I think I want to fuck you.
I’ve never heard sweeter words in my life, but I also know that this is a big step. It’s more like a leap, actually.
I stare at the mess in the kitchen. Spilled paint, empty pails and dried paint trays, random brushes and paint sticks. It’s a damn mess. I sigh as I look at the stove, feeling exhausted from everything all at once.
Our conversation this morning. Our little game this afternoon. An extremely satisfying orgasm.
Seriously, if he can make me come that fast with just his hand…
Fuck, that was so hot.
Despite what one might think, I’m not that easy when it comes to someone else getting me off.
It usually takes a cocktail of things to set me off. Rough, brutal touch. Vicious, bitter degradation.
Pain.
But when Jordan puts his hands on me, all I feel isgood.I didn’t think it was possible for me to come without crying and falling to my knees or without begging for it and being denied.
My phone rings, the dark, somber tones of “Daddy Issues” echoes in the space. I freeze, watching it ring on the counter.
I can’t bring myself to answer, even though I should. One of these days I’ll have to answer him. He is my captain, after all. But I can’t help the way my entire body tenses at the thought of hearing his voice.
For six years, I lived for the voice. I obeyed him as my captain. I gave him everything he demanded of me, stupidly thinking he’d give me what I craved. But every time Vance Harding pushed me into my subspace, blurring my lines, I lost a part of myself. Until I left, and then—
“You going to get that?” Jordan’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I shake my head.
“Nope,” I say as I grab the phone and silence it before sliding it into my back pocket. I notice the curious expression on his face, but Mack knows me well enough not to press me. If I want to talk about it, I will.
I’m just not sure I’ll ever be able to talk about what Vance did to me. Even if I want to.
Some days I’m more than thankful I signed that NDA. Some days I’m pissed at myself for signing that NDA. Most days, I just try not to think about Vance Harding, period.
“You, uh… want to order a pizza?” I ask with a sigh. I look at the mess, knowing I need to clean it up, but feeling too tired to do much more than shower and collapse on the couch.
Jordan nods, whipping out his phone faster than a speeding bullet.
“Fuck yes,” he says, and I laugh.
“Oh, and get an order of those cheese breadstick things,” I say as he smiles, his phone screen lighting up his face.
I debate if I should start cleaning up now, or—
“Go,” he says, nodding down the hall. “I got it.”
My mind races as memories fill my brain.
Look at this mess, Alex! What were you thinking?
I shake the memories, realizing Jordan’s a lot closer than he was a minute ago. He places his hands on myhips, gently turning me around and shoving me in the other direction, and I take the hint.
I saunter down the hall to the bathroom and take my time getting cleaned up. I watch the red paint run with the water and immediately wish I didn’t look down, because the memory that resurfaces makes me sick.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to block out the sight of my blood circling the drain. Of his knuckles spattered with blood like paint.
We were drunk. I screamedVegas.
