It takes a full second—maybe longer—for my mind to catch up to what just happened.
“Alex,” I mumble, my voice rough, low, still pressed against his lips. I can taste the salt of his tears. Feel the tremor in his jaw.
“Shut up, Elijah,” he snaps, quiet but sharp.
And then… he drops to his knees.
ALEX
I can’t gethis dick into my mouth fast enough.
I bypass the button on his jeans and go straight for the zipper, speed-zipping it down and pulling out his cock.
Christ, he has a gorgeous one.
Long and girthy.
I swipe my tongue across it before wrapping my lips around him, sucking him straight into my mouth.
“Ahh, Alex. Fuuuck…”
He trembles above me as I fist him roughly, sucking on his head, lips dragging up and down his steel-hard prick.
All my aggression is spilling into him, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I’m on my knees, forehead pressed into his abdomen, dick drilled into my mouth.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t plan this.
But his presence—the sound of his voice, the fucking scent of him—ignites every part of me I’ve spent the last three days trying to kill off.
I hate him.
I miss him.
I want him.
I want tohurthim the way he hurt me.
And still, somewhere inside the wreckage, I want him to pull me into his arms and say it was all a mistake.
But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
I feel him breathing, panting—shallow, uneven. His hands hover like he’s afraid to touch me. Like I’m glass. Or a bomb.
Maybe I’m both.
I glance up from his crotch. His eyes are closed, head thrown back against the wall.
I want him.
In my bed.
I drag my lips back up his dick and pop him out of my mouth.
His head jerks forward, lips trembling, wild eyes scanning my face.
“Get in my bed, Elijah,” I demand.
