He was baiting me.
It doesn't mean anything.
But it doesn't work.
The image is burned into my brain. That glint of silver on his golden stomach. It's my entire life's purpose now to feel it against my tongue. To look up at him as he towers over me. To be on my knees for him.
I want his hand in my hair.
I want acid words on his tongue as he puts me in my place.
I want him to push me, force me over the edge, because I won't be able to do it on my own.
I honestly don't recognize myself, but that doesn't stop me from pumping some of the designer lotion my mother keeps beside the sink into my palm.
I close my fist, the white cream spreading and squeezing out between my fingers.
This is the point of no return. I've resisted since last week. Since he first raised his voice to me.
My whole life it's been drilled into me to respect my elders. To show reverence and act politely, but that doesn't mean anything to Carey Novak. He treats everyone the same. His respect is earned. But he will also show you unrelenting kindness until you give him a reason to take it away.
I gave him a reason.
I spoke to him like he was worthless and he still showed up to help. He put up with my mood time and time again until it became too much for him and he snapped.
And fuck me for wanting to keep pushing him.
For my desperate need to have him look at me with anger in his eyes.
With power.
With dominance.
With strength that I don't have, because even though he doesn't have a compelling reason to keep smiling, he always does.
I open my hand and watch as the warmed lotion webs between my fingers.
With my free hand I tug down my sweats.
I grip my shaft and my whole body shudders.
There's no going back.
This is who I am now.
A man who wants to fuck another man.
His best friend's brother.
Bright, witty, sexy, and fucking perfect with those mismatched eyes.
I stroke hard and fast from the start.
I want to punish myself, to squeeze out the shame and regret.
My grip is verging on painful but I don’t let up.
I can’t.
