I look away.
“I’m going to bed,” I say as she sighs.
I walk past her, expecting her to say something, but she doesn’t. I feel her judgment on me all the way down the hall. I drop off the brushes in the utility room before heading to my room.
It’s just the same as I left it all those years ago. The same dark blue and ivory Ralph Lauren comforter with plaid throw pillows. The same white walls decorated with photos and jerseys. The same bookshelves full of trophies and framed photos.
I make my way through the room, undressing myself and heading for the shower to wash off the paint that made its way onto me.
No matter how hard I try to be organized or clean, I always make a mess. It’s who I am.
The moment the hot water hits me, I relax and close my eyes. I lean forward, bracing one hand against the tile wall as I flex my knee. The hot water feels amazing on my sore muscles, and I let out a sigh of relief.
The memory of Jordan’s fingers brushing my skin resurfaces. His touch was warm. Soft from the lotion on his hands, no doubt. It hurt, but it also felt good. Though I’m fairly certain it’s weird and perverted tothink about your physical therapist administering care in a not-so-professional way, I can’t help it.
There’s something about Jordan Mackenzie that makes me so fucking hungry formore.
More of those fingers across my skin.
More of that bitterness in his voice.
Maybe that’s my problem when it comes to Mack. I’m always going to want more, and I’m never going to get it. Not getting it is why I want it. I’m caught in his vicious circle.
What happened between us all those years ago, it’s in the past. If he wanted more, he would have told me. He would have made it clear, the same way he made it clear I was no longer wanted every morning after I gave myself up to him.
My cock twitches as I try to forget those memories, but I can’t help myself. When I’m alone, hard, and in need of release, nothing makes me come quite likethosememories.
I should not be thinking about him like this. I should not be remembering his hands in my hair or his tongue in my mouth, or his hand squeezing my cock, but fuck.
Leaning forward, I shift my weight as I start to build my rhythm.
My mind fills with images of the past—of him splayed across the bed in Vegas, dick bouncing and gleaming with precum, and of his hand on my throat as heslammed me against the bathroom door at Austen’s wedding—and I am too tired to fight them. Maybe if I just give in, I’ll feel better.
It’s not like I’m going to tell him or anything. Though a part of me wonders what he would say if he knew I still thought about him like this. That I’ve never stopped thinking about him.
The only thing that could quiet the noise was Vance’s brutal hand.
Flipping the switch isn’t just about obedience anymore. It’s about forgetting.
Forgetting that I’m a fucked up man with daddy issues. Forgetting what I lost.
What I left behind.
Vance was really, really good at making me forget, but now that I’m here, and now that Jordan’s so fucking close…
It’s a lot harder to forget.
I grunt out a satisfied sound as the memories bleed through my psyche. I come with a strangled groan, my hand filling with cum as my body relaxes.
I bring my hand to my face, staring at the thick ropes that slide between my fingers, remembering his ardent gaze.
I was just wondering what you taste like.
I swallow hard, licking my lips. I step back and wash my hands, my heart still racing.
Don’t go there, Alex. You won’t like the outcome.
The memories fade as I wash my cum down the drain, telling myself I won’t go down that road again. I won’t think about Jordan and his warm tongue or his deep voice or his touch. I won’t think about him and his brutal kiss or how perfect it all felt with his arms wrapped around me.
