Once I’m alone in the peace and quiet of the bathroom, I splash some water on my face and take a firm grip of the counter, letting my eyes fall closed as I draw in a few steadying breaths. All I need is about five minutes to chill the fuck out. I’m not freaking out the way I was on Friday, so I know I’ll be able to get this hard-on to go down and get back to work without resorting to jerking off again; I just need to relax and clear my head…
Unfortunately, this plan is thwarted by the current bane of my existence, who waltzes into the bathroom only a few minutes after me, causing my softening cock to instantly chub out again. Clearly “Horny” was the last song of his set.
“I hope you’re not planning to stay in here too long,” he drawls. “Gia will think you’re having prostate issues again.”
I’m momentarily distracted by the baffling statement, my brow creasing in confusion. “Why would she think I’m having prostate issues?”
Jazz shrugs. “Because you’re old and had an “accident” the other day,” he says, lifting his hands to make air quotes.
I close my eyes at the reminder, my entire body flooding with heat and my cock straining further as any hope of salvaging my sanity flies out the window. “And I guess you didn’t bother to correct her?”
He quirks one dark brow at me. “Should I have told her you came all over yourself because I turned you on so much you needed to rub it out at work? I didn’t realize you wanted people knowing that dirty boy.”
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, thrusting a hand through my hair in agitation. “Youdon’tturn me on.”
I’m not just being stubborn; I’ve tried testing it multiple times. I can acknowledge he’s an attractive guy, sure; but it’s in the same way I can acknowledge Owen is an attractive guy. It’s just a fact.
Even now, I’m standing here with my dick so hard it’s starting to hurt and I still have zero interest in getting a glimpse of what I’m sure would be a pretty fit body under his jeans and sweater. And the thought of kissing him and being intimate with him is just really fucking weird.
So I have no idea why the hell my cock got rock-hard all over again the second Jazz entered the bathroom. I just know it’s notbecause I’m secretly attracted to him or whatever bullshit he’s convinced himself of.
Undeterred by the rejection, Jazz props himself on the edge of the counter and sidles up closer. “Correction—you’re notattractedto me. But like I’ve already said several times, that doesn’t mean I don’t turn you on.”
“It’s the same thing,” I scoff.
He shakes his head. “No, you only think that because you’re stuck on the black and white setting you’ve been using for a lifetime of heteronormative, vanilla sex. Once you switch over to the gray zone your brain will stop fritzing out.”
I arch a skeptical brow. “The gray zone?”
“Yep—where it’s totally normal to be aroused by stimuli other than sexual attraction to someone.” His mouth curves into a familiar smirk and he leans closer. “I think I’ve well and truly proven over the past couple days I’m more than capable of turning you on and getting you off despite your lack of interest in running your tongue all over my naked body.”
My face screws up at the thought. “Yeah, no thanks. No offense,” I hastily add, realizing how insensitive I’m being.
Jazz lets out a wry huff and settles back, seeming completely unfazed. “None taken. The shit that turnsyouon is far more fun and interesting.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
The Cheshire cat grin that forms slowly on Jazz’s face has me instantly regretting the question. “S&M, of course.”
My head rears back in alarm. “What?”
“Not the kind Rhiana sings about, obviously. But the same principle applies—you get off on being toyed with, and tormented, and dominated, and pushed to the brink. But you prefer psychological and emotional torture rather than physical pain,” he clarifies. “It’s called emotional S&M. Or erotic humiliation. Shame kink. Whatever works for you.”
I shake my head furiously, refuting every word even as something bordering on comprehension picks at the edges of my brain. “No fucking way. I’m not into S&M. Or kink. Or?—”
Brushing my protest aside, Jazz moves in so close there’s barely a hair’s breadth between us. His breath is hot against my ear as he murmurs, “You might not have clued in yet, dirty boy, but that’s exactly what you’re into. You want your mind fucked and your brain scrambled. You want to be twisted inside out and broken down into tiny pieces. You want to be pushed so far out of your comfort zone you’re in a different fucking hemisphere—made to squirm and tremble and burn up from the inside. You want to feel your power stripped away from you, be made to submit to someone else’s control.”
Jesus fucking Christ.I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the counter so hard it’s in danger of breaking as burning arousal rages through me. How the fuck does he know this shit? I didn’t even know I wanted this.
…mind fucked…broken down…squirm…tremble…submit…
No.I don’t want this. Ican’twant this. I need to just fucking remember how my legs work andwalk away.
But Jazz is still all up in my space as though he has every right to be there, and for some reason I don’t understand his proximity seems to have robbed me of the ability to move.
“I can give you all of that, dirty boy. If you’ll let me,” he practically purrs. “You just need towantto want it.”
“I don’t,” I somehow manage to gasp out. “Don’t want you. Keep saying?—”
