His enraged screams to leave his house played on repeat in my head while I saw nothing but the fury in his gaze, even with my eyes closed.
Fatigue tugged at me as I stood at my kitchen island, head bowed and palms flat against the cool surface. I needed a shower but couldn’t muster the energy for the task. Instead, as soon as I’d returned home, I shed my clothes in favor of a pair of soft, flannel pajama pants, brushed my teeth, and washed my face.
But I couldn’t climb into bed. My limbs wouldn’t obey. History told me I’d stare at the ceiling until dawn, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of lying there wide awake for the next few hours, obsessing.
So I’d opted to obsess standing up in the kitchen instead.
Made sense.
Why did it grate on me so much? Alex hating me wasn’t anything new. It was our status quo. So why did his words and tone put a sick feeling I couldn’t escape in the pit of my stomach? Why did they feel as though they’d invaded me on a cellular level, throwing off my entire world?
A soft knock at my door had me lifting my head. Who the hell would be darkening my doorstep at this hour?
Shit. My spine straightened. It could be my sister.
Barefoot, I jogged to the door. Despite the late hour, I had the presence of mind to check the peephole before yanking the door open to an unknown visitor. I peered into the hallway, only to freeze, not even daring to breathe.
Alex stood at my door with a defeated posture. He stared at his feet. Was he there to yell at me some more? To berate me for entering his home uninvited?
I frowned as I took in his sweatshirt and sweatpants—the same outfit he’d worn home from the club, only without a winter jacket. And how the hell had he gotten to my house without a car? Did he pay for an Uber?
Curiosity won out over common sense. I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.
His head came up, gaze meeting mine.
“Ryder…” Remorse bled from him in waves so strong he didn’t need to say anything else. The sadness and guilt in his gaze were more than enough apology for me. In the thirty minutes since I left him, he seemed to have deflated. Dark smudges beneath each eye put a pinch in my chest.
He needed sleep.
And he probably needed food.
Who cared for him while he was busy meeting his family’s needs?
And going to school.
And working.
Christ, just thinking about his mountain of responsibilities had me exhausted. How did he do it every day? And why did the thought of being the one he turned to have my cock plumping?
Rather than invite him in, I grabbed the front of his hoodie and yanked him flush against me. We’d yet to kiss, and the move put his lips in line with mine with mere inches separating us.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. His breath held a hint of expensive tequila, the only shot I’d seen him take all night, hours ago.
He shook his head. “No,” he whispered back. “It’s not. I was awful to you. I was a dick. And after you help—”
I rolled my hips into his, leaving my rapidly stiffening cock nestled against his, making him gasp and his eyes flare.
“Well…” I whispered, barely a breath away from his lips. “I guess it’s a good thing I like dick so much.”
He trembled. His hands landed on my sides, holding me against him. “Kiss me, Ryder.”
I groaned. There wasn’t anything I wanted more than to know what his mouth tasted like. I’d fantasized about it nearly every time we fucked around recently.
With his hoodie still fisted in my hand, I hauled him to me, crashing our mouths together. The instant his tequila-laced flavor hit my tongue, I was a goner. His taste, sweet with notes of caramel and spice, beat any thousand-dollar liquor hands down.
A sliver of my brain registered the door slamming shut, so I shoved him back against it for some leverage. He groaned as he opened his mouth and let me delve my tongue inside.
Alex let me hold him against the door, but he did not play a submissive role. He sampled me with the same enthusiasm as I attacked him. He sucked on my tongue and lips, nipped then soothed, and never let me come up for air. I fed off his groans and shared my own as he invaded all my senses.
