The Bully Found My Photos, So Now I Kneel on Command novel · Chapter 3 of 24
Chapter 3: Under the Dash
Tate shoves Judah under the dashboard while the sheriff talks through the window, and Judah finishes what he started in silence.
"Cab. Floor. Now."
Tate had Judah by the tied wrists and over the side of the truck bed before the lights reached the gate.
The passenger door slammed, and Judah was folded into the footwell with his knees against the glovebox and his face level with Tate's lap.
Tate dropped into the driver's seat above him and killed the dome light.
"Not a sound," he said. "Not a breath."
Gravel crunched, slow and close.
Judah crouched in the dark with his bound hands against Tate's thigh and his glasses crooked.
His own cock was still out and aching against the seat.
He could see the dashboard clock, the shape of Tate's open jeans, and the hard line of him still standing there.
A flashlight beam moved across the roof.
Then a knuckle rapped the driver's window.
Tate wound it down.
"Evening, Dad."
"Tate." The voice was warm and deep and pleasant, the voice that said grace at church suppers.
"Little late to be out at the quarry."
"Just thinking, sir," Tate said.
"Thinking," his father said.
"Yes, sir."
Judah heard the slow creak of leather as the sheriff leaned a forearm on the door.
He heard the smile in it.
Above him, Tate's hand left the wheel and slid down into Judah's hair.
Judah went rigid.
The hand turned his face, deliberate and cold, and pressed it into Tate's lap.
Tate's cock was right against his mouth.
Judah looked up the length of his body.
Tate's eyes were already on him, dark and bright and utterly steady, over the top of his father's head.
His lips moved without a sound.
Do it.
Judah could have said no.
He knew it, and he knew Tate knew it, and he knew that what he felt was not fear.
He opened his mouth and took Tate in.
Tate's whole body jolted, once, and his hand locked in Judah's hair.
"Your mother called from Knoxville," the sheriff said.
"Did she," Tate said.
His voice was perfectly even.
Judah sucked him slowly, tongue flat, his bound hands trapped between Tate's thigh and the door.
He felt the heat of him swell and pulse against his lips, and every muscle in Tate's leg began to tremble.
"She says she wants you at Thanksgiving. I told her we'd see."
"Yes, sir," Tate said.
"We'll see how you are on Friday."
The thigh under Judah's wrists went rigid.
Judah slowed, and Tate's fist tightened in his hair.
It dragged him down until the head of his cock pushed past his lips and into his throat.
Judah swallowed around him and did not make a sound.
"You look flushed," the sheriff said.
"It's warm in here, sir."
"That heater." A short silence. "I'll look at it Saturday."
Tate's hips gave one small, helpless jerk.
Judah took it, wet and deep, and felt Tate's breath leave him in a thread through his nose.
He heard his own pulse in his ears.
The sheriff was a foot from Tate's face.
Judah was on his knees below them with the man's son in his mouth.
It was the most obscene thing he had ever done.
His cock throbbed against the seat leather with no hand on it at all.
"Who's the friend?" the sheriff asked lightly.
"No friend."
"You've got that look," the sheriff said.
"Just tired."
Tate's voice cracked on the last word.
He came.
He came with a stifled, shuddering grunt, hot and thick on Judah's tongue.
He held Judah's head in place with both hands while it went on.
Judah swallowed all of it.
He felt Tate's belly hollow and jerk against his cheek.
Above them, the sheriff straightened.
"Home by ten," he said. "I'll see you in the kitchen."
His knuckles rapped the roof twice.
The footsteps went back down the gravel, a car door shut, and the cruiser's engine faded up the quarry road.
Tate let go of Judah's hair.
Judah sat back on his heels in the footwell, wiping his mouth with his tied wrists, and looked at Tate's hands.
They were shaking on the wheel so hard that the keys in the ignition chimed.
Tate stared straight ahead.
The look on his face was one Judah had never seen in any photo, and he did not understand it.
"Out," Tate said. "Go home."
"Hatchett."
"Out." His voice was flat and empty. "You don't come tonight. I'll know."
Judah's door swung open on the quarry dark.
He stood in the road with his glasses in his hand and his cock aching, and watched Tate's taillights go.
The cruiser had already turned off Route 8 toward Kettle Road.
Judah remembered, without knowing why, that it was a Friday.
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