes off me?”

I shook my head, still sucking.

“Eyes on me. The whole fucking time.”

Teasingly, he took his time to pull his cock out. My heart sped when he took his fingers out of my mouth and rubbed the saliva around his length. I couldn’t help myself and took a peek.

“What the fuck did I just say?”

“I’m a very bad girl,” I said playfully.

“Yes. You have to be punished.” He held his hardness and rubbed the tip against my lips. Then he slapped my mouth with it. “Open wide.”

Locking my gaze on his, I took as much of him as I could and closed my lips. The way he always hissed and how his eyes rolled back at first contact scorched me with need.

I sucked and licked and kissed, my hand playing with his shaved balls, never taking my eyes off his, listening to his hisses and groans with burning desire.

“Jesus…when you touch my balls while your cheeks are hollowing around my cock…fuck…you’re killing me, Miss Meneceo.”

I kept it up, so proud of myself for being such a good slut for him.

“You know I respect you, right?” he groaned.

Confusion slowed me down for a second, but then I just nodded. Of course, he did, but why was he asking? Now?

“Good.” He fisted my wig too hard for my liking, disregarding all my former requests never to touch my hair with force, as he pulled out fast and stroked himself.

I didn’t understand what was happening until he was groaning loud and thick, warm ropes of cum landing on my face, and Ty’s fingers were pulling at my real hair.

A gasp ripped out of me as panic and humiliation invaded me. My hand flew to the front of the wig to hold it in place, but it was too late.

We both stared at each other for God knew how long, our breaths huffing, his cum on my face, his cock out, and cream blond hair covered half of my skull.

“What the fuck?” He was the first to whisper.

I shook with tears. “I told you never to pull my hair.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rising to my feet, I wiped my cheeks. “And this is not cool.”

“I’m sorry. I just…got caught in the moment.”

I sped to the bathroom to clean myself up and take off the wig. He rushed after me. He was staring at my reflection in the mirror as if I were a space alien. “Why the hell are you wearing a wig, Jo?”

My gaze dropped as I splashed water on my face, heart racing. “I…I have a scar on my skull.” I might not be telling the whole truth, but, at least, I wasn’t lying. The scar was one of many my step mother’s men left on me that night.

His eyes traveled to the back of my head and then narrowed to find it. “It’s barely visible.”

“It still bothers me.” I moved and dry myself with a towel.

“You have very light blond hair, and you’re wearing a dark brown wig because of a tiny scar on the back of your head?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that? Because I don’t think it’s anybody’s business what I wear or how I like to appear.”

“I have a problem with your hiding this from me. I’ve slept in that bed with you for weeks. We strip naked in front of each other, and all this time I didn’t even know what your real hair color was. What the fuck, Jo? I mean, if you wear a wig in public because you’re self-conscious about a tiny scar, why have you been wearing it with me? How could you think something that insignificant would bother me?”

“Tirone, please. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Why? Why are you lying to me, Jo? Why, after all we’ve had you still can’t trust me?”

“You were never supposed to see it.”

“Why? Because we’re just spending some time together and it’ll be over before I find it out?”

He was too young to believe it, but yes. He’d grow tired of me and we’d part. We were both fools for indulging in an affair that could never survive time, but we did it anyway because we couldn’t help it. The hurt in his gaze swayed from saying anything, though. “No one is ever supposed to see it. Do you hear me? No one. You can’t tell anyone about this.”

“Jesus. Do you really think I’ll tell anyone anything about you or us?” He placed his palms on either side of my face. “I’m not having a maladaptive crush on you or just fucking my teacher. Jo, I love you. I’m in this for life, even if I still have to prove it to you. My dreams, my whole future I’m building it around you, Jo. That’s how much I’m serious about us. You have to trust me. I’ll always protect you, with my life if I have to.”

“Ty—”

“Why are you hiding your identity, Jo? If that’s even your real name.”


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