Fucking hell.
I’m not the type who gets horny easily. At all, actually. It takeslotsof sloppy blowjobs to get me in the mood.
So why is the sound of Armstrong’s voice—and the feel of him—provoking this carnal reaction?
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He shoves himself away from my grip, and the sense of loss goes all the way down my body.
It doesn’t deflate my dick, but it does fill me with a sort of…disappointment.
As Armstrong swings around, he punches me in the chest. I raise my fist and punch him back with the same strength he used. Nothing more, nothing less.
It’s a reflex of sorts. At an early age, I learned to always give back what I’m given. Though I usually make sure it’s ten times worse.
Obviously, not today.
Hmm.
I wonder why.
“How did you even get here?” he asks in a clipped tone. Coupled with his blood-drenched face and the absence of light, he looks so gorgeously feral.
“It’s a secret.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway. You obviously came here to die, and I’m happy to oblige.”
“Not really?—”
He tosses the knife aside and punches me again. Then we’re trading blows in the middle of the pitch-black forest—one for one.
The harder he goes, the more I match him.
And that pisses him off, judging by his choppy breaths echoing in the night.
He doesn’t like being challenged. Or maybe he’s not used to someone meeting him strike for strike.
“You are—” He hits me several times, most of it glancing off the mask and my skull. “—a fucking asshole who needs to fucking die! Don’t ever touch me again, you goddamn gay!”
He grabs my shoulders and drives a knee into my stomach. My breath is knocked out of me, but I shove him back, slamming him against a tree. I seize his collar and haul him upward as I slam my fist into his face.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
“You think that’s an insult, Armstrong?”Punch. “Is that why you used it?”Punch.“You really believe calling me a slur makes you more powerful than me?”
I’m hitting him over and over again, that awkward-strange attraction vanishing in minutes.
But then I realize two things.
One, he’s trembling. So much so that his entire body quakes with it.
Two, he’s not punching me back.
I’m towering over him as he slumps against the tree, holding him with one hand and punching him with the other.
At this point, I would’ve expected him to shove me away, hit back, or try to overpower me.
