His Touch of Ice Read online

  His Touch of Ice

  by Kody Boye

  His Touch of Ice

  By Kody Boye

  Copyright © Kody Boye 2014. All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art and design by Claudia McKinney

  Typography by Corey Hollins

  Copyedited by Erin Hayes and Joel Froomkin

  Interior formatting by Kody Boye

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  Part 4

  Part 5

  PART 1

  Hi, he said. How r u?

  Normally, butchering English would’ve turned me off, but since he was on a phone, I could excuse it.

  Fine, I replied. You?

  I didn’t expect an immediate response—or one at all, if I wanted to be honest with myself. It wasn’t often guys sent me messages on apps like this, especially guys like him.

  His username was IceFire. His profile described him as a tall, Caucasian male with short blonde hair and blue eyes. His physique, listed as ‘athletic,’ was confirmed in a profile picture which displayed little more than a black-and-white torso, hands covering his junk and a fade shrouding his eyes from view—typical fare of the guy who wanted to be ‘down-low.’ He was a sight to behold, all broad-shouldered and slim-wasted, heavily-muscled and the slightest smattering of hair across his stomach and his chin, but that didn’t matter. The picture could’ve been a fake, which wouldn’t have been unlikely considering it was his only one.

  Either way, it didn’t matter.

  His opening come-on was proof enough of where this was going.

  He wanted to get laid.

  But with me? Couldn’t he have found someone better?

  “Last pickings,” I muttered, easing my dinosaur of a laptop up onto my lap.

  I decided to ignore the fact that I was most likely his pity hookup and watched the scrolling RSS feed on the side of my browser until the incoming message notification lit up the inside of one tab.

  I clicked.

  Sure enough, it was Mr. IceFire. He sure was persistent.

  I opened the message and waited for the apartment’s shitty connection to load the message before leaning forward.

  Want 2 hang out?

  I could’ve laughed at the response.

  Downtown, a second message came in. 6th street.

  I looked out the window and surveyed the surroundings of east Austin. While it was getting late, I could probably still catch the bus if I hurried. It wasn’t as if there would be cops waiting to catch me jaywalking or anything.

  Was it worth it though?

  I turned my attention back to his username and waited for his profile to load before skimming through it. The first thing that caught my eye was how well put together it was. The second was that it actually used proper spelling and punctuation, unlike his messages, which meant that either he was trying to impress someone by being smart, or he actually was smart.

  I lifted my eyes to the top of the profile.

  Looking for: Friendship.

  Friendship? With a picture like that?

  Sighing, I leaned back against the wall and lifted my glasses to rub my eyes, contemplating when the last time I’d gone out had been or whether or not I’d even enjoyed myself, much less with another, possibly-attractive guy.

  Despite the usual persistence found in the guys on these sites, IceFire didn’t send another message.

  I considered my options before me.

  After a little less than three minutes, I opened my mouth and said, “Fuck it.”

  What club? I typed.

  Thunder, he replied.

  A long and unfortunate half-an-hour later, I stepped off the bus near the end of Sixth Street and made my way toward the club where Mr. IceFire was hopefully still patiently waiting for me.

  Austin, Texas—live musical capitol of the world. Flanked on both sides by varying restaurants, bars and clubs, the street resembled something like a cross between an exotic carnival ride and a brick-and-concrete wasteland meant to tailor to various bikers and cowboy culture. The gay district—comprised of three clubs, one of which had recently closed—loomed near and strong: one, the less flashy of the two, the other, the Thunder club, which IceFire had invited me to. I managed to slide past the cover fee on the chance that it was Funky Friday and entered the club after being ID’d with few expectations.

  A quick scan across the club showed no sign of IceFire.

  I couldn’t blame him for that though. He was but one body in a sea of glistening, shirtless torsos—lost in every gay man’s utopia on Sixth Street. He’d find me. It wasn’t like it would be hard, being one of the few guys with glasses or hair that hadn’t been covered in enough mousse to burn the ozone layer.

  Rather than wait, I stepped up to the bar and settled down on one of the stools.

  I was immediately greeted by a bartender.

  “Hey,” the attractive Asian guy said, leaning forward to offer a smile below an impressively-defined nose and near-mouth-dropping cheekbones. “Anything I can get for you?”

  “I don’t drink,” I replied almost instantly, then realized my behavior. “Uh… sorry. Cola.”

  “No problem.” He filled a glass and passed it over to me before offering a slight frown. “You look a bit down on your luck.”

  “I’m cool,” I replied. “Just waiting for someone to find me.”

  “Ah, I see.” The bartender paused. “Anything I can get for you, sir?”

  I nearly started to speak, but stopped when I realized someone had settled onto the stool beside me.

  “No thanks,” the guy said, his deep voice somehow cutting through the jarring madness of techno and pop music.

  After giving the newcomer a brief smile, the bartender scurried off to the end of the bar, leaving me to my cola.

  “So,” the newcomer said. “You must be TheConqueringWorm.”

  I nearly spit my drink. I had to lift my hand to contain my laughter before swallowing and said, “Yeah. That’s me.”

  I turned.

  Though not shirtless, he was easily the man I’d been speaking to online.

  “IceFire?” I asked.

  The man nodded and offered a smile.

  His square chin was the first thing I settled on before my face traversed the fine cleft leading to thin but fine lips. His jawline was the same as the one pictured in his profile, as were the definition of his cheeks and the proud yet proportioned nose, but I hadn’t expected his features to be so strong. What completed them was the military-style buzz cut that perfectly framed his brow with its fine blonde stubble.

  His eyes, though—they completely took me aback.

  He’d listed them as blue, but not like I’d expected.

  They had what looked like aqua rings surrounding already-breathtaking meridian-blue eyes.

  I blinked in an attempt to appear as if I’d just spaced out, but the smirk on the man’s face proved he knew otherwise.

  “Your eyes,” I said after a moment.

  “Yeah,” he laughed. “I get that a lot.”

  “Do you wear contacts?”

  “Nope. Not a day in my life.
”

  “Sorry,” I chuckled. “And here I was trying to play it cool.”

  “Hey—don’t sweat it. It’s cool.” The man extended his hand. “I’m Guy, by the way.”

  “Guy?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Just Guy.”

  “Jason,” I said, taking hold of the man’s hand.

  His strong, reassuring grip wasn’t the fleeting greeting I’d expect.

  Guy’s eyes crossed my features before falling to the glass in my hand. “You drinking?”

  “Just soda,” I said.

  “You wanna dance?”

  I didn’t need convincing.

  A minute later, we were one with the sea of bodies, moving to the sound of remastered 80s electronica and mashups of all the Top 30 on the Billboard Charts.

  Our proximity was intoxicating. I wasn’t sure if it was because it’d been so long since I’d been with a guy or if it was because I was just having a good time, but over the next short while, I found myself getting closer to him—whether I was being drawn, quickly, to his musky cologne, or the scent of his sweat that seemed to pull us closer like two opposing magnets. I was so embarrassed and was about to apologize for my behavior when Guy set his hands on my hips and pulled us together.

  “This ok?” he asked, lips so close I could almost feel them on my ear.

  I nodded.

  The only natural thing to do was to put my hands on him.

  Bracing my hands along his ribcage, I tilted my head up to look into his eyes and smiled.

  “Having a good time?” he asked, inching his hands up my chest when our height difference proved to be troublesome.

  “I haven’t been out to the clubs in forever,” I replied, laughing as he snaked one arm out from under mine and draped it across my shoulders. “I wasn’t sure if you were being serious.”

  “I read your profile,” Guy said. “You seemed cool. And now that I’ve met you in person, I can definitely say that you are.”

  Unsure how to respond, I merely smiled.

  Leaning forward, Guy closed the distance between our faces before asking, “Is it all right if I kiss you?”

  I didn’t respond.

  Instead, I pressed my lips against his.

  At that point, I didn’t care.

  I just wanted to have a good time.

  His lips were all over me the moment we entered his Sixth Street apartment. Hands braced along my hips, mouth pressed against the sharp line of my jaw and body pressed against mine—he snared one hand around my back and pulled me close to him before sliding his tongue into my mouth and taking a hold of the back of his head.

  “God,” I gasped, tilting my head back as his lips fell to my neck.

  I shivered as his flesh pressed against my jugular and his tongue grazed along the curve of my collarbone.

  “You’re so fucking hot,” Guy said, sliding a hand under my shirt, his palm flat against the middle of my back.

  I leaned, took hold of his face, and traced the stubbly contours of his cheeks before pressing my mouth against his.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” Guy asked when he released me.

  “Don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but only if you’re comfortable.”

  I reached down and cupped the lengthening bulge along his thigh. “This comfortable enough for you?”

  With a growl, Guy pulled me to him and lifted me into his arms, hands groping the firm globes of my ass as he carried me across the apartment.

  Once we were in the bedroom, he pressed me down on the bed and ravished my body with his lips. Trailing them across my jaw, kissing the fine underside of my chin, giving gentle bites to my upper lip—he ran his hands along my side until they came to the tail of my shirt, then lifted it, revealing a flat but otherwise-undefined stomach. Guy’s intents were quickly made clear when he bowed his head and ran his tongue along my abdomen, all the way up to my chest.

  When his teeth sank into my nipple, I groaned and cast my head back.

  “Like that?” Guy asked, sliding his tongue across my chest to my other nipple, then giving it the same treatment.

  “Fuck yeah,” I managed.

  His hands snared my belt into his grasp as he begun to do my buckle.

  “Wait,” I said.

  He pulled back and regarded me with a curious expression.

  Sliding off the mattress, I rounded the bed until I stood at the end, then gently pushed him atop it.

  Once on my knees, I undid his belt with depth precision I’d swore I lost until I pulled down his pants to reveal a very large, very obvious strain against his briefs.

  I reached out to take hold of it.

  Guy groaned.

  I leaned forward and slid my lips along the outline of his cock through his briefs before I pulled his waistband under his balls.

  I only had one thought when his cock came into view and slapped against his abdomen: fuck.

  It wasn’t anything I’d never dealt with before—maybe seven-and-a-half, possibly on the higher scale near eight inches—but its girth was impressive: throbbing, cockhead flaring. Guy’s breathing stopped when I took it between my hands then eclipsed into a slight gasp as I began to run my hand up and down his length, spooling his precum beneath my thumb and using it to slick his shaft.

  “Fuck,” Guy gasped. “Ugh.”

  “You like that?” I asked, edging forward to give the head a tentative lick.

  He groaned and bucked against my hand.

  I wouldn’t make the poor man wait any longer.

  I took him in my mouth.

  Guy’s cry of shock proved I’d struck a nerve.

  It’d been a while since I’d been with anyone, let alone sucked someone off as big as Guy, so I took my time in getting used to his length and girth by alternating between sliding my mouth along the upper portion and jerking off the bottom half. His patience was impressive. He didn’t even reach out and tangle his fingers through my hair until I started going further down on him.

  “Don’t… ugh… take it if you can’t,” he managed.

  That was enough of a challenge.

  I braced myself to bottom out and swallowed the rest of him whole.

  “Fuuuuuckkk,” Guy moaned. “Yeah baby. Suck it.”

  I ran my hands along the fine hairs on his upper thighs until I cupped the beginnings of his ass and allowed him to thrust into me at his own leisure. Bobbing my head, swallowing for extra effect, occasionally reaching down to play with his balls—I was near bursting with the need to jack myself off, but kept my focus on Guy as he rolled his head back and let out a long stream of moans that instantly made my dick jump.

  “God,” he said. “Shit. Can I fuck you?”

  I pulled my mouth off his cock and leaned over to plant a long, hard kiss on his mouth before shucking my shirt and undoing the clasp on my jeans.

  “Is that a tattoo?” Guy asked, glancing at my arm as the faded, fractal-shaped mark came into view.

  “Yeah,” I lied, glancing down at the scar blossoming from my shoulder and down my arm before shucking my pants. I’d been so caught up in the moment that I’d completely forgotten about it.

  Ignore it, I thought. He’s only got one thing on his mind.

  Once naked, I crawled up onto the bed, all fours, and watched Guy reach into a bedside cabinet for the lube.

  “Take it slow,” I said, gasping as two fingers probed my entrance. “It’s been a while.

  He switched to his thumb and circled my hole before sliding in.

  I grunted and lowered my head.

  Guy waited a moment before he continued.

  When I felt I’d grown used to his thumb, I told him to slide a finger in.

  I cried out.

  I hadn’t expected his fingers to be so big.

  “You ok?” Guy asked, running a hand under my arm to stimulate a nipple.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Just… big.”

  He laughed and edged it in slower.

  I closed my eyes a
nd flexed around his finger to get used to the girth before he slid a second in, causing me to let out another gasp of pleasure. His in-and-out motions were one thing, but what really got to me was when he curled his fingers and hit my prostate.

  I cried out and bucked against his fingers, forcing myself back on him.

  “Looks like I hit a good spot,” he chuckled.

  “Fuck me,” I gasped.

  The sound of the condom ripping open, then of lube being squeezed out entered my ears before I felt his fingers against my ass one last time, freshly coating me.

  A moment passed without anything happening.

  I braced myself for his entry.

  Crawling onto the bed, he braced his knees on either side of my legs, then pressed against me.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  He pushed.

  I grimaced.

  He slipped inside with a resounding groan that made me gasp for breath.

  Taking hold of my hips, he began to ease himself in.

  He went slow, like I’d told him to, pushing himself in when he felt I could take it and allowing me to adjust when he saw I was having trouble. Given his size, bottoming out would be a feat unto itself, but I was determined, especially since he’d made me so damn horny I thought I could blow at any moment.

  “Doin’ ok down there?” he asked, sliding a hand along my abdomen, then taking hold of my cock.

  “Fuck yeah,” I said, taking in a sharp breath when he started to stroke me off. “Go deeper.”

  He sank in another inch, grunting as he pulled out and then repeated the motion.

  “Ok,” I said, grimacing, reeling from the fact that the initial discomfort was now fading. “Start going. Just take it slow.”

  He did as he was asked.

  His thrusts were short and slow, rhythmic to the tune of a rocking ship idly adrift at sea, and each grazed along my prostate like a feather across the most sensitive of nerve endings. The first few times I’d gasped, Guy had slowed or stopped completely to ask if I was fine, but when he realized I was merely getting into it, he started increasing his pace.