Bad Boy 5 Read online

  “Well, it’s truth, baby. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I know things are a little bit of a mess right now but it’ll get better, I promise. We just need to stick together, that’s all. Stick together, understand?” Peter could hear his voice rumble in his chest before it came out of his mouth, warm and earnest.

  “Yeah,” Peter said. He tried not to sound dubious. He wanted to believe it was true. He wished it would be enough and maybe this time it would be true. Peter gave his collar bone a kiss, then his neck. He was trying to be tender and sweet, but soon he couldn't resist taking a little nip. His teeth lightly scraped over Chip's neck.

  “Fuck, you’re getting me horny again,” Chip said, Peter could feel his large cock swelling next to his thigh. He could feel it twitch, throb.

  “Again? You didn’t get enough tonight?” Peter teased, inhaling the woodsy scent of his cologne and feeling the rough scruff on his throat.

  “Never enough with you,” Chip said, climbing on top of him, pinning him to the mattress with his bulk and his hands clamped down on his wrists.

  Peter mm'd, arching up against him, pressing his groin against Chip's. It made him moan and grind harder against Peter. Peter put up a fake struggle, writhing underneath Chip, acting as though he wanted to get away when all he wanted was to stay right where he was. He loved it when Chip took charge, when he commanded and controlled him like this. It felt so good, so right.

  Chip hooked a hand into Peter's pajama bottoms and tugged them down, taking Peter's boxers with them. Peter's cock sprang free, smacking against his stomach. He was so hard for Chip already. Chip punished his lips with rough, yearning kisses, sliding his tongue deep inside his mouth. After what seemed like hours of kissing, kissing until Peter's lips were sore, Chip drew back a little and spat into his palm. He slid his hand in between Peter's cheeks, spreading him and getting his ass all nice and wet for his cock.

  Peter gasped, arching his back and spreading his legs. It felt so good, so amazing, his cock dripped with precum, he was so excited. Chip first teased a finger into his tight hole, pumping it in and out, stretching it gently, making him so hungry and eager for more. His hips jolted upwards and his cock brushed against Chip's, making him cry out loudly in pleasure. He wanted … no, needed … more.

  “Please,” Peter whispered against Chip's mouth. “More. Please, fuck me.”

  Chip shook his head. “No,” he murmured before kissing him again, slowly withdrawing his finger.

  Peter whimpered into the kiss. He couldn't be denied, not now. Why would Chip tease him like this? Tease him and then tell him he wouldn't fuck him? Was he trying to drive Peter absolutely crazy? Did he want him to beg?

  Peter opened his mouth to beg. He'd do anything. But he couldn't speak because Chip pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. Peter's brow furrowed in confusion and hurt. He just didn't understand.

  “I'm not going to fuck you, Peter,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling growl. He shook his head and then smiled. “I'm going to make love to you.”

  No one had ever said anything like that to him. He wasn't even sure he'd ever 'made love' before. It was always just sex, good or bad, it was just fucking. He knew with Chip it was different, but he truly never expected this. His every dream was coming true. He was at last loved. Treasured and adored. Even if he felt that right now, he didn't quite deserve it. Peter vowed right then and there to be the man that deserved all this love. He was going to turn things around. For Chip. For Johnny. And most importantly, for himself.

  Chip kissed him again, long and slow and tender as he slid his rock-hard cock into his ass slowly. It was agonizingly slow, bit by bit. So slow that Peter could feel every ridge of his veined dick. He was so hot, so hard, nothing, Peter decided, felt better than this. Chip never increased his pace. He just kept pushing in, just a little at a time, stopping to kiss his neck and ear and lips. Peter groaned softly, wrapping his legs around Chip's waist, running his hands down his muscular back to grip his hard, tight ass.

  Chip moved slowly, in and out, in a soft and gentle rhythm, rotating his hips around so his cock scrape the edges of his hole, like a spoon in a bowl. As he made love to Peter, Chip kissed him and reached between their bodies to curl his hand around Peter's cock. As he slowly pumped in and out, his tongue in Peter's mouth, he stroked Peter. His touch was firm, but still very slow and gentle. It was like nothing Peter had ever experienced before. It was touching and sublime. Soft and passionate. He could feel how much Chip loved him just through his touch alone.

  Peter thought with everything slowed down and soft and sweet that it would take longer for him to cum, but he found himself trembling and whimpering, his entire body singing with pleasure. He could feel his release sneak up on him, tingling his entire body. Without any other warning, his cock pulsed and throbbed and he spilled his seed. He spurted all over his stomach, Chips hand.

  Chip groaned in his ear, pumping his hips a little faster now, drawing up one of Peter's legs so that he could go even deeper. As Chip came inside of him, Peter could feel him pulse and throb in his ass, he could feel the warmth flood his insides. He couldn't keep from crying out loudly. Peter knew he should be quiet, but he couldn't stop the loud, heated moans from leaving him. Chip had to silence him with a rough kiss.

  “I love you, Peter Vanderbilt,” Chip said.

  Peter’s eyes watered as he said, “And I love you, Chip.”

  Peter just hoped that they hadn't woke up Johnny or Chip's parents. That was all he needed.

  CHAPTER 3

  The next morning, Peter awoke groggily to the sound of yelling in the kitchen. He reached for Chip but his spot was empty. Empty and cold. He climbed out of bed, wiping the sleepers from his eyes and let out a loud yawn. What the hell was Chip’s family yelling about now? Knowing them, it could be anything. Someone was cooking in the kitchen and it smelled good, like grits, pancakes, eggs and bacon. The sunshine that spilled through the window was pale yellow and buttery.

  It still must be early, Peter thought, wondering just how early it must have been.

  As he stumbled down the hall, he could pick up bits and pieces of their conversation with the television news blasting in the background.

  “Is that what you do?” Peter recognized Chip’s father’s voice, “Hook up with some hooker? What kind of example is that for your son?” Peter froze, his blood going cold, his eyes widening. His mouth went utterly dry. Oh no, he thought wildly. How had they figured it all out?

  “Don’t yell in front of my son,” Chip said, snapping at his father, “Johnny, go to your room and get your things packed.”

  “But, Daddy!” Johnny protested in a typical childlike whine.

  “1 … 2 ….” Chip started counting and Johnny ran from where he was around the corner almost running into Peter.

  “Oh, hi!” Johnny chirped at Peter. He scrunched up his nose, all bright eyed and bushy tailed. “Peter? What’s a hooker?”

  “I … uh ….” Peter started to say but Johnny ran off and down the hall as Peter stepped into the dining room where Chip and his entire family stood, yelling at each other.

  They all went silent at the same time and stared at him as though he’d grown a second full-grown head. Peter felt about three feet tall and once again wished he could just sink into the floor or become invisible. They knew. How they knew, he had no idea. But once again, he thought Chip’s life would just be so much easier without him in it to complicate things or make matters worse for him. Guilt gnawed at Peter and he lowered his head.

  Chip swallowed, “Morning, Peter.” His tone was tight, nervous. Peter didn’t like it one bit.

  “Morning,” Peter said, his attention diverted for a moment at the news where he saw in front of him his photo plastered all over the television.

  “Kindergarten teacher, Peter Vanderbilt, is said to have taken men into his home night after night, charging them for sexual favors….” The reporter droned on in an official way. He was on the news. His mistakes we
re on the news along with his picture for the entire state to see.

  Peter felt all the blood rush from his face. He couldn’t move. Not one bit. It was as though the world had been yanked out from under his feet and he was just falling and falling. His head swam and the backs of his hands tingled with adrenaline.

  “Turn it off,” Chip told his mother, running a hand over his face.

  “This is fantastic, now we have a hooker in the family,” his mother said. “At least you’re a famous one. Pancakes?”

  “I … I better go,” Peter said, still shell-shocked. He wanted to run away, but he still couldn’t move. He swallowed thickly, his throat dry.

  “Mother, I said ‘turn it off!’ ” Chip shouted, pointing at the TV.

  “Don’t yell at your mother,” his father barked.

  Chip rushed over to Peter and grabbed him by the arm as he walked away, “Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.” Peter heard Chip talk, but none of the words were making any sense. His ears were ringing and he felt like he was going to be sick.

  “I … I have to go,” Peter managed to say through numb lips, he couldn’t feel his feet. Couldn’t feel any of his limbs. It was as if a bomb just went off inside of him and the room was spinning. He could feel them all staring at him. He could feel their judgment.

  “We’re all going together.” Chip told him, his grip firm but gentle. He wouldn’t let go, even as Peter tried to pull his arm free. He didn’t even want to look at Chip. He was so convinced that he’d just ruined both of their lives even more so than before and that the shame was strangling.

  “No, Chip. This is bad. I need to get away. I need you to get away from all of this. This could … could ruin you.” Peter’s voice was barely audible. He felt sick again, wave after wave of panic washed over him. He had to go. He just had to get out of there.

  “I said, we’re going together,”Chip said. And Peter knew when he made that tone, his word was final. It should have been a comfort, but it wasn’t. He just felt more guilt.

  ***

  Peter watched Chip’s family stand on the porch and wave them away as Chip pulled out of their long driveway. He barely mumbled “goodbye” to them, too shell-shocked, too embarrassed to scramble together a few words. He didn’t know if he should try to explain himself, apologize or yell and scream at whoever it was that told the news. He knew once his principal found out, once Tony, the man who had tried to strangle his life in his hold managed to tell him, his career in Las Vegas was over but he had no idea it’d ever hit the media. Not like that. This couldn’t be legal. It was an accusation, he hadn’t done anything technically illegal and yet, he knew feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to change anything.

  The fact was: his life would never be the same again. He wish he’d had the foresight to know that it would all turn out this way. He wished he could go back and do everything differently.

  Chip squeezed his hand, “You cool, baby?” he asked him as soon as the house was fading in the rear view mirror.

  Peter closed his eyes, “I don’t want to talk about it around Johnny.” It didn’t seem to be an unreasonable request to make. Johnny was too little to hear about stuff like that. He didn’t want Johnny to think ill of him too. Not that he would understand what was going on anyway. Then again, being a kindergarten teacher for so many years, he knew kids were a lot smarter than adults gave them credit for.

  “Peter, please. I told you, I don’t hide anything from my son.” he said giving him an encouraging smile, but it seemed ridiculous to share everything with a child. Peter shook his head.

  “Please, Chip. Please,” Peter said, not wanting to argue about it. His voice was strained and wobbly, his tone uneven. His eyes stung with unshed tears. All he could think about was the news report with his face plastered all over the screen.

  “Cool, we’ll be home in about an hour with traffic. We’ll figure this out. Meanwhile, I don’t want you to turn on the television, at least not the news, until this blows over.” Chip sighed in apparent resignation. He kept his eyes on the road, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. It just didn’t feel like he was taking any of this seriously to Peter. Just -not- watching the television wouldn’t make all of this go away. It might never go away and his reputation would be ruined forever, even more than it already was. He’d never be able to teach again. Peter wanted to burst into tears and all Chip could suggest was keep the T.V. off?

  “Blows over? Chip, baby, don’t you get it? My career, my life is over. Over!” Peter said, raising his voice. In the rear view, he saw Johnny flinch and Chip’s jaw tightened. He felt bad immediately and when he saw Johnny playing with his toys as if nothing was happening, that somehow made him feel worse.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you,” Peter apologized with a lofty sigh. He reached over to pat Chip’s arm. There was so much he wished he could take back. Chip shouldn’t have to put up with this, Peter thought.

  “Your life is not over. I’m your life, Johnny’s your life and you’re ours. We have each other. There’s nothing that we can’t work through. You hear me?” Chip cut him a narrow look. He seemed so sure. Peter wished he could be more like that.

  “Sure,” Peter said, staring out the window at the never-ending desert landscape until Chip seemed to give up and turned his head.

  “You hear me?” Chip repeated in all seriousness.

  Peter nodded dully. He didn’t know what else to say. He wished he could believe that it would be all right. But every time he had a little hope, something horrible would happen to snatch all of that away.

  It was sweet that Chip wanted to be there for him but Peter had this feeling that Chip had no idea what was actually happening and once he did, once he realized the gravity of the situation, once he realized that if he stuck with Peter, like he said he would, his life would quickly go down the tubes too, maybe he’d wake up and realize that the best thing for him and the best thing for his son was to stay as far as way as physically possible. And though it hurt Peter to even think about not being around him, at this pace, it was only a matter of time before he’d need to break up with Chip for his own good. He loved Chip too much to let him do that to himself and to Johnny.

  How selfish of me, Peter thought, to keep Chip just because he loved him even if it hurt him. No, that wasn’t how true love worked. True love wasn’t selfish like that.

  They continued the rest of the drive home in silence. Eventually, Johnny tired of his toys and dozed off in the back. Peter felt his eyes grow heavy too, but anxiety gnawed at him so badly, he found he couldn’t relax enough to take a nap. Finally, unable to bear the heavy silence any longer, Peter switched on the radio and kept it tuned to a classical station. It wasn’t his favorite, but it was soothing and quiet and that’s what he really needed right now.

  All he wanted to do was go back to Chip’s place and take a shower and go to bed. A familiar bed with familiar smells. That’s what he needed, but Chip insisted that they stop by his apartment. He didn’t have hardly any clothes at Chip’s place and he had to stop wearing the same thing over and over. While he liked borrowing Chip’s pajamas, and smelling the musky sweet scent of his man, he really needed his own stuff. At least his clothes and his toiletries.

  Though part of Peter just wanted to stay in the car and drive forever, pulling into the parking lot of his apartment building was what he needed to do if he was going to grab his things. That’s what he thought until he stepped out and saw half a dozen news cameras rushing him like a tsunami.

  He was too close to his apartment to run back in the car for safety but too far from the apartment to rush up the stairs before they could get to him. He felt like he was stuck in the middle of a swamp of media with no way to get out. Reporters shouted at him, grabbed at his arms. They demanded answers, but Peter had a hard time making out one voice from the din of noise.

  “Peter! Peter! Why did you hide your lifestyle? … How could you not tell the parents that you were a whore? …
. Did you ever have staff members as clients? …. Is it true, you’d do anything for twenty dollars?”

  The questions came at him like a field of bullets and there was no dodging them. He didn’t know how to answer them or whether not he should so he just kept pressing forward. That’s when out of the blue, someone grabbed and pushed him through the crowd.

  It was Chip, who covered his face with a jacket and helped him up the stairs. Startled, Peter just stumbled along as he was dragged up the stairs to his apartment, the reporters shouting at him as he went. Tears stung his eyes. He was horrified and embarrassed. He wished Chip hadn’t heard all of that, but there was no helping it.

  “Just stick with me, Johnny is hiding in the back seat. We’ll grab your things and then head out.” Chip stood at Peter’s back so he could fumble with the keys to get the door open.

  “Okay,” Peter said, wanting to cry. This was beyond horrible. He felt like the world was closing in on him and there was no way out. They pushed up the stairs, the media chasing after him until Chip turned back and said, “Back away. This is private property.”

  He said it with such force and conviction, they did exactly what they were told and Peter looked forward to the refuge of being inside his apartment, if only for a second. He only hoped they wouldn’t catch Johnny inside the car, the last thing he needed was Chip on camera branded as a bad parent for leaving his son in the car alone in the desert sun. Or worse, letting his son around a ‘whore’.

  Peter dug in his pocket for the keys, his hands shaking so bad he could barely put them in the keyhole. He dropped them once and his hands trembled so badly that he could barely pick them back up. He let out a frustrated little noise, unable to pick the right key.

  Chip took the keys from him, “I’ll do it for you, baby.” but as he did, the key did not turn. He turned a little harder but nothing.