Hurt Me Like You Mean It [BL]-Chapter 47: Found himself wanting more contact
He should be with Lance right now, not dealing with this corporate bullshit. The contract’s one-sided clause gnawed at him, Lance couldn’t sleep with anyone else, but Ansel was free to indulge.
Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew no one else would satisfy him. Lance’s body was a drug, and he was already addicted.
Impulsively, Ansel pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, landing on one of his reliable flings, a nameless, willing body he’d used before.
The guy answered on the second ring, his voice eager and familiar. "Get here now," Ansel ordered, his tone brooking no argument.
While he waited, he replayed the video, zoning in on Lance’s expressions: the way his eyes fluttered shut in frustration, his hand stroking faster, his body begging for Ansel’s touch and being all slutty.
It only fueled the fire in Ansel’s veins, his hand slipping inside his pants to stroke himself roughly, imagining it was Lance’s mouth on him instead.
Fifteen minutes later, the fling arrived, slipping into the boardroom with a predatory grin, as if he sensed the opportunity.
He was tall, muscular, with a jawline that could cut glass, but to Ansel, he was just a substitute, a warm, breathing placeholder.
Without a word, Ansel shoved him against the table, his hands rough as he tore at the man’s clothes. "On your knees.." he growled, his voice thick with lust. The fling complied eagerly, dropping down and freeing Ansel’s cock from his trousers. It sprang out, hard and demanding, pre-cum already beading at the tip.
Ansel didn’t bother with preliminaries; he gripped the back of the man’s head and thrust in deep, fucking his mouth with the same brutality he’d unleashed on Lance.
The fling gagged around him, tears springing to his eyes, but Ansel didn’t care.
He kept his AirPods in, the video’s audio mixing with the real-time sounds, the wet slurps, the choked breaths.
In his mind, it was Lance’s lips stretched around him, Lance’s throat constricting in protest. "Take it.." Ansel snarled, his hips snapping forward, driving deeper with each stroke.
The fling’s hands clawed at Ansel’s thighs, but it only spurred him on, his free hand fisting in the man’s hair to hold him in place.
As the pace intensified, Ansel watched the video on his phone, juxtaposing the two experiences. Lance’s moans in his ears contrasted sharply with the fling’s muffled grunts, and it was infuriating.
This man was skilled, sure—his tongue swirling expertly, his suction perfect but it lacked the raw, unwilling passion that made Lance so irresistible.
Ansel imagined Lance’s tear-streaked face, his body marked from their last session, and it pushed him closer to the edge.
With a final, brutal thrust, he came hard, spilling down the fling’s throat in hot, pulsing waves.
The man swallowed obediently, but as Ansel pulled out, wiping himself on the guy’s shirt, the emptiness hit him like a punch to the gut.
It wasn’t satisfying. Not even close. The fling stood, wiping his mouth, looking for praise or perhaps another round, but Ansel waved him off dismissively.
"Get out..." he said, his voice flat, already turning away. As the door closed behind him, Ansel sank into his chair, staring at the paused video on his phone.
Lance’s image froze on the screen, mid-stroke, his expression a mix of frustration and need.
Ansel’s cock twitched again, despite his release, a reminder that nothing else would do.
He regretted not making the contract open-ended; Lance was too good, too perfectly tailored to his desires. The fling had been a poor imitation, a hollow echo of the real thing.
Now, all Ansel could think about was keeping Lance in his world, punishing him for being his newfound obsession, and making sure he never let go.
The feeling he got when he had sex with Lance was unlike any other.
And it made he want to have more contact with him even when it’s not sex related.
He sighed and stood up, heading to the door.
Calling that fling was a waste of time, he just wasn’t Lance and he wasn’t desperate enough to go through with it blindly.
"Sir, it’s a relief to have found you here. Your schedule for the next three days has been prepared. I’d also like to inform you, that your younger brother, Lionel has returned to the country. It’s been over a week now and it seems he has no plans to return home.Then Saturday you have a business convention at the state University, whose keynote speaker is their top student Lance Dixion.."
Ansel frowned slightly when he heard Lionel’s name, as long as he wasn’t doing anything stupid, he didn’t care if Lionel didn’t return home.
However he brightened up, when he heard Lance was going to be the keynote speaker at the convention.
"I got it. How many of these business conventions have we gone to?"
The man shook his head "The state University has invited you three times and you’ve declined this three times."
-_-
"Worry not, Jamieson I’ll go to this one. I think it’s going to be interesting.."
Jamieson gulped, he hoped his boss wouldn’t do anything crazy to Lance on that day.
His boss’s tendencies could be overwhelming sometimes.
Days passed in a blur, and then suddenly, it was D-day.
The convention hall buzzed with low conversation and restrained excitement, the kind that only gathered when money, power, and opportunity shared the same space.
Lance stood near the side of the stage with a small cluster of professors, hands loosely clasped in front of him.
"Nervous?" one of them asked with a knowing smile.
"Just a little.." Lance quipped as he arranged his tie.
"Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.." another chimed in.
Professor Harding hovered closer than the rest, offering a bottle of water. "If you need anything before you go on stage, let me know. Try to breathe, alright?"
Lance nodded, accepting the water with a quiet thanks.
He scanned the room briefly. Investors in tailored suits.
Businessmen murmuring to one another. Students sitting straighter than usual.
The front rows had been reserved for the keynote speakers and top students, and he’d been seated there earlier among his peers.
And professor Valentino was nowhere in sight.
Thank God.
Lance exhaled slowly. He wasn’t speaking yet. His segment was scheduled after the current address. He still had time.
Then his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He froze.
It was from Ansel.
