Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
I shove the candy against his tongue, massaging it there for a bit, making him swallow everything.
When I pull away, leaving the candy in his mouth, his neck is a deep shade of red.
Whatever tantrum he was about to throw seems forgotten now as he sucks on the candy. If anything, he seems so real and raw, I want to fuck him again.
But I won’t. He must be sore, and I can’t go crazy the first time.
First. The realization hits me like a car crash.
I am Preston’s first guy.
And last.
I will be his last fucking anything.
The idea should jar me, but as I watch him suck on the candy, still lying on his stomach like a fucking erotic marble statue, it doesn’t. Not really.
If anything, I’m annoyed he had sex with others before me. It pisses me off that many have seen his stunningly naked body.
“Seriously, what’s with the candy?” he asks, pushing it to the side of his mouth until it forms a ball shape in his cheek.
“It’s a secret.”
He narrows his eyes. “Nobody keeps secrets from me.”
“I’m happy to be your first in so many things, baby. Such as tonight being your first time with—”
“Keep talking and I’ll smack you.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Why do you have such an irrational fear about being gay?”
“It’s not fear. I’m simply not gay.”
“So what do you call tonight?”
“Sex. Happens all the time all over the world. Means nothing.”
My jaw grinds, and that monster lurking inside me rears his head as I force a dark smile. “You having sex with a guy for the first time does not mean nothing. You and your gibberish internalized homophobia fought this tooth and nail, but the side of you that’s been craving me won. You took my cock up your ass and came with just my tongue in your hole. That’s not nothing.”
“If I say it’s nothing, it’s fucking nothing.” He crushes the candy between his teeth, the sound echoing around me like a gunshot. “You hear me?”
His eyes are harsh.
No, not harsh. Yes, there’s that hardness he defaults to at any sign of conflict, but it’s a mask, hiding something deeper and more fucked up. The same sense of terror from earlier comes back, but instead of crying, he’s revolting.
Letting aggression take over.
His eyes are shifty and his body’s too tight, as if he’s about to splinter into tiny pieces right before my eyes.
I stand up swiftly, then walk into the bathroom and close the door.
My hand covers my face as I force deep breaths.
In.
Out.
Breathe.
I need to calm the fuck down and keep myself from lashing out. I can push him to face everything he’s trying to avoid, can make him fucking cry if I choose to.
If I just let my passive-aggressiveness and people-reading skills loose, I’ll have him bawling at my feet in ten minutes.
But the sad reality is—I won’t do that to him.
I don’t want to fucking hurt him, and I certainly don’t want to push him so hard, he’ll bolt and never come back.
There’s noise from the bedroom, and he’s probably doing that—bolting. Even though I clearly told him not to treat me like a booty call.
And that violence I know so well is slowly rearing his head, demanding I punish Preston. Tie him the fuck up to my bed if I have to.
Instead, I walk into the shower and turn it on cold. If I follow him in my state, I’m just going to let myself loose, and my real self is a toxic, vengeful asshole.
One I don’t want to release on Preston right now.
I stay under the water for what seems like forever, until my extremities are cold and blue.
When I step out of the bathroom with a towel around my middle, sure enough, Preston is gone.
The room smells like him, and I can still taste him on my tongue, but he’s not here.
I run a hand through my hair, cursing low in my throat.
The asshole.
The goddamn fucking—
I let out a long breath, trying to remain calm. Because why the fuck am I letting this get to me?
It was just a fuck, no?
Only, it wasn’t. Or I wouldn’t be feeling like I was abandoned or treated like a dildo.
I grab my phone from my jeans that I clearly left on the floor, but they’re now neatly folded and placed on the chair along with my shirt and boxer briefs.
Why would he even do this?
If he’s going to pretend he doesn’t give a fuck, he should go all the way, be a dick like he truly is.
My fingers pause when I find a string of texts from him. Most of them were sent throughout the evening, from when I was heading to the arena.
Preston
Fine, you win. I’m texting first. Don’t ignore me.
I clearly told you NOT to ignore me, Marcus. You know how easily I get murderous.