Read Online Patient Privilege by Allison Cassatta - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Allison Cassatta
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remind himself that this particular john paid well. A blowjob and a little finger action would be easy if he thought about where it would get him.
Wrapping his mouth around the john's bobbing cock, Angel licked the hardened shaft. His palm caressed the tightened sac before he reached between his customer's thighs to push two fingers into his ass.
The whole damn thing bored the shit out of Angel and it probably showed, but he had a feeling his customer wouldn't notice. The man gripped at the brick wall behind him so hard the skin of his knuckles turned white. As Angel whipped his tongue back and forth, over and over, across and around, the john's knees bent and started to quiver. The man moaned as his head rolled against the brick. Five minutes, maybe less, and Angel would have his money.
He worked the trick's cock, worked it until he felt the pulsing and throbbing, and the tightening in the guy's sac. It was almost over. Then he could get high. Then he could erase every bad thought and feeling. He could satisfy his needs and forget about what had happened and his trip to the hospital. A few more minutes and it would be over.
A salty explosion of warmth erupted in Angel's mouth, splashed over his tongue and he kept pulling hard until every single drop had been sucked from the john's body. He swallowed the shit down and let the flaccid cock flop out of his mouth.
Standing, he held out his hand, didn't bother waiting for the customer to compose himself. "Money, now," Angel barked.
With a shaky hand, the man reached for his wallet, fished out five one-hundred dollar bills and slapped them against Angel's palm. Angel didn't say a single word. He took his money and hit the streets in search of Trez.
It didn't take long. His dealer was perched in the first dark hole Angel went to. Good thing. Angel's nerves were frazzled. His mood bordered on explosive and if he didn't get some of Trez's goodies in his veins soon, he knew he would have a meltdown.
Angel didn't bother with conversation, only bought enough smack to get him a good high. He knew Jon would find him soon enough, and when he did, his best friend would expect him to put the shit down and get help. Normally, Angel would've told him to fuck off. Normally, Angel wouldn't give a shit what anyone else wanted. He did what pleased him despite what anyone else thought—but the look in Jon's eyes, the resolve in his voice… it scared the shit out of Angel. He knew he had a choice to make. It was Jon or the heroin. He couldn't have both, and giving up Jon would be a hell of a lot harder than giving up the drugs. Or, that's what he told himself.
The next stop was another shithole motel. Not the same one he'd nearly died in a few days ago. That would be the first place Jon would look, and by his watch, Jon was probably already on the prowl… if he still cared enough to look for him.
Angel got his room. He'd stayed there a few times before and Jon had found him there more than once. He might've asked for something different, but part of him wanted to be found. A small, desperate part of him wanted Jon to ride in on his white horse and save his life. Being high had been great for a while, but Angel needed more now. He needed substance. He needed the love and happiness he had back home. And as long as no one forced him to talk about it, he could almost live with needing and not having. Almost.
Once he made it to the room and locked the door, Angel kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his boxers. He felt nasty wearing the jeans and t-shirt he'd serviced his customer in, not to mention the knees were soiled with God only knew what. He didn't have a change of clothes—didn't have shit to his name. Jon had taken his backpack and he hadn't thought to get it back before leaving the hospital. At least he could get high, take a shower, then… well, who the fuck knew what would happen next?
As he tossed the baggy full of white, powdery goodness onto the table, Angel realized
Wrapping his mouth around the john's bobbing cock, Angel licked the hardened shaft. His palm caressed the tightened sac before he reached between his customer's thighs to push two fingers into his ass.
The whole damn thing bored the shit out of Angel and it probably showed, but he had a feeling his customer wouldn't notice. The man gripped at the brick wall behind him so hard the skin of his knuckles turned white. As Angel whipped his tongue back and forth, over and over, across and around, the john's knees bent and started to quiver. The man moaned as his head rolled against the brick. Five minutes, maybe less, and Angel would have his money.
He worked the trick's cock, worked it until he felt the pulsing and throbbing, and the tightening in the guy's sac. It was almost over. Then he could get high. Then he could erase every bad thought and feeling. He could satisfy his needs and forget about what had happened and his trip to the hospital. A few more minutes and it would be over.
A salty explosion of warmth erupted in Angel's mouth, splashed over his tongue and he kept pulling hard until every single drop had been sucked from the john's body. He swallowed the shit down and let the flaccid cock flop out of his mouth.
Standing, he held out his hand, didn't bother waiting for the customer to compose himself. "Money, now," Angel barked.
With a shaky hand, the man reached for his wallet, fished out five one-hundred dollar bills and slapped them against Angel's palm. Angel didn't say a single word. He took his money and hit the streets in search of Trez.
It didn't take long. His dealer was perched in the first dark hole Angel went to. Good thing. Angel's nerves were frazzled. His mood bordered on explosive and if he didn't get some of Trez's goodies in his veins soon, he knew he would have a meltdown.
Angel didn't bother with conversation, only bought enough smack to get him a good high. He knew Jon would find him soon enough, and when he did, his best friend would expect him to put the shit down and get help. Normally, Angel would've told him to fuck off. Normally, Angel wouldn't give a shit what anyone else wanted. He did what pleased him despite what anyone else thought—but the look in Jon's eyes, the resolve in his voice… it scared the shit out of Angel. He knew he had a choice to make. It was Jon or the heroin. He couldn't have both, and giving up Jon would be a hell of a lot harder than giving up the drugs. Or, that's what he told himself.
The next stop was another shithole motel. Not the same one he'd nearly died in a few days ago. That would be the first place Jon would look, and by his watch, Jon was probably already on the prowl… if he still cared enough to look for him.
Angel got his room. He'd stayed there a few times before and Jon had found him there more than once. He might've asked for something different, but part of him wanted to be found. A small, desperate part of him wanted Jon to ride in on his white horse and save his life. Being high had been great for a while, but Angel needed more now. He needed substance. He needed the love and happiness he had back home. And as long as no one forced him to talk about it, he could almost live with needing and not having. Almost.
Once he made it to the room and locked the door, Angel kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his boxers. He felt nasty wearing the jeans and t-shirt he'd serviced his customer in, not to mention the knees were soiled with God only knew what. He didn't have a change of clothes—didn't have shit to his name. Jon had taken his backpack and he hadn't thought to get it back before leaving the hospital. At least he could get high, take a shower, then… well, who the fuck knew what would happen next?
As he tossed the baggy full of white, powdery goodness onto the table, Angel realized
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