Before he says anything, I grab the bar on the ninth rep. Jayden stares at me with wide eyes, his hands shaking. I press some of my weight down, and he fights against it, struggling to keep the bar off his body. I’m barely doing anything, and we both know that if I went all the way, this bar would be buried in his neck.
I lean in closer and continue, “And, if there ever comes a day that I don’t have anything to live for—a day the cops come to take me, or a day that Miles gets in trouble for keeping my secret—you better believe I’m not gonna stop my car. Am I making any sense, Jayden?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs. “Of course!”
I let up on the bar, and he pushes it back up onto the stand. From the kitchen I hear a round of giggles and laughter. Are the two girls getting along? I suspect so, though they weren’t when I left.
Jayden sits up, sweat soaking his shirt and covering the bench.
“How many people have you told about me?” I ask, my voice hushed.
He shakes his head. “N-no one, really. Just my mom and her boyfriend.”
“And Lacy.”
“Yeah. And Lacy.” Jayden turns around to face me. “You better not hurt her.”
Or you’ll do what? is what I want to ask, but I hold back my comment. I’m not going to threaten some eleven-year-old. It’s not her fault she repeats what the people around her say. That’s what kids do. Jayden, on the other hand, is fully aware of what he’s doing.
I glare down at him, putting his words together in my head. “Is that why your mother doesn’t care for me? Because of all your whispering?”
“It’s not like it isn’t true.” He rubs at his neck and scoots away from me. “You’re a psychopath.”
“I don’t force Miles to do anything.”
Jayden stands and gives me a dirty sideways glance. It’s fleeting, and he ducks away the moment I notice. “There’s no way Miles is actually into a guy like you. I know you have something on him. Why else would he shack up with a murderous thug? He’s better than that.”
That’s the first compliment I’ve heard from Jayden in reference to his brother. But his comment gets me thinking about Rhett. Is that how everyone sees this? That I’m holding Miles back?
Shannon and Lacy appear in the doorway, seemingly like they teleported, but I know I wasn’t paying any attention. They smile and stare at me with bright expressions. They want something.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Can we go camping in the backyard?” Shannon asks. “My grandma has a tent we can use. I’ve done it before. I know how to set everything up. It’s super fun too, and—”
“I don’t care,” I say, cutting her off. “Just stay close.”
“Really?” Lacy says with a mild gasp. “You’ll let us sleep outside? At night?”
“Whatever gets your rocks off.”
Shannon and Lacy exchange delighted expressions before heading off. I suppose I could have given that more thought. Perhaps I should have, given Lacy’s surprise. Maybe Lacy’s prissy mother isn’t into her perfect daughter getting dirty, but her prissy mother isn’t here, is she?
“I’m gonna keep an eye on them all night,” Jayden says to me, like it’s some sort of halfhearted threat.
“You do that.” Saves me the hassle.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“—AND THEN he had the audacity to threaten me on the front lawn,” I say, unbuttoning my shirt and tossing it on the nightstand.
“Rhett did?” Miles asks.
“Who else have I been talking about?”
“I’m just surprised.” Miles stands on the other side of our bed and mulls over the information. “Are you worried?”
“I don’t know,” I say, my tone terse. “He didn’t have anything of substance, but he looked like he enjoyed the challenge of trying.”
“If you think he’s going to discover something, we should act. Leave, or hide any evidence you’re afraid of him finding.”
“It’s too early to say.” After a moment of remembering his smug face, I get heated all over again. “And I hate the way he looks at you. A piece of me thinks he wants to fuck with me just so he can have you to himself.”
Miles laughs aloud as he walks over to our bedroom window. I glare, which only gets him laughing harder. “Are you serious?” he asks when I don’t join in on his mirth. “Rhett isn’t like that. He’s my academy instructor. He’s a stand-up and proper kinda guy. I don’t even think he’s into men.”
I huff. “He’s definitely into men.”
With another chuckle, Miles pulls back the curtain and scopes out the backyard. The girls set up their tent right under our window—Miles’s idea—so that, if anything happened, we would be close enough to deal with it. The only thing I hear is their squealing and laughing. The wall is thick enough to drown out speech, but not the shrill delight of preteen girls.
“Are you jealous?” he asks after he shuts the curtain.
“You’re mine,” I state as I rip off my belt and throw it to the floor. “And he knows it. That’s the part that gets me pissed. He either thinks I’m not good enough, or he’s so much better that he can take you from me.”
“I seriously doubt he thinks like that. I’m telling you, he’s a good guy. I thought you guys would be fast friends, to be honest. You’re similar in a lot of ways.”
“We’re nothing alike,” I growl.
With barely restrained rage, I yank off my slacks and boxers and get into the cool sheets of our bed. My breathing comes out in forced bursts—anger comes faster and faster these days—and I find myself craving a cigarette.
“Is there anything you want me to do?” Miles asks as he sheds his shirt.
“Stay away from him.”
“I’ll try.”
“Tsk.”
Shifting gears, Miles says, “Thank you for saying yes to Lacy’s camping trip. She looks like she’s having fun for once. My mom doesn’t let her do things like this.”
“Whatever. Thank the other girl—Shannon. It was her idea.”
“Still. You approved. It meant a lot. I think Lacy even likes you a little now.”
“Fantastic.”
Miles finishes stripping and slides into bed next to me. He switches off the lamp, but the dim blue glow of our digital clock keeps the room more illuminated than I like. Miles says blue light helps put people at ease, or some shit like that, but I prefer the cold comfort of darkness. Reality is whatever you imagine it to be while wraps in shadows.
“Maybe you should consider getting colored contacts,” Miles says. “If you’re worried about people identifying you because of your eye.”
“Fine,” I snap as I roll onto my stomach and grip my pillow. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t even want to imagine the police discovering my true identity.
Miles shifts across the bed and gets right up next to me. I feel his hot breath on my shoulder blade as he gently kisses my back. “No matter what happens,” he whispers, “I got your back. You know that, right?”
I know he’s trying to calm me down. I take a deep breath. “Yeah,” I mutter.
He doesn’t say anything else. Instead, Miles sits up and swings a leg over my back, straddling me. He proceeds to knead my spine with his knuckles, easing my tension, and I take in even breaths while he works.
“I want to know more about your past, Pierce,” he whispers. “There’s a lot you haven’t told me.”
“What is it you want to know?”
He thinks over his questions before asking, “Have you ever told someone you love them?”
“No.”
“How many men have you been with?”
“Twenty.”
“Twenty?” Miles repeats, surprise in voice.
“There a problem with that?” I ask, glancing back at him. The dim lighting highlights the edges of his body—the curves of muscle and the ends of his black locks. A slow burn of lust gets my blood flowing. I try not to think about it, so I focus on his questions, but the
stiff mattress rubs me anytime I shift positions.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Miles finally says. “I just didn’t think it was that many.” He continues massaging my back. “Have you ever been with any women?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“I take it… you didn’t enjoy those that much?”
“I was young,” I state. “It’s what I thought I was supposed to do. They never matched up to my times with men, though. And after a while, even the thought of them suckin’ me did nothing.”
“Tell me about your first time. With a man.”
I close my eyes and allow the heat from his body to burn away the last of my anger. My memories from two decades ago aren’t that fresh, but a man doesn’t forget a first-time sexual experience. I smirk. “It was with this guy named Desmond.”
Miles stays quiet.
“He was an enforcer for Big Man Vice, and I was supposed to shadow him to learn the ropes. The guy was a horndog, though. We’d frequently hit all the local nightclubs while we worked. He was also into some darker shit—he liked power plays, really. Stuff where he did whatever he wanted, regardless of what his partner felt about the matter.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen. Maybe seventeen.”
“What happened? Specifically.”
“He had been drinking most of the night,” I murmur, picturing it all in my head like it happened yesterday. “We were out playing guard, so Desmond hadn’t been to his usual stops. When we got back to his place, he started manhandling me pretty rough. I didn’t know what was going on—he had never done anything like that to me before—but I quickly got the gist when he started taking off his clothes.”
Miles goes back to silence, but I feel him getting hard through the sheets.
I continue, “I fought him every inch of the way, but he got me to the floor. Then he pressed his mouth to my ear and said, ‘You can struggle or you can enjoy it, but either way, I’m fucking you tonight.’”
“Pierce,” Miles murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
I chortle. “Don’t be. I enjoyed it.”
“You did?” It practically takes him a handful of seconds to process the information. “Why? I thought you didn’t like being the bottom? And, I mean, he forced you. You were a kid.”
“I was already packin’ a gun,” I drawl. “The law wouldn’t have treated me as a kid, that’s for sure. And at first, it was all physiological. Because it hurt like fuck. But I’d play with myself at night thinking about it afterwards. It was dominant. He did whatever he wanted, and I had to obey.”
Miles rubs my shoulders, and I can’t help but notice how he grinds against the small of my back. “Still… it’s hard to believe. That’s not what you seem to want now.”
“Heh,” I mutter with a chuckle. “I’ve always been attracted to powerful men who know what they want and do what they want. I guess I like them so much I try to play the role myself.”
Though I always end up the tool, like with Jeremy.
“Is that why everyone thought you had a thing for Big Man Vice?” Miles asks.
“I would’ve played bitch for him, yeah.”
A moment of silence comes between us.
Before I say anything, Miles pulls off the sheets and slides down my body—so that his cock rests in the cleft of my ass. I tense and get up on my elbows. “Miles,” I growl.
He lies across my back and licks the shell of my ear. “I won’t enter,” he whispers as he thrusts against me, the raw friction of skin on skin getting his breathing heavy.
Reluctantly, I rest back down on the bed. He bucks with his hips, allowing the full length of his erection to rub hard against my ass. After a few rounds, he licks his hand and coats his cock with a mild amount of saliva. The natural lubricant makes his thrusting easier, and he picks up the pace.
Miles wraps his arms around my neck and chest, keeping me close. I can feel his heart beat against the back of my rib cage, and his hot breath warms the nape of my neck. His need for release is intoxicating. With every one of his thrusts I’m rubbed against the mattress, my own lust consuming most of my thoughts. He wants it bad, and I’m starting to hit my own limit.
I grind against the bed, enjoying the pressure. Each time I lift my ass a little higher, giving Miles more of an opportunity to get deep.
“Pierce,” he rasps. “Please don’t tempt me.”
“Get under me, then,” I command.
I go to get up, but Miles pushes me back down. He’s strong—stronger than I thought he would be—and I get stiffer thinking this’ll turn into a fight.
“Let me keep doing this,” he pleads as he bites my ear. “I promise this is as far as it’ll go.”
Caving to his husky tone, I relax and allow him to continue. Miles slows his pace but rubs hard, a moan escaping him between long rounds. I enjoy the feel of him, especially the heat that radiates from his body. Sweat coats everything, sticking to the sheets and slicking up our skin.
Miles groans as he holds back his release. “Pierce. Tell me something else. Another time you… you were bottom.”
It’s hard to focus, and I mull over the request for an extended period of time, my own breathing coming out in pants. For most of my sexual experiences, I was the one in charge—it was a trust issue then, and I couldn’t allow someone else control—but I trust Miles, so what is it now? I shake the thoughts from my head.
When was the last time I took it from a man?
“Jeremy fucked me damn near nightly,” I intone.
I feel Miles tense up, but he keeps going, his breath reserved, like he’s listening intently.
My mouth gets dry, and I force myself to swallow. My time with Jeremy was odd. Even my own memories feel like I’m watching someone else’s life through their eyes—not feeling the sensations or even giving a damn about the circumstances. I didn’t care about anything. I was broken.
Maybe I still am.
It’s hard to talk about, but for whatever reason, I can for this moment.
“He liked makin’ a big deal of it,” I say. “Our sessions were never short, and sometimes he wanted an audience. He got off on having me say I wanted him, or making me beg. It was a spectacle. He loved the theatrics.”
Miles tightens his hold around me. “You did all that?”
“I did whatever he wanted.”
“Did you like it?” he whispers.
“No.”
“Was it that bad?”
I close my eyes and picture an average encounter. Sure, Jeremy liked to be “dominant,” but it was always off. Always insincere. Sadistic. Like he was afraid and overcompensating. Desmond wanted the pleasure and power—it was animalistic. Jeremy struggled with his own fetishes, like he both hated and adored them at the same time. It made his brand of dominance insufferable.
“He was rough,” I say.
I hear Miles grit his teeth. “Rough?”
“Yeah.”
“How rough?”
“He didn’t like using lube. And on nights he wasn’t in a good mood, he wanted me to bleed. It was his goal to get me to react. To get me to plead with him to stop. Sometimes he’d—”
“No more,” Miles states, his tone curt. “I’ve heard enough.”
He stops his grinding and grips me tighter, his nails digging into my skin. He’s still hot, and his heart rate is through the roof. His precome coats my backside.
I spread my legs a bit. “Do it.”
“What?” he asks.
“Fuck me.”
“Pierce,” he breathes, his voice on the verge of irritation. “That’s not….”
“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Just get it over with.”
Miles sits up, grabs my shoulder, and flips me over onto my back. I stare at him, the blue lighting enough only for silhouettes, but I feel how rigid he is—stiff and tense. He takes a few breaths before resting down on my chest, his mouth above mine.
“I’m s
orry.”
“For what?” I mutter.
He runs a hand through my hair and grazes his lips against mine. “That never should’ve happened. I should’ve been there. And… I don’t want to hurt you. That’s not what this is about.”
“You’re not gonna hurt me. Even if you did, I can handle it.”
“I don’t want you to think of me like Jeremy.”
“You’re nothing like Jeremy,” I growl. Anger is all I feel as I get up on my elbows, shoving Miles away. “I thought about it, all right? I realized something—I let Jeremy have me any way he wanted, and I don’t feel anything for the man. I want you. So why wouldn’t I give you what you want?”
“You don’t have to do this to keep me.”
“Don’t I?” I snap.
Miles pulls me close and presses his mouth against me, his tongue sliding across mine before I say anything. He gently pushes me back down and strokes my chest. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I enjoy the taste of him. Eventually I calm down and return to my lust-filled state. Miles brushes my disheveled hair from my face and breaks away.
“Pierce,” he whispers.
I wait, but he never follows up his statement. Instead he reaches down between us and wraps his grip around my semihard erection. I suck in my breath, startled by the contact but not opposed to it. Miles presses himself against my length and proceeds to caress us both together. He’s harder than I am—on the breaking point, really—but the heat from his crotch, combined with the precome, gets me back up to speed.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asks between heavy breaths.
“No.”
Miles increases the pressure of his strokes, pumping with a steady rhythm. It’s nice. It’s not as pleasurable as alternative methods of fucking, but something about his intimate whisper keeps me in the mood for what he’s doing.
His fingers slide along my length, and his pulse can be felt through his erection. I rest back, enjoying the sensations. Miles, on the other hand, must have been ready for some time. He digs his nails into my shoulder as he shudders, his seed coming out in two bursts and coating my chest.
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