Games Boys Play by Zoe X. Rider Read Free Book Online

engine started up, a different sound from inside a case in the cargo hold than it was from the passenger area of the bus. The road case’s walls and floor vibrated. He wondered if the case would slide around when the bus started moving, but while he felt the imagined pull of gravity against his body, the case stayed firmly in place. It must have been packed in tightly with all the other equipment.
    The bus changed gears, picking up speed while he imagined himself hidden deep within, trying to find a comfortable position in the confines of the dark case, sweat rolling down his skin, soaking through the clothes he was wearing.
    Without opening his eyes, he rolled onto his side on the bed, pumping his shaft in a tight grip. The head of his cock slicked the bottom sheet as he thrust against it. He rewound the story in his head, back to the beginning, back to his arms being wrenched behind him by one of a group of men who wanted the bus but didn’t want anyone to know they had it, so they were forcing them all into cases and putting them under the bus, where they wouldn’t be able to alert anyone.
    He imagined the first winds of rope being passed around his wrists and pulled tight as he watched Dylan get knocked to the ground, because Dylan was trying to fight what they were doing to all of them.
    He imagined the knot being jerked tight at his wrists, making it too late now for him to do anything to stop this—imagined watching blood smear Dylan’s chin as they forced him onto his stomach on the ground.
    “Fuck.” His voice was thick against the mattress, his lips catching the sheet, his breath making a hot circle in the fabric. His fingers, the ones that weren’t bringing him off, clenched the pillow by his head. The first winds of rope passing around his wrists, pulling tight, the tug of a knot being fixed, that moment when it was too late to escape because you’d just let yourself get into a fucked situation, and they could do anything they wanted with you, and Dylan was on the ground, and someone was kicking him, hard, the toe of a boot to his side, his body jumping, his fingers scraping for purchase on the pavement…
    A wordless sound pulled itself from his chest.
    His hips jerked.
    Spunk surged from deep in his balls, like a rocket, a payload, a release, splattering the sheet, a secondary spasm spilling hot seed over his knuckles. He kept his fist going until the aftershocks started to become more uncomfortable than pleasant. Then he just stopped and lay there, his cock shrinking in the shallow curve of his palm. His lower lip tugging at the sheet beneath his face.
    He blinked slowly at the bedroom wall.
    It was like pulling up out of molasses, the effort required to bring his consciousness back into the here and now of an early Tuesday afternoon.
    At least, he thought as he freed his arm from underneath his hip, he might stand a chance of not completely fucking embarrassing himself that evening.
    Maybe.
    The first thing he did when he got out of bed was draw open the curtains and blinds and let the sun in.
    Up, showered, and dressed a half hour later, he ran errands, whether they needed running or not: oil change at one of those quick-lube places, a few groceries, a six-pack of beer. Fresh socks and a pack of pens because he seemed to have lost half his socks and all his pens at some point. He checked the band’s PO box, then spent an hour wandering a bookstore, tilting paperbacks out from their shelves, pushing them back into place, nothing really tempting him.
    He had little appetite for lunch and none for dinner. He drank only enough water to quench his thirst and found himself standing in front of the toilet more often than usual, the consequence of nerves and the fear of having a full bladder when Dylan showed up.
    When Dylan showed up.
    The thought sent him back to the kitchen for another panicked sip of water to wet his dry mouth.
    The sky grew orange.
    They’d set no specific time, just evening, which for