Hurt Me

by Ker Dukey

  It’s enough to pull me out of the moment and remind me why I haven’t eaten. I fucked up and texted Blaine to come save me last night. As a result, I slept all day trying to forget that horrible mistake.

  “Come on,” I growl, pulling her into my arms.

  Her laughter spurs me on as I carry her through the house, past the curious onlookers, and upstairs. Once inside the guest room, I shut the door and toss her on the bed. Under her dress, I get a flash of a black thong.

  “Lay back,” I command. “Take off your panties and show me what I get to fuck.”

  She bites on her plump bottom lip and shimmies out of her thong. It gets flung at me, and then she opens her legs like a practiced whore, baring her pink pussy lips at me. This shit used to get me riled up. I can fuck for hours. I’m relentless.

  So why in the ever-loving hell am I having to rub at my cock through my jeans, attempting to get it hard?

  “Touch yourself,” I order, buying some time. “How wet are you?”

  She pushes a finger into her pussy and pulls it out. It glistens in the light. Like it’s a lollipop, she sucks her finger into her mouth, making an over-the-top show of enjoying her taste.

  My dick doesn’t even twitch.

  Not now.

  Fuck.

  She sits up on her knees and peels off her dress, baring her tits to me. Huge and barely staying inside her black bra. On her knees, she walks over to the edge of the bed.

  “I see you looking at these,” she says breathily as she squeezes her tits. “Want to fuck them?”

  The idea of pressing her tits together as I fuck the cleavage is something that would normally be a no brainer.

  And yet…

  I need a drink or ten. I’m too sober.

  Before I can state that, she’s undoing my loose, borrowed jeans. They fall to my ankles unceremoniously, showing off my flaccid dick. Her look of surprise is enough to have me panicking—and panic does nothing to help the state of my dick. A thousand thoughts wash through my head about what she’s thinking. It’s irrational, but I can’t stop the paranoia eating away at me.

  “I need a drink,” I rasp as I start to reach for my jeans.

  “Here,” she purrs, reaching for my soft cock. “Let me suck it to life.”

  Oh, Jesus. This is bad.

  Her tongue flicks out and tastes my tip as she works my flimsy cock in her tiny hand. The more I stare in shock at my useless dick, the more terror rises up inside me. My eyes slide to her phone on the bed.

  My inability to get hard could be a media fucking sensation the moment she lets go.

  No. No. No.

  Fucking no.

  “Everything okay? I’ve been told I’m great at giving head.”

  “Yeah, I just need a minute. I just woke up.” I laugh nervously.

  “We can bring your friend up if you prefer? Your band mate? Owen, maybe?”

  What the fuck does she mean by that? Fuck, now my dick is twitching.

  “Oh…” she croons. “I think your dick likes that idea”

  Fuck.

  “I…uh…stop, lady.”

  She pouts and looks up at me in confusion. “Cassidy.”

  “Right…um, Cassidy. Can we take a breather for a second? I’m not feeling so hot.”

  “Sure,” she says. “I’ll just look at my phone until you’re ready—”

  “No!” I bark out, making her jump. “I mean…uh, please. I need to talk to my label. It’s important. Can you just stay here looking so fucking pretty?”

  My words make her melt.

  “Lie back and make yourself feel good,” I urge.

  While she falls back and touches herself, I knock her phone onto the floor, yank up my jeans, and dial Ren. She’s focused on getting off, so I snag up her phone and pocket it while I wait for him to answer.

  No answer.

  Fuck.

  Reluctantly, I call Ronan. I hate having to talk to him, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I cannot have this shit getting out. This could be catastrophic to my reputation.

  “Xavi Jacobs,” he says in way of greeting. Cool, guarded, slightly pissed off.

  “Ronan,” I whisper, ducking into the adjoining bathroom. “I’m totally fucked.”

  “What now?” he growls.

  My heart races. “I…uh, there was this girl and…” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

  “Say what you have to say, man. Unless she’s not breathing. In that case, don’t say anything else,” he says impatiently. “Out with it.”

  “I can’t get hard.”

  The line goes quiet.

  “Are you asking me for sex advice?”

  I let out a rush of air. “Fuck no. She’s saying shit about me needing Owen or one of the guys in the room to get hard. I’m afraid she’s going to tell the whole fucking world. Help me. Please.”

  “I see. You’re at Seth’s from the looks of it. I’ll be there in fifteen with an NDA.”

  Though I called him for help, I didn’t expect him to be so accommodating. “Really?”

  “Really. Don’t say a word or do anything stupid until we talk. And, Xavi, is there anything I need to know about you and Owen?”

  “What the fuck? No, of course not.”

  “Okay.”

  He hangs up, and I slink back into the bedroom as Cassidy cries out my name. She shudders on the bed. When the aftershocks subside, she grins lazily at me.

  “Beautiful,” I praise. “So beautiful, it makes me want to write a song.”

  Her blue eyes widen. “No way!”

  “Get dressed and I’ll play some shit for you,” I say, shrugging one shoulder.

  Eagerly, Cassidy throws on her clothes, then looks around for her phone.

  “Private show,” I say with a smile. “It’s only fair since you gave me one.” I give her a wink that has her sighing happily.

  Luckily, since I stay here sometimes, Seth keeps an acoustic for me. It’s not as nice as the one Owen’s playing downstairs, but it’ll do the trick. I sit on the edge of the bed and make up some chords to stall until Ronan gets here. I could probably sing about the neighbor’s dog shitting on the grass and this girl would be into it based on the way she tries to sing along and sways.

  Fifteen minutes on the dot, Ronan pushes into the room with a concerned Owen at his side. When Owen sees my panicked face, his eyes dart to Cassidy.

  “Oh,” Cassidy says, “are we, like, going to have an orgy? I’m into it, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

  Ronan flashes her a boardroom shark smile as he pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. I normally hate his stiff suit attire, but right now, he looks powerful and intimidating—which is exactly what I need from him.

  “Sorry, Ms…” he trails off.

  “Cassidy Holder.”

  Ronan pulls out a pen from his pocket and leans the paper against the wall as he scribbles something out. “This, Cassidy Holder, is a nondisclosure agreement. It’s a simple document that says you are not to tell anything about what happens inside Mr. Jacobs’ bedroom. Conversations, sexual activities, songs. Whatever happens is to be kept under lock and key. Are we clear?”

  Her face turns red. “What’s going to happen?”

  Owen shoots me a confused look.

  “Nothing is going to happen,” Ronan assures her. “Because you’re going to sign this and rejoin the party.”

  “But why?” she asks, her bottom lip wobbling. “What did I do wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, shooting her a firm look.

  “Some people like to exploit famous people,” Ronan says bluntly. “But not you, Ms. Holder.”

  “Never,” she breathes, shaking her head.

  “Then you’ll be fine signing.” He hands her the pen and paper. “Go on, read it. It’s very clear and concise.”

  She takes her time reading the document, then looks up at him. “I’ll be sued if I mention anything?” Her blue eyes flicker to mine, hurt shining in them. I feel lik
e a fucking dick, but I don’t want this shit out there.

  “I see you understand the agreement,” Ronan says.

  “I guess I don’t have a choice,” she grumbles, scribbling her name on the line.

  “You have a choice to forget this evening and enjoy the party,” Ronan replies in a no-nonsense tone. “That simple.”

  She nods and gives me a sad look. “I still don’t know what I did wrong.”

  “Nothing, sweetheart,” Owen says, smiling. “Why don’t we go back downstairs and I’ll play a song for you? Your choice.”

  Her eyes light up. “Okay, that sounds awesome.” She glances at me. “I just need my phone.”

  Ronan lifts a brow, silently asking if it’s okay. I give him a clipped nod before handing it to her.

  My mouth opens to apologize, but he shakes his head at me. Owen grabs her hand and leads her out of the room. The moment the door closes behind them, I let out a sigh of relief.

  “Come here,” he orders, his voice dripping with authority like Blaine’s.

  Heat of embarrassment or shame prickles across my skin, making me aware that I’m in the room with Blaine’s best friend.

  “What?” I ask, my voice husky.

  “Blaine told me about last night.”

  My face flames, and I scowl. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  Ronan approaches, his face inches from mine as he inspects me with that calculating glint in his eyes. “The part where he rescued you from yourself.”

  “And what else?”

  His lips quirk up on one side. “There was more? He certainly didn’t tell me anything else. Blaine has certain kinks, though. So there’s always more with him. Don’t worry,” he assures me. “You don’t need an NDA with him. He’s a fucking vault with his boys.”

  His boys?

  My dick—the traitorous motherfucker—wakes up, hard and eager to be a good boy for Blaine. I’ve never wanted to be fucking good. What the fuck?

  “I am not with Blaine,” I croak out, hating how vulnerable my voice sounds.

  “Oh, I know,” Ronan says. “You haven’t been broken in yet. Still acting out and misbehaving. If you were with Blaine, he’d sort your shit out real quick.”

  I want to demand he tell me how.

  How will Blaine straighten me out?

  Why do I want him to?

  “I…I…” I trail off, grasping for an explanation.

  Ronan smiles. “You need a vacation, like he says. Come on. I’ll drop you by your house so you can pack a bag. Blaine’s coming for you. I’ve been instructed to get you ready.”

  My head spins. “W-What? I have shit to do. You know this. I can’t go on a vacation!” Not with fucking Blaine, of all people.

  “I’ll have Eve rearrange your schedule. Don’t fight me on this. You won’t win.”

  Evil bastard’s trying to control my goddamn life.

  His features soften, and he grips my shoulder. “I’m on your side, Xavi. I wish you’d get that through your thick skull.”

  I blink at him in confusion. We’ve done nothing but fight since I signed with him. I hate how much control I gave him. Creatively, schedule wise, monetarily. He’d done what he did with Cassidy and waved a contract at us. We’d been star-struck and eager. But, as time passed, I realized I wanted more wiggle room, to which he firmly told me no each time.

  “I want to write some tracks to the next album. I don’t want your songwriter going in and changing shit like our last album,” I blurt out.

  His brows furrow. “If you show me you can grow up, Xavi, I’ll give you more freedom. Like any good adult role model in your life, I do things to protect you and keep the pressure off you as much as I can. Take the vacation and come back to me with something I can use. Leave the drugs and alcohol to a minimum, and maybe I’ll consider renegotiating your contract.”

  I gape at him in shock. “Really?” Of all the times we’ve fought at his office over this shit…

  “Give me something to work with,” he says. “Now, let’s get you off to Blaine.”

  Oh, fuck.

  What did I just agree to?

  I think I just sold my soul to the devil…and it’s not the three-piece Armani suit wearing fucker in front of me.

  The devil is a hard-bodied cop who doesn’t take well to bullshit.

  And now I’m going on fucking vacation with him.

  Good one, Xavi. Good fucking move.

  Pulling down the gravel road off the beaten track toward the cabin my old man left me, I already feel ten tons lighter.

  I love the city, but the shit I see with my job can leave a mark on the soul. It’s good to cleanse it every once in a while. It’s therapeutic being in the wilderness.

  Xavi groans in his sleep, his brow furrowed from troubled dreams. I reach across the seat to rest a hand on his chest when he begins jerking a little, the visions taking hold, keeping him enslaved.

  He stills beneath my touch, the lines ironing out across his forehead.

  His serene innocence is now displayed on his sleeping form.

  He’s fucking beautiful to look at. Pale skin, a contrast to his dark, untamed hair curling around his ears, and a straight nose leading to full lips that look firm and soft all at once.

  My body aches to lean in and taste them.

  In a crowded room, he can compel a sea of people with just his presence, but to be alone with him is something else entirely. When stripped of his attitude and cocksure ego, there is something vulnerable and almost delicate about him—and intensely alluring.

  I raise my hand to stroke his cheek, my knuckles grazing the soft skin, causing him to stir in his sleep and become stiff beneath my touch.

  His hand reaches up to grasp mine. Strong, long fingers wrapping around my fist. “What are you doing?” he asks gruffly.

  Pulling my hand from his, I nod to the cabin. “We’re here.”

  Sitting up and shifting in his seat, his brows raise and his mouth opens. “Wow, it’s…”

  “What?”

  “Nice, big.” His lips hook up briefly in a crooked grin.

  “Did you think it was going to be a shack where we had to share a cot to keep warm?” I ask with a snort.

  He answers my question by turning his head toward his window.

  Shit, he did think that. “My grandpa built this place with his own two hands. It’s been in my family for a long time. My father passed it down to me. I like to come here to decompress,” I tell him.

  “And bring assholes here who need reigning in?” he remarks, rubbing his palms down his jeans anxiously.

  “I’ve never brought anyone here.” I grimace. The news seems to surprise us both.

  I pull up and turn the engine off, but don’t move to get out. “I don’t want you to feel like this was forced on you, or that you’re a prisoner here. You have to want to be here. Do you understand what I’m saying? I want to help you.”

  The truck falls deathly silent. My heart begins to pound while he takes his time deciding if he’s ready for this.

  For me.

  If he wants to go back, I’ll take him, but it will be hard ridding myself of the desire I have for this damn boy.

  My hands tighten on the steering wheel to stop myself from grabbing him and barking, “Tell me your ready, boy, because here I fucking come.”

  “I want to be here,” he finally says in a soft tone.

  Opening the door, I jump out and feel an overwhelming need to smile. He’s ready.

  I’m ready. I’ve got a damn fever burning up inside me for this boy, and he should run because I’m going to break him to remake him. But running now won’t do him any good. I’m on fire, and he’s not just in my path, he’s my destination.

  Following me inside, he takes in the place with wide eyes and childlike awe. It’s an open space including a game area with a pool table and bar, and a huge sitting area with a widescreen TV mounted above the fireplace. My favorite aspect, apart from the obvious choi
ce, is the kitchen. It’s huge with a breakfast bar doubling as an island right in the center. There’s something intimate and erotic about cooking for someone else—especially if it’s because you’re both starving from fucking the energy out of each other all day and night.

  “You want a tour?” I ask, moving toward the wooden staircase at the back of the cabin.

  Shrugging out of his jacket, he runs his fingers through his hair before shoving them in his jeans pockets and nodding. “Sure.”

  I can sense his nervous energy. It riles up the beast inside.

  Gesturing to the first door when we reach the top, I say, “Towels and spare linens.” Without losing pace, I open the door and step inside. “Master room.”

  I watch as his eyes take in the space, widening as he scans the sexual pleasure apparatus placed beside the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. I had it set up for pleasure, but never found anyone I wanted to bring here. Until now.

  “Is that a shower?” he asks, making me grin. Of all the things to ask about…

  “It is.”

  The entire back wall is a glass-sliding panel leading to a shower the full width of the room. I follow him as he surveys the outer wall also being made from glass looking out into the surrounding forest. I had it installed last summer. Something about seeing and being seen makes my cock throb. “You want to try it out?” I tease.

  “So you can watch? Perv,” he scoffs.

  “Scared it will make you gay?” I mock, chuckling when he narrows his eyes on me.

  “Fuck you,” he spits, an ugly, defensive demeanor taking over.

  Maybe it’s because we’re here in my space, or perhaps it’s the fact that I’m done with his fucking mouth being used to abuse instead of amuse me, but my hand snaps out, backhanding him across the cheek, my knuckle catching his lip. He rocks backward, falling against the wall and gasping in shock.

  “You fucking hit me!”

  I close in on him, drowning him in my height and weight. Grasping his jaw between my thumb and forefinger, I tip his gaze up to mine. “I’ve let that line pass your lips one too many times, and you seem to think it’s acceptable to say it but not do it,” I growl, leaning down to lick at the spot of blood blooming on his bottom lip.

  He flinches at first, then relaxes beneath me. I take it a step further, finally giving in to the need to feel his lips on mine. I nip his fat, pouty lip while keeping eye contact.