Ace of Hearts Ch. 03

It's freezing out here, but my options are limited, as far as location is concerned.

Asa is looking around, checking every corner. I'm lighting a cigarette and setting it on the edge of the ashtray. He's leaning back against the tall wooden privacy fence.

"You have balls, I'll give you that," he says, watching me.

"Balls that you enjoy, if I'm not mistaken," I crack.

Asa dips his head in concession and laughs.

We're in my mother's backyard, on the side of the house where the fence begins.

"Obviously, if someone comes around from the front, they'd have to open the gate to see us," I explain, gesturing to the huge wooden door beside him. "If they're coming from the back, they'd have to open the back door, which has three deadbolts and sticks, so it makes this sound like a pterodactyl in heat."

Asa cracks up and I feel electricity chase down my back. I grin; his laugh is my favorite thing. Well, one of them anyway.

"You come up with the craziest shit, I swear. Three deadbolts?"

"You can take the Boricua out of the hood but you can't take the hood out of the Boricua."

Asa shakes his head, but he's smiling. "And the cigarette?"

"A decoy, Juilliard, keep up."

Snow is gently falling, and it glitters on his dark hair. His face is ruddy from the cold, and he's wearing my favorite pairs of jeans of his. I take him in; his boots, jeans, and heavy navy peacoat. He has black scarf that all but disappears in his hair, and there's no telling where his hair ends and the scarf begins. He's leaning back against the fence, relaxed like he always is, eyes half lidded. He always manages to look both rugged and classy at the same time. It's ridiculous how good looking he is. It still makes me want to throw a fit.

That murderous smile, the one that always makes me want to bite his lip blooms across his face. "Did you bring me out here to stare at me? Or did you want something?"

"Both," I grin wickedly.

He raises his eyebrows, "Oh, no, we don't have time for that."

"The fuck we don't," I say, and I close the gap between us, burying my face in his neck.

"Jonathan," he murmurs, but I can feel his hand already palming my ass, bringing me in. I normally hate it when people use my whole name, but it sounds so good in his mouth.

"That's me," I whisper against his neck and he shivers.

It's been three weeks since I've seen him last and I feel like I'm going to burst out of my skin. Since that first night, we had seen each only once more and it's driving me crazy. Today's a fluke. He's meeting my sister here to go out for lunch and I happen to be working on my mom's car.

Right now it doesn't matter, though. He's in front of me and I have him for at least fifteen minutes before we have to go inside and act like acquaintances. He pulls me in tight.

"I've missed you," he murmurs.

"Gay," I respond, but my face is hot. He chuckles.

I turn his face towards mine and press my mouth to his for a deep kiss and despite his earlier protest he returns my affection in kind. I can feel his arousal, my cock rubbing up against his through our jeans and I tug on his lip with my teeth before sweeping my tongue across it from corner to corner. He moans ever so softly against my mouth and grinds his hips against mine.

Fuck, I want him right now. I push against him hard with my entire body and he grabs the back of my head, his tongue exploring my mouth with more intensity. His hands are inside my coat, sliding under my shirt, and my skin prickles from his winter cold fingertips. I suck in a breath when those same cold fingertips and hot palms find their way to my chest, and my nipples pebble beneath his touch. All he does is brush his thumb across the barbell and I half laugh, half moan in his mouth. I can taste his smile.

Despite standing in the snow, I am sweating, and my skin feels so hot that I'm almost surprised it's not charred.

I twine my hands in his hair and grip hard at the scalp, the taste in my mouth never, ever enough. He kisses me like he's trying to taste every inch of me. It's fucking unreal.

I'm in my mom's backyard furiously making out with my sister's boyfriend. Nothing makes sense anymore.

"Jonathan," he manages to break the kiss, resting his forehead against mine. His voice is rough with arousal. I'm out of breath. I don't want to be done. I can feel my frustration rise. I can feel the precum wetting my boxers. I cradle his face in my hands.

"I know," I gripe, panting. I try to restrain my irritability. "We have to go inside."

"That's not what I was going to say," he growls, digging his fingers into my hair. I immediately yield at his touch. This man can subdue me in a way nobody ever has, and it has nothing to do with his physique. "I was going to tell you where to put those cock sucking lips of yours."

A groan comes out before I can catch it.Fuck fuck fuck. How are his fucking WORDS orgasmic, what the fuck is this? If someone referred to my lips as cocksucking two months ago they'd have been in for a dick slap themselves, but today it just makes the blood rush down into my prick.

I seize his mouth again, and slide my hand over the throbbing bulge in his pants. He responds by lashing his tongue against mine, and I feel his hand go around back and grip my ass hard. I quickly unbuckle his belt and reach in for my prize; it's thick and hot in my hand. He moans in my mouth and bites my lip.

"When?" I breathe hard, and start leaving kisses on his neck and throat. His cock throbs in my grip. I want to take it out so badly, right here in the snow. I don't give a shit if my knees go numb from it. "Please, Juilliard, I can't fucking stand it. Please don't make me wait."

I run my fingers along the vein leading from his balls up to where the ridge separates the bulb from his shaft. I smear his own arousal around the head and he thrusts his hips forward with gritted teeth and heavy breath. I am fucking drunk on this.

"When?" I demand again, giving his pole another squeeze and he shudders and catches my wrist. I stop. I can feel the tension eking out of the moment, and that flare of anger comes up again in a flash.

He slides my knit hat off my head and my hair explodes out like a party popper. He runs his fingers through the tight curls and grimaces.

"I don't know," he finally responds. "There's midterms this week and I have rehearsal for the upcoming concert. I've barely had enough time to see Veronica as it is. Winter's rough."

I close my eyes and take a step back, zipping my coat, remembering where I stand on the list of priorities. I don't know why it stings the way it does, though, mine aren't much different, Tara, Mom, work.

He sees my expression and winces, tucking himself away, buckling his belt. "Listen, I didn't mean--"

"Hey, man, no sweat. I know how it is," I play it off like I don't want to puke. Like I cannot physically feel the rejection. I can tell by his expression that he doesn't buy it.

He reaches for me, but I don't feel like dealing with this. I avoid him and sidestep, pulling out my weed and loading the one hitter.

"Jonathan," he starts but I interrupt him again.

"I said it's no big deal. I'll trade you this for my hat," I offer him the first hit with a strained smile. He looks at me with those stupid fucking beautiful eyes. I look away.

He sighs and tosses me my beanie and I pull it on my head. I hear the prehistoric door squeal and screech open and we freeze.

His eyes widen...and he starts cracking up.

"Damn, you weren't wrong, that really does sound like a dinosaur!"

"Like a velociraptor in labor," I confirm and peer around the corner.

My mom's head is poking out. "Oye, ¿ustedes quieren café?"

I look at Asa, "You want coffee? Mom's asking."

He grins deviously. "Yeah. You know how I like it, light, no sugar," he grins deviously and pinches my inner thigh faster than I can dodge.

"Pendejo," I hiss, but I'm grinning. I poke my head around the corner again.

"Sí, Ma," I hold up two fingers. "Asa likes it black and bitter like his soul."

"Y ¿que hacen ustedes?" she squints at me like she can figure out what I'm up to if she stares at me hard enough.

"Us? Oh, nothing. Just getting into trouble, doing drugs, making out, you know, the usual," I beam at her. She rolls her eyes at me.

"Bobo," she smirks. "Come inside soon. Veronica will be home in a little while." The door screams closed.

When I turn around Asa is looking at me in horror. "What the hell was that?"

"An advertisement for WD-40?"

He hooks his lip in a growl. "I know what I mean."

I shrug, "It's the benefit of being full of shit. Everyone thinks you're full of shit. She called me silly and went inside."

"Come here," he demands.

"No," I take a hit from the pipe.

"We have 20 minutes and you're really gonna make me ask again?" His eyes flash dangerously and I'm immediately hard again.

"You bet your fine ethnically ambiguous ass I will, you can die mad about it," I blow the smoke at him, you know, like an adult.

He snatches my collar and drags me the several steps toward him until we are nose to nose. His eyes are so hard. Fuck, I'm so hard, my pants might split. Ugh, fuck me up, please.

"Gonna do something, Mr. Perfect?" I smirk, but we both fucking know damn well and good that he already has me in the palm of his hand. I rub up against his dick, eyes locked with his in challenge. I tilt my chin up in defiance.

Without a word, he flips me hard and fast so my front is pressed against the fence and he's behind me. I feel his press his dick against my ass, and I'm just fucking helpless and horny and maybe a little scared.

He crudely unbuckles my belt and shoves my pants and boxers down to just under my ass. I shiver from the cold and anticipation, but I don't wait long. He grabs my cock at the base, and strokes up the shaft, quickly gaining momentum and a choke out a gasp.

He buries his face in my neck, kissing, nipping, licking while his hand has found a rhythm and it is so intense it's almost too much. His hands feel so foreign, yet significantly familiar. Instead of Tara smooth soft touch and small grip, he can definitely fit more than half my shaft in his calloused mitt. He digs his chin in my shoulder, his lips positioned against my ear.

"Listen to me, you fucking brat," he swipes his tongue along the shell of my ear. Oh my God. "I know for a goddamned fact that nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever handled your cock like I have. Your cock was meant for my hand. If you think you can fuck around teasing me, know that every single time you do, I will take it out on your ass how I want and when I want. Am I clear?"

He handles my cock with the expertise born only from someone who has one and it's getting too hard to stand. I wobble but his other arm has me locked in place and his immense girth, while still clothed, is parked between my bare cheeks. He runs his thumb over the tip to collect my precum and it's all I can do to not scream, or slam my fist against the fence.

I can't see straight, I'm about to cum all over my mother's fence.

He gives my balls a hard squeeze, thrusts against my ass and I let out a guttural moan. "Am I fucking clear, Jonathan?"

"Yes!" I gasp. "Jesus fuck yes!" Fuck fuck fuck.

"When I tell you to come here," he growls. "You. Come. Here. So let's try this again--". He presses his cock so hard against me I can feel my asshole twitch. I can't breathe.

"Cum here," he demands.

It feels like he's jacking it at light speed. He bites into my neck, drags his tongue up the nape, and fucking points my cock downward like he's aiming a gun. My top half is braced against the fence, my hips pulled back tight against him and I have never in my goddamned life felt so vulnerable and so unbelievably horny.

He gives my balls another squeeze, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush. I make some sort of weird garbled sound that's part moan, part Spanish and part what I imagine Neanderthal speech sounds like and violently cum as bidden, ropes of hot jizz splattering in the snow. I am fucking shaking.

"Good boy," he murmurs. He milks my overstimulated cock of every last drop and I thrash in his arms trying my damndest to keep quiet. Finally he lets go, but my legs give out. When I don't hit the ground, I realize it's because he has me completely enveloped in his arms, his face buried in my neck. His cock throbs against my ass. My heart is pounding.

"Jesus Christ," I mumble. I'm starting to feel the cold now.

"Never met him," he murmurs and kisses behind my ear. I huff out a laugh and shudder at his touch. He straightens us out, but doesn't let me go until he's sure I'm steady.

"Goddamn, son," I say as I shakily pull up my pants. "They teach you dirty talk at Juilliard too?"

He licks my cum off his fingers and I almost faint. Holy shit, I've never seen anything sexier.

"Nah, I got that from community college." He grins.

The back door groans in anguish and we look at each other, eyes wide

"Oye pero hello? El café se va a enfriar!" We hear my mom shout from around the corner. "And don't think I don't know what you're doing out here, Cheech and Chong!" My mom slams the door. We cover our ears.

Asa and I look at each other, and fall apart hard.

"You're definitely Cheech," he wheezes.

"Aw, don't be so hard on yourself," I reply.

We make our way to the door. I look at him with one hand on the doorknob. His smile slips off his face and he shifts under the sudden heat of my glare. Slowly, I rake my eyes over him. He flushes, and adjusts his pants.

I grin.

"Enjoy that mess in your chonies, man," I drawl in my best Cheech impression. "Let me know when you can pencil me into your busy schedule, and maybe next time you won't have so much laundry to do."

I yank the door open just as Asa flips me the bird and says, "Dick."

Simultaneously, from inside the house, my mother and Veronica exclaim, "Asa!"

I cackle, holding the door open for him as he turns beet red and stammers his apologies.

"Now!" I declare, rubbing my hands together. "Where's that cold coffee?"

Asa excuses himself to go to the bathroom while I reheat our coffees. Veronica huffs.

"Can you put it in the to-go cup for him? I'm hungry and I want to go to lunch," she asks. She's standing outside of the bathroom waiting for him.

"Sure." I grab a travel cup from my mom's cabinet and start to prep his coffee. A weird feeling climbs up my spine that makes me giddy and queasy at the same time. I stare at the tumbler I made for him, watching the cream swirl. I feel my face heat up. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I hand it to Veronica, and she puts a hand on my arm as I turn away.

"Are you feeling okay?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Me?" No. "Yeah why?"

"Because you just did something for me without being a wiseass. Also your face is red as hell."

I look into her face. I...don't know what to say.

Asa exits the bathroom, gives me a little smile, and immediately turns to Veronica. "Ready?"

She grins, "Yes. I don't know what you did but you have domesticated my brother. He made you a coffee." She hands him the tumbler. There it is again, that weird queasy giddy feeling.

He looks at me with a thoughtful expression. I tense, and blurt, "I know you like it creamy so I added some of the extra special kind." I leer at him and Veronica punches me in the pec hard enough that I almost stumble. Veronica cradles her hand. I cackle, and she stamps her foot.

"You're so fucking gross, Jonny! God! I take it all back," Veronica shrieks.

"I'll be sure to leave you a yelp review with my thoughts," Asa remarks, his face carefully neutral.

From the other room, Mami yells, "Veronica! Te voy a dar una pela!"

"WHY ME?? BEAT JONNY, HE'S THE NASTY ONE!" God, she's such an easy mark.

I bid her goodbye...from a safe distance, and book it to my car. I check my phone as I get in and review my missed messages.

Tara: sorry to cancel dinner again babe I have to work late :( year end is kicking my ass

She ends the text with a cry emoji.

A voicemail: "Hello Mr. Peña, this is Eric Friedman from J&C Jewelers. I'm calling you to let you know that your custom order is ready for pickup. You can come into the store any time between the hours of 9 am and 4 pm Monday through Friday, and 9 am to 12 pm on Saturdays. If you have any questions you can reach us at..."

I blanche. Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.

What the fuck am I doing here?

My phone pings again and I see that it's Asa. Fuck. I can't be doing this. I try to ignore the physical pain in my chest. I have gotten swept up like this is a game, like for some reason because it was dick it didn't count as cheating.

I have completely lost sight of my priorities. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I am human fucking garbage. So, why do my eyes burn?

I stare at the notification. I debate not opening it. I open the text.

All the air leaves my lungs. It's a video, and by the thumbnail I can see blue jeans and my mother's bathroom wallpaper. I'm salivating.

I debate not watching it. I press play with a shaky finger.

Inspiring display of willpower all around, Jonathan.

As I sit in my idling car, I watch the blue jeans unzip and big hands reach in. Out springs his beautiful cock, thick and corded like his arms, like his neck. That cock is the American fucking Dream. The tip glistens with a droplet of precum on the tip and he gives it a long languid stroke, squeezing the head to milk a little more out. I stopped breathing. Those should be my hands.

I watch, hypnotized, as he runs his thumb over his cock slit, brings it to his lips, and with a turn of the camera lets me see how he gently sucks the pad of his thumb clean. He smiles lazily and my own cock starts aching against my thigh. The video ends.

The whole thing only takes about 10-15 seconds but I am undone, clutching my phone in a death grip. Immediately a text follows.

Asa: tonight?

I rest my head against the steering wheel resisting the urge to cry. As if sensing my reluctance, he sends another text.

Asa: please

I shiver. Please. The word twists my insides.

"FUCK." I bellow, and slam the flat side of my fist on the steering wheel. "FUUUUUCK." What the fuck is wrong with me? Why is this so fucking hard?

Asa: dont say no

Please. Like I could deny him, even if I wanted to.

"Fuck," I repeat to no one, my voice cracking because I know at 8 pm I'm going to be at his house and at 8:05 I'm going to be inside him.

See you tonight, I type, hating myself for it. I throw my phone and grip my hair, trying to count backwards to calm down.

After tonight. After tonight it stops.