I will not be fine if I don’t get into my room in the next five minutes and cry my way through an orgasm and pass the fuck out.
That’s always been part of my problem. I feel too much, and I shouldn’t.
Tears are hot as hell when you’re choking on dick, but it’s a total mood killer when you’re getting fucked or touched. People tend to freak out and think there’s something wrong with you, or that they’re hurting you, but it’s the exact opposite. It doesn’t hurt at all. It feels so good. The sting of nails scraping down my chest or a tight grip on my throat, a brutal shove here and there. I want to feel everything. That kind of ecstasy… it isn’t comfortable for most people. The people I’ve been with, aside from the dom I hooked up with two years ago, they don’twantto hurt me.
They don’t understand that it’s not the pain I’m after. It’s the switch inside of me that flips when I am pushed over the edge. And when I break, they hold me. They touch me, they love me. Even if it’s just for a moment.
I crave the pain so they can make it betterafter.
The only person who ever understood that was Britt, but she couldn’t handle it. Because she didn’t want to hurt me, either, and seeing me unravel is not pretty. I get why people walk away.
I don’t blame them. It’s a lot.
The sexy, kinky asshole isn’t as fun when he’s overstimulated. He’s a fucking mess and out of control.
That’s why it’s easier to be Asshole Alex who doesn’t care. The slut you fuck in Vegas or get a messy blowjob from in the bathroom, rather than Real Alex—the guy who begs to be choked and fucked until he cries, who wants to be cuddled and held until the sun comes up afterwards. I am so fucked up, I accept that, but why can’t someone else accept it too?
Mack chases me down the hall, his footsteps heavy. “Don’t give me that shit, Alex. Something is wrong.”
I ignore him as I head for my suite. He pushes me against the wall just before my door. He grabs the keycard out of my hand and whips it down the hall. Not that it goes far, since it’s light as a feather, but I get his point.
“What the fuck, Jordan. Knock it off,” I bite out, moving to go grab my key, but he shoves me against the wall again.
“No.” He holds my gaze, one hand on my shoulder. His palm is hot against my shirtsleeve.
I push back, trying to go for my keycard. The weight of his body presses against mine and it silences the bitterness for the briefest moment.
It hurts. It hurts too fucking good. I think he might actually leave a bruise.
“Please,” I hiss through my teeth. Though I’m not sure if I’m begging for him to stop or to rough me up some more. I’m too drunk to know which is which.
My cock stirs from the weight of him on top of me, spurred by his harsh touch, but I know we’re out in the open. Anyone can see us.
He’s not in his right mind. If he was, he’d be singing another tune.
I look at him, the tears edged in my eyes as he pulls on the fabric of my shirt. Every nerve in my body comes alive like an electric shock.
“Someone might see you,” I whisper, trying to be cocky but only sounding weak. He grunts out a sound that goes straight to my cock as he gazes back at me with a heated glare. “Wouldn’t want that, now would you?”
His free hand settles on my waist, holding me in place with brutal force. His chest rises and falls against mine as his nostrils flare, his touch is aggressive. Brutal. Like the fucked up asshole I am, I only want more, but I know I can’t have it.
It’s no use fighting. Between the vicious voice telling me I’m a fucked up asshole and Mack’s heavy bodypressed against me, the first tear escapes my right eye. I force myself to look away from him. My cock strains against my pants, which are already tight as hell.
“Just let me go,” I say through a sob. “I’ll be fine, I—” I look towards the other end of the hallway. No one is up here, but that doesn’t mean they won’t come traipsing up any second. “Everyone else does.” I say the words without thinking, forgetting myself for a moment.
His grip on me lets up as I wipe the tear from my cheek. He looks at me with judgment, and I fucking hate it. I’m used to being judged, but whenhelooks at me like that—fuck.
Then he walks away, and I can simultaneously breathe and not breathe all at the same time. The disappointment and relief are choking me. He’s leaving me. Just like I knew he would, but so badly didn’t want him to.
My eyes fall shut as I take in a shaky breath, and when I open them again, he’s stopped in the middle of the hallway.
I stare at him from my spot against the wall, unable to move. His large body takes up a good portion of the hallway and I can’t tell if he’s spotted someone or what. He bends down slowly, stands up, then turns to face me. The light glints off something in his hand.
My key.
He walks back to me. His gaze is hazy, but it’s also full of darkness as he swipes it against the lock.
I smell the alcohol on his breath, mixed with his cologne. My skin is hot and my heartbeat sounds so loud in my own ears I think he has to be able to hear it, and my cock is so painfully hard, I think I could bludgeon him to death with it. I can still feel the spots on my body where he touched me, burning something fierce. I know what his grip feels like, know what he tastes like. Like poison, I can’t get enough.
