Pull

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 2

RAINED this afternoon. Mosquitoes on a North Carolina night came thicker than the downpours. In this neck of the woods they did. “Ow.” Surrounded by foliage, a fishing pond less than eighth of a mile south… my own damned fault for getting eaten alive, I guessed. Not as if I had far to go from my door—less home, a hole in the wall. Seriously. In June, I’d secured an abandoned coyote den on the slope of one of the park’s shallow ravines. It was better than sleeping among wall-towall strangers. Charlotte’s shelters were always crowded. But I’d let my nerves dictate my early arrival tonight. As duded up as I could be without the luxury of appliances, I tucked my best T-shirt in proper-like and smelled my pits. Only one hole near the seam— inconspicuous. I swiped the hair from my eyes and leaned against a Sweetgum tree. Men’s room entrance visible over my left shoulder, I waited. Any minute now…. He’d shown up, the same time every Monday and Thursday for the past three weeks, wearing the tightest jeans I’d ever seen. Six-five—six-six, I’d no idea where he packed his—Yeah, I did. So tight were his jeans, each stride revealed his fine package, every detail. Goose bumps broke out on the back of my neck and rushed over my skin. I wet my lips, watching him approach

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 3 up the path. He strolled past, avoiding eye contact. Again, I waited, listening for the pull of the door. Hearing the mechanism stress, I beelined for the park bathrooms. I traded bugs for noises, guttural and low. Lots of work tonight, if I wanted it. He hovered in front of the last open stall, his topaz gaze leering my way. Never seen such expressive eyes, or that color, and with blond hair to boot. The man was damned near perfect. Why he stopped exclusively for me, I’d wonder another time—tucking my curiosity away as he smirked. Hell bent, his hypnotic stare coaxed mine over his bulged fly. Following him in, I latched the stall door behind me. Ten was the going fee, but as always, he folded twenty between two fingers and dipped inside my pocket. Tugging me against his chest, he unbalanced me with an unexpected kiss. I liked this guy and would never argue if he requested extra. But he never spoke. Though I was sure if he did, his voice would match his face, rugged and apathy-full. If I thought about it, in the six months I’d hit the constantly moving hot spots, I didn’t recall hearing any of the men actually talk. It was protocol. Dope, gambling, whatever expensive vice, many of the men funded their risk-taking ventures this way. Not me. I had nothing and wanted for nothing more than a meal or two each day. Dad cut my funds off a year ago, and excuses only went so far. The university kicked me out after a semester of nonpayment. Not a pressing issue. Learning appealed to me

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 4 about as much as money. No blame harbored; I’d learned the most important thing—how to survive. My love of cock had come in a might handy too. Length, girth, a hook slightly left or right, the various weights I’d palmed, the plethora of skin I’d tasted, now those were issues—for me. So much so, I no longer had family or home—and with no uncertainty. Or so, I was told. Hell… yes. I dropped to my knees as he whipped out his cock to feed me. Starved, I licked my lips, preparing to dine. This guy’s interest had me growing accustomed to his visits, to him. Not that I wouldn’t mind becoming familiar with just one cock, as long as I was allowed access at least once every twenty-four hours. Although I preferred wrapping my lips around a needy cock three, maybe four times each day, I fancied having that one special cock—one that always needed me. Eye to eye with the head of his swollen shaft, I decided his cock looked pretty damned needy. Encircling him with my lips, I hesitated just over the crown, flicking my tongue along the bottom. I peered up at his face. Upper lip quirked, jaw clenched, and eyes wide…. Jesus, I loved being the reason for that plastered look. His head banged the metal partition as I grazed my teeth over his cock’s mushroomed ridge. Yes…. Gripping the sides of my head, he guided my mouth, his hips aiding his search for depth. Eager, are we? No problem. I obliged and pulled him deeper. What special occasion deserved his showered skin, I pondered. He hadn’t always done so. In fact, I could only

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 5 remember once before. I sucked to the base, burying my face in his wiry pubes, unsure if I liked the stench my nose discovered. I had looked forward to the acquainted scent. Was it possible for a man to be too clean? Intent on leaving him dirty, I swirled my tongue over his cock’s tensed veins. A few more passes and I’d have him where I wanted him: sweaty, saliva coated, and delicious. Varying my tongue’s intensity and pressure, I studied his face. Fingers entangled in my hair, he jerked when I licked to the right. That’s the spot. You like that. Don’t you? The squeegee-neglected floor had soaked through my worn denim, but I paid it no mind. He fisted my hair. My movements hastened. Force-fed by his begging pelvis, I braced myself on his thighs and squeezed his tense, jeancovered quads. Yes, give me what I crave. With eyes hazy, he looked on as I swallowed his cock. He likes me. The deeper I took him, the heavier his stare. Well, maybe what I do for him…. but that’s all I needed. My cheeks burned as I smiled around his cock and set a rhythm of my own. Bobbing, frantic and purposeful, I took him to the depths of my throat, adding a low, opportune hum. Brick-hard and slick, again and again, his cock slid between my lips. Sweet, a touch salty, his pre-essence seasoned my tongue. Eyes wide, he yanked my hair. It was all he could do to hang on as I picked up speed. Give it to me…. His bushy pelvis bruised my nose. Give it to me. An almost inaudible growl escaped from deep within his chest. Yes… give—it—to—me! His hips froze. He lurched,

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 6 and I relished the first shot of his warm cum splashing behind my tongue as much as the following thick load he fed me. In quickened spurts, he echoed the primal grunts from the neighboring stalls. Belly satisfied, I removed my mouth. He put himself away and pulled me to my feet. A sudden pang behind my fly reminded me how unsatisfied other parts of me remained. But my job was finished. My hand on the latch, he clutched my wrist. Looking up, I met an unknown gaze. His thumb flowed over my left cheekbone as his fingers held my jaw. “You’re amazing,” he said. But the unspoken words behind his too-grateful stare said so much more. Surely, meant not for the likes of me, not intentionally anyway. I made to leave. “Police! Nobody move!”

FINGERS digging into my arm, he spun me. He’s panicked? Second strike for me; I’d be strung up for a half a year or longer. I counted the months from my last arrest… yep, longer—I’d violated probation. Bet anything if I lived out west, I’d get off with a slap on the wrist. Who was I kidding? There’d be no west. I was a Southern boy to my bones. Though thinking about what I had to look forward to made it difficult to show much homage. “Face it; we’re fucked.” I told him. Wasn’t a guy in these stalls hadn’t been arrested at least once. Except maybe

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 7 “John” here. None of the guys knew much about him or his life outside these walls. I knew I didn’t. He tightened his hold as I strained. “What’re you doin—?” Sonofabitch…. I fixated on my bound wrists. Faster with a set of cuffs than most of my friends with a switchblade, he was. My returning glower, no doubt, demanded explanation. He backed me against his chest, his hand covering my mouth, silencing my protest. “Shh.” I squirmed and kicked at his shins, but to no avail. “Calm down. I’m trying to think.” He would fail any whisper-meant-to-soothe test, that’s for sure. Stalls were emptied, one-by-one, and the men led outside. Had to be at least a dozen vice. Footsteps neared, and again he whispered, “I wanted to tell you,” as he introduced me to his badge. Words meant nothing accompanied by opposing actions. He yanked me away from the opening door and shoved me into the space between the stalls and the sinks. “Got one down here, men!” Anger boiled as I realized he betrayed me. Bastard! With a rush of uniforms and a somewhat distant recall of Miranda rights, officers supported me on both sides. In less time than it took to complete a coherent thought, I’d learned the meaning of malevolence.

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 8 My john stepped to the officer at my left. “What happened with tomorrow night?” “Sorry, Detective Conley. Cap’n ordered a last minute change of plans. I tried relaying, but you were in the field.” Reality hit as I watched him secure his badge and shove past the officer. “Yeah, some last-minute decision,” he said, making for the exit. No struggle; I went peaceably. Led out, an evil eye at the bastard’s back, my mind plotted. Detective Conley, I had his name.

NOT even daylight and the judge denied bail. That’s how the system worked here. So much for overcrowding. As if I thought it’d go differently. Five sleeping bodies and six bunks, I knew what to expect. No one stirred, but I heard the hushed jeers as I edged onto the urine-reeked mattress. “Sleep. You best be up and ready for your meeting first thing,” said the guard. Heh…. I shifted, face to the wall, making out graffiti in the dim light. Knew better than to let myself feel. Maybe I’d only hoped. Getting one’s hopes crushed wasn’t as ugly as some portrayed. At least with hope, you could always expect the worst. I reminded myself I had not.

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 9 Rolling onto my back, I clasped my hands behind my head. Wasn’t through booking when one of the sheriffs informed me that my public defender had scheduled an appointment for morning. What public defender? I hadn’t called anyone or even requested a lawyer. Probably got hold of my parole officer. They were through wasting time on me.

“CHARLES MILLER.” My lunch half finished, I unfolded from the table to let the guard cuff me. Since when was noon first thing in the morning? I wondered. He prodded me from the common rooms. “Heard you got friends in high places, boy,” he said as we followed the corridor past lockup. I hadn’t a clue as to what or whom he referred and responded as such—silence. He released the meeting room door and pushed it open, allowing me clearance to step inside. First impressions offered little comfort. After loosening my bound wrists, he instructed the PD to buzz if she needed anything. Yeah. A she, and not my vision of a trial lawyer either. Her ebony bob bounced as she rose with a smile and extended her hand. I’d be surprised if her hundred and five pounds of petite perkiness could bargain her way through a wet paper sack. I accepted the customary greeting, briefly, and slid onto a chair.

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 10 “Charles, I’m Sara Price.” She dug a handful of papers from a satchel as she caught my eye. “Would you rather I use Charlie?” “Chaz,” I said, wondering what clue I’d slipped to have her know I hated my given name. She seated herself, as if not intimidated in the least, and began reciting the initial charges. “Indecent exposure, lewd and lascivious, prostitution, violation of—” Get on with it already. Why’d they send a damned—? “Hey, who sent you anyway?” “Says here this is your third—no, second arrest on similar charges.” Our gazes met. I held her attention, expecting an answer. She pushed her teacher’s glasses to the bridge of her nose. “Are you aware of the charges, Chaz?” Apparently whoever requested she defend me ordered her silence also. “That’s bullshit. They can’t prove a damned thing. I never even unzipped my fly.” She unsheathed a heavy folder, unwound the cord, and flipped the cover to the back. Page after page, she skimmed each one. “You have a record, Chaz. That’s all they need.” “I bet my parole officer’s ticked.” “Wouldn’t know,” she said, scanning near the end of my file. I crossed one possibility off my list.

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 11 “Exactly what were you doing in that restroom last night, Chaz?” She’d closed the file and peered at me over the rim of her glasses. “And don’t tell me you were taking a leak.” “A man’s got to eat.” When my one sentence explanation fell unconvincing, I appended my statement. “Men have needs.” As I had mine, but I wasn’t about to elaborate to her. “You expect a judge to believe you’re down and out and were trying to turn a quick buck because you were starving?” That’s how I looked at it, in a sense. Again, the fact I refused to yield. “Maybe you’re a victim who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Is that it?” “Well, I figured—” “Chaz, I’ve heard it all. There are few subjects that can offend or shock me. If you were hooking, say so. If you were meeting up with someone in particular, spit it out.” How’d she…. I chastised the index fingers of my folded hands for wanting to fidget. “Did anyone question Detective—?” “What’s your physical address, Chaz?” She refused to answer me again, but from the splitsecond twitch of her brows, I knew she’d heard me. “Detective Conley. He was there, you know.”

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 12 I couldn’t bring myself to tell her how many times I’d tried going straight. Well, not straight, per se, y’all know what I mean. I’d filled out a job application at a temp service once, but without a telephone…. “Your file says you’re twenty years old, Chaz. Are you twenty? Chaz.” “I-I’ll be twenty… in November.” Through the door’s window, I caught sight of a guard making his rounds. Could I buzz the guard to take me out of here? “He knows me, you know.” Least, I thought he did. My eyes burned from the sudden invasion of moisture. I moved my clouded gaze from the table to the papers piled about to my hands, anywhere but her. I needed to throw up. She cleared her throat. Rubbing my eyes, I told her I was tired. “We’re working on a plea, but you—” “No contest gets me six months. Minimum.” “You’re going to have to cooperate, Chaz.” I stared at the floor to my right. Why should I? And who in the hell are “we”? At least here, I had a roof over my head, three meals. He could’ve warned me. If he cared as much as he’d pretended, he would have. Which now, I was sure he didn’t. He had no problem taking what he wanted. The bastard even acted as if he liked it, as if he liked… me. I hated him.

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 13 “The state’s initiated new programs to help get people in certain situations, such as yours, off the streets and back into society.” “Rehab?” I laughed. “I’m not an addict. If you think you can get that past a judge, you are nuts.” “Some of the facilities are like group homes.” Her attention landed on my right shoulder, and I followed her gaze to my orange overalls, concerned I’d slopped my lunch. “They provide one-on-one intervention, like a mentor program.” “What if the state doesn’t—?” “He’ll agree.” “What if the judge—?” “We’re working on him.” She eyed her watch. “Truthfully.” One brow rivaled the pictures I’d seen of the St. Louis Arch. “As we speak, well.” Returning papers to her satchel, she stood. “I’m running late for other appointments. It was nice meeting you, Chaz. Be ready by nine-fifteen. You’re hearing’s at ten.” An odd magnetism radiated from her and somehow, without a word, got me to follow her to the door. She might do. Her finger held the buzzer. “What if—” The door swung open, and the guard stepped aside. She brushed past, ending our visit over a departing shoulder. “Trust me, Chaz.”

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 14 Right. How long did she think it’d take to replenish a freshly depleted supply of trust? I knew, I had no idea.

YOUNGEST judge I’d ever seen. Not that I’d been before many. He was straight-laced and handsome, like a young Sean Connery, minus the 007. I finished reading the charges as Ms. Price returned from her cozy discussion with both the judge and the prosecutor—not much to sneeze at, all red hair and gangly. He slunk back to his table. Something reeked, and it wasn’t me. I’d showered. He eyed my PD a bit too thoughtfully, followed her tail a little too long. Taking her place beside me, she brushed him off as she had my questions the day before. Nothing and nobody fazed her. A flicker of hope eased the nausea that had multiplied twentyfold since I’d awakened. As the judge confirmed the terms of the plea aloud to the prosecution, I reread my charges and bent to my PD’s ear. “Can he really give me a whole year and two-thousand dollar fine for a second offense?” She dipped her chin twice. The funky stench in the atmosphere thickened. “Mr. Miller.” “Y-Yes.”

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 15 Damned woman… no justification for pinching that hard. I rubbed the back of my arm as I finished. “Your Honor.” “Do you understand the seriousness of the crimes committed and the charges brought against you?” “Yes. Your Honor.” “Prosecution has agreed to waive the charges and accompanying punishment in lieu of the state’s new rehabilitative program, claiming you show promise of completing the requirements. Dependent on my decision, you may be assigned to a therapeutic facility, where you will be expected to perform daily tasks with the opportunity to earn wages for those tasks completed as assigned. You will be required to undergo a full psychological analysis. At the discretion of the findings of such analysis, you may be recommended for further treatment, which will then deem the recommendation an additional requirement.” Jesus, anything else? He squared his shoulders and captured me in his pointed stare. “How do you plea, Mr. Miller?” Real work with real pay didn’t sound too bad. I’d have to see how the rest played out, but I had decided last night. The sooner I got out of here, the sooner I’d locate that sonofabitch Conley and take care of business. “Nolo contendere, your Honor.” “Council for the defense?” “A suitable facility has been secured and is expecting Mr. Miller’s arrival, your Honor.”

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 16 What?

“I

TOLD you, you could trust me.” Ms. Price elbowed me as

we crossed the parking lot. Like the homeless puppy I was, I followed, having no idea what they’d designed for me. Other than six months to a year, depending on the shrink, my first three months’ wages would pay the fine and court costs. She rummaged through her purse and had keys in hand as we neared her car. Some snazzy sports number. It was nice, suited her. “So where’s my new home?” I fingered the latch as the car hummed to life. Across the seat, she leaned my way. “Come on, Ms. Price, I apologized for being an ass. Unlock the door.” She pointed. I turned, and …. “Hey.” I froze. Hell, for a second, time froze. But I snapped out of my shock and charged, fists swinging. I ignored the awkwardness of his surrounding arms and inflicted one hell of a head butt to the bridge of his nose. “I hate you! Let—me—ow!” Twisted, flipped, and slammed against the hood of a navy-blue SUV, I found myself at Detective Conley’s mercy. I

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 17 was now sure that my wrists had some kinky affair going with his cuffs. Big help she was, abandoning me faster than flushed water. I clenched my eyes tight, fighting back my inevitable reaction to the warm huffs of air ghosted past my ear. His body draped hard and firm over my back. “Unwise move, Miller. That’s your name. Charles Henry Miller.” “Chaz. Remove the cuffs, bastard.” I groaned as he adjusted his weight, pressing the air from my lungs. “I report to Judge Pearson as a result of this program. Understood? Don’t step out of line again.” Enough with the pressure, Jesus. He yanked me from my cozy position on the hood of the vehicle and manhandled me to the passenger door. Of course, the SUV belonged to him— big, bold, and badass. I wasn’t going anywhere with this deranged fucker and made the point when I refused to climb onto the seat. Now, I stand a good six foot two. Although a little on the undernourished side, I’d never had a problem holding my own. Either I’d gone from lightweight to featherweight or his quick temper fueled his strength. Yeah, use that fucking big head of yours to hold me against the seat while you buckle me in. I would have no remorse for where my teeth wrought purchase on that pretty face, and he knew it.

NOT one word was exchanged during the thirty-minute ride.

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 18 Just like old times, I figured. Only this ride lasted longer, much longer. We turned off the highway onto a graveled drive. The sooner he dropped me at the facility and left, the better. My concocted revenge plans had changed. I wouldn’t speak another word and hoped guilt ate him alive. He’d have no ammunition for the judge then. Bastard. Anger was a tough bird to kill. I inhaled deep and slow, trying to calm the ever-building adrenaline. He stopped the SUV in the drive of a nicely kept farmhouse and exited. The place didn’t seem like much of a facility to me. I noticed the barbed wire stretching east and out of my sight. The fence weaved into some trees, and I wondered if I’d be cleaning up behind horses. Standing at my opened door, he stared. I turned away to study the home’s roof as he unbelted me and tugged me to the ground. Judging from the size of the dual chimneys, it looked like the owners had a huge fireplace or brick ovens. “This is it, Chaz.” I might be able to live with this, I thought, hoping to assess a ranch hand or two before dark. “Sixty-seven acres, stable and barn in the back, a few chickens.” “Horses?” Fuck. Plan B shot to hell. And I hadn’t formulated a backup for the backup. Whatever, he’d be gone soon enough. “Do you know if they collect the eggs?” “Listen, Chaz.”

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 19 It’d do me a world of good if he squelched whatever emotion made his voice sound as if he gave a care. “I’ll remove the cuffs if you promise not to run. Or fight.” Cuffs in his possession meant his departure. “Sure.” My stubbornness had proved a mistake. With the release of the cuffs came the return of circulation to my fingers. I winced as I formed slow fists and then stretched my hands fully open. “You ready?” Though the hand on my upper arm showed no malice, I shivered as goose bumps raced over my skin. We bypassed the front door, heading for one on the side. Took some effort for me to swallow as he pulled open the screen, unlocked the door, and stepped aside, motioning me up the cinderblock steps. He brightened the room, a kitchen, with a flip of a switch before closing the door and—locking it? He advanced. I retreated. Our short-lived dance ended with an abrupt halt as the back of my thighs hit hard against a wooden table. “Chaz, listen to me.” “T-this is no facility.” I shifted to my right, then left, debating the shortest distance to accommodate an outright sprint. He reinforced his leer with a seriousness I’d witnessed only once, that fleeting moment before this nightmare began.

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 20 Sweat beaded across the back of my neck as my personal space went from two feet to zilch in his final step. I lunged. He followed. My face mimicked the thud of my chest as I was twisted, shoved, and sprawled across the table. Please. Jesus, not the fucking cuffs again. “You missed your calling, you sonofabitch.” “For what, pray tell?” He pulled me to my feet and spun me in his arms. Where’s his anger? Topaz seared my soul as his panted breath tickled the moisture above my upper lip. I tongued it away. “R-rodeo… hogtying. What are you—?” My jeans hanging open, courtesy of his lightning-quick hands, he kissed me. Long and hard. He slid his tongue along the seam of my lips, increasing ferocity. I’d no choice but to yield. His hands in sync with his tongue, he wrestled my jeans under my bound wrists and over my hips as he wrestled to dominate the taste-fest he entertained inside my mouth. Pressing me into the table, he plunged his tongue deeper, and I moaned, jerking my head to the side. “Cuffs.” Grunting acknowledgement, he righted himself, fishing the keys from his pocket. The metal clanked to the wood. I wrapped my arms around his neck as his mouth found mine. Hands covering my bared ass, he hoisted me into the air. Jesus. I kicked the jeans from my feet and wrapped my legs around his waist. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 21 I gasped as he carried me, my cock pressed between us, across the linoleum. His hard-on-packed jeans brushed the bottom of my balls with each of his steps. Balancing me in one hand, he whispered, “You’re beautiful, Chaz,” as he lowered my shoulders to the freezer door and wrapped my cock in his palm. No way. Could I have ever hated this man? Hands braced at his shoulders, I kissed the tip of his nose and worked my way upward. “Fuck… that feels great.” It was distract myself or come as he nipped at my throat. “You got a name—Conley?” His lips tightened over a patch of skin at my neck, and he sucked as he stroked my cock faster. “Stop, you got—to—stop—stop!” I shoved against his chest, and he stilled. “Tell me your name.” With a gaze intent on making me his next meal, he said, “Christian” and then sucked my bottom lip between his and released it. “Abigail.” At his mercy, I rode out another heated kiss. “Conley.” Pretty eyes, pretty face, and now, a pretty name to boot. This man was perfect. Torn between asking him to finish and asking him more questions, I clenched my ass cheeks and thrust my cock through his loosened palm. “How old are you?” I threw my head to the side as he picked up the stroke. “Christian. Please.” “Chris… call me, Chris.” He lowered me to my feet. I took his mouth as he groped my ass, teasing his fingers along the crease.

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 22 “I’ll call you whatever you want if you let me suck your cock.” He chuckled, releasing me to dig out his wallet. I blinked at the twenty pressed into my palm before eying his smirk. Letting the bill drift to the floor, I grabbed him, and, in a flash, reversed our positions. His back to the fridge, I ground against his jean-covered pelvis as I sucked and bit my way from his throat to just under his right ear. My ego in the balance, I begged. “Don’t stop touching me, Chris.” He smoothed down my sides. Him pulling me closer was thwarted only by the hands I wriggled between us to free his lovely cock. His fingers raced over my back and shoulders as I peeled his jeans to his hips. He tugged my T-shirt over my head. Waistband of his briefs tucked nicely up under his sac, I dropped to my knees. He tossed my shirt to the side. The touch of his fingertips returned, running through my hair and down the back of my neck. I dipped below his jutted shaft and licked a trail to his balls. I was thankful he hadn’t recently showered as I buried my face and, in turn, moistened each nut. If his drawn-tight sac was any indication, he was ready to blow. He bucked from the fridge, groaning as I teased, wrapping his cock slowly in my grasp. “Damn it, Chaz.” His grip tightened over fistfuls of hair, and he tugged, twisting me upright. Chest heaving, he glared. “Suck my cock.” The hoarseness of his voice commanded I oblige. I took his cock into my throat without slowing, earning another groan. Along his shaft to the head and back, I

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 23 wasted no time slicking him with saliva. Stunned, his look of disbelief fixated on me, but the smile tightening my lips brought him around. Cupping the back of my head, he thrust his hips. Yes… fuck my mouth. I relaxed my throat to better serve. His ramming was hard and quick. My lips burned with each pass, but he wouldn’t last much longer. And I made my assumption reality. Constricting my throat, I pushed his ass to the fridge, held him in place, and swallowed the head of his cock. In a violent shudder, cum hit my throat. With each thrust of his hips, each creamy and hot spurt, he repeated my name. Bliss—an understatement. I sucked and swallowed, milking him dry. “Chaz.” I pulled my lips from his cock. He straightened his head from the freezer door and lowered his chin. Focusing his glossed-over eyes, he worked to catch his breath. “Come here,” he said, and he held his arms for me to brace myself and push to my feet. Embracing me, he crushed me to his chest. With hands warm and kind, he massaged my back, gentle and slow. Unsure how to react, I let him hold me. Could I live with just one cock? I wondered. He stilled, and I met a wicked gleam in his gaze. Kissing me, we turned. He backed me against the fridge. His mouth abandoned mine, and he began a game I deemed coverevery-inch-of-the-whore’s-chest-with-your-tongue. My cock bumped his chin and bounced against his lips as he landed

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 24 on his knees. I dug my fingers into his shoulders. Jesus, yes, I would live with this. “Think I owe you, no?” His smirk broadened as he looked up at me. My gaze traveled to the abandoned twenty-dollar bill. “But—” His mouth, hot and moist, surrounded my cock. I’d leave bruises at this rate, and I moved from his shoulders to grasp his head behind his ears. He took me deeper. Blond hair ruffled through my fingers as he sucked, pulling hard to the head and flicking his tongue. “Chris?” Our gazes met, and he let out a throaty chuckle that zinged along my shaft and filled my balls. My question forgotten, I grabbed his hair and held on, watching my cock disappear between his lips. A not-so-short list of grievances came to mind, and I could think of many ways he owed me. Along with the ways he’d be paying me back… Jesus. One hand firm on my ass, he traced my hole for a second before entering, one finger, two. My hips lurched forward. He gripped the base of my cock as I slammed into the back of his throat. “Chris!” No further begging needed from me. He encouraged, and I took over the rhythm. His tongue teased my skin as I slid in and out of his perfect mouth. That’s it. Take it. Take it like you want me. My balls drew upward; I lost my will to breathe. My head banged the freezer door as he removed his hand from my cock, gripped my ass, and pulled, encasing me in moist heat to the base.

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 25 “Jesus!” I shoved into his throat, arching, wanting to fill him. He pressed the fingers inside me deeper. “Yes!” With a shudder, I rocked, spewing my load over his tongue. My body quaking, I reveled in watching him drink down all I had to give. His mouth and fingers removed, he held me at the waist. When my legs trembled, he helped me to the floor. Our backs slumped against the fridge; side-by-side we sat, content to steady our breathing. “So you’re my mentor for the next six months?” He stretched. “I think I could teach you a thing or two.” Quick study he was, he recognized my annoyance. “Or vice versa.” Actions had always spoken the loudest to me, but this time something inside yearned to hear the accompanying words. “Why?” He took my hand into his and squeezed. His eyelids covered the gaze at our laced fingers. “Can’t get enough of you, Chaz. Thought we could hang out, maybe get to know each other some.” “How?” He rolled his head to face me. “My PD. Where’d you find her? How’d you convince her to go along with your cockamamie scheme?” “My sister?”

PULL | Bryl R. Tyne 26 Jesus…. Spent, I let my head drop, grasping the extent of pull some people held, the ease with which the law could be corrupted. I was right. Ms. Price—and the prosecution…. A wave of nausea hit with a sickening gurgle. I worked to erase the sudden vision. Snatching up the twenty, I tossed it into Chris’s lap. “Here. You earned it. What’s that word you—?” “Amazing?” He chuckled. “Yeah. You’re pretty amazing. But you should probably wipe your chin.” His chest jumped as his fingers tightened over my hand. He laughed louder as he swiped his chin with the back of his free hand. “Same thing Judge Pearson said when he handed me his hanky.” “You didn’t.” “Terms of the agreement.” Releasing my hand, he slid his arm behind me and pulled me flush to his side. “I did it for you, Chaz.” Reclined against his chest, I figured, you know, Chaz, you could live with this, and pulled Chris’s arms tighter around me. “Slut. You never did tell me how old you are.”

BRYL R. TYNE is a wrangler by nature and a fiction writer by choice. Balancing as many pronouns as hats, somewhere between the evil day job, promoting authors, and helping a benevolent Sugar Daddy raise the last few of seven kids, Bryl writes. Homoerotic romance is a favorite, but many of Bryl’s stories cross genres. Comedy, fantasy, mystery, sci-fi, horror, and even Westerns, Bryl’s tried them all. Visit http://groups.yahoo.com/group/pan-rainbow_seas to join Bryl’s Yahoo!Group or visit http://bryltyne.com/. You can contact Bryl at [email protected].

PULL ©Copyright Bryl R. Tyne, 2009 Published by Dreamspinner Press 4760 Preston Road Suite 244-149 Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Design by Mara McKennen This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America September 2009 eBook Edition eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-054-3