I don’t want to die. Before last week, I loved my life.
Okay, love would be pushing it. I avoided home, slept mostly at my desk or in my office, and I haven’t had a good night's sleep in months.
What I need is to get out of this town and start over. Away from my past, and away from them.
Even as I think about it, I know it would be pointless. They would find me. And while I have money at my disposal, my father would never allow me to use it to disappear and start over. I’d have to use my own money and I don’t have enough to be able to do that.
Falling back onto the bed, I groan. Part in frustration, but also because this fucking bed reeks of pumpkin marshmallow.
Rolling over, I bury my face in the blanket and inhale deeply. A whimper slips free and my hips flex, grinding against the bed.
“What is wrong with me!” I get to my feet and start to pace. I feel like I’m going out of my mind. Taking my glasses off, I tossthem on the table and scrub at my face. I’m tired, could use a good shower and a change of clothes. I’ve already gone through everything I had in the backpack that I kept in my car for the nights I never made it home to shower and change.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t live like this. I’m going to have to confront them at some point. Maybe I can convince them I'm not right for them.
I snort out a laugh. “Alright, Beckham. Like that's going to work.”
Scent matching overrides pretty much everything in life. You’d have to despise your scent match to even remotely want to reject them.
And while in a way, I rejected the guys by running away, it was nowhere near an actual rejection.
Just thinking about telling them I want them to leave me alone for good has bile rising.
Because in reality, I want them so fucking badly it hurts.
I want to hate them, and hate that I want them. Life isn’t fair, it never is.
Needing to try and take my mind off things, I start to gather my belongings.
My father’s party is tomorrow and I promised I’d be there. I’ve already disappointed him enough, I can’t do it again by missing something so important to him.
That means, I can’t keep running and hiding.
It’s time I face my life and do something about it, rather than avoiding or trying to drink my problems away.
As I bend over to grab a pair of my boxers laying on the ground, pumpkin and marshmallow slam into me.
Snatching the boxers off the ground, I stare at them with wide eyes. A white, wet sticky substance coats the fabric. And the smell of it has my mouth watering.
I blink at them in disbelief. Did he… did he really jerk off into my boxers while he was here?
Arousal prickles up my spine, my balls growing heavy as my cock twitches.
I’m sick and fucked up because I’m turned on. So fucking turned on.
Closing my eyes, I bring the fabric to my nose and inhale deeply.
Fucking hell, Beckham, you need help.
Still, I moan as a full body shiver wracks me. Lifting my heavy lids open, something inside me takes over. I shift from a weak omega to a feral one.
My nostrils flare, eyes wide and wild, and I shove my sweats down. My cock springs free, slapping precum against my shirt as it seeps from the swollen needy tip.
Wrapping the hand with the cum soaked boxers around my cock, I shiver when I feel the cool liquid against my hot shaft.
“Fuck.” I moan, thrusting forward into my grasp. My eyes roll back as pure blinding pleasure courses through my veins.
Biting my lip, I let my head hang as I brace myself against the wall with my free hand and start to jerk myself off.
