Page 14 of Wreck Me

I can only wish.

Drink in hand, I weave through the crowd, their bodies a blur, nothing but a flash of movement in my peripheral, my eyes locked in on one person. The only one who matters. He’s wearing a navy blue button-up shirt that is pulled taut over his muscles, his shoulders rounded as he nearly hunches over the bar. He still exudes confidence, controlling the room without giving it his attention at all. I’m just as affected as everyone else here. I want him. No one else will do.

The leather barstool creaks as I take a seat on it, my arm brushing against his. Carter bristles, sitting up straighter.

“The fuck do you want?”

My heart flips over in my chest as I realize he knows it’s me without having to look. Looks like I did leave an impression on him after all.Good.

“Depends what you’re offering.”

His eyes finally look up to meet mine, the crystalblues sunken back and forlorn. He looks lost, almost panicked. I don’t like it, and I don’t know what put that look there, but I need to fix it.

“Let’s go somewhere and just talk.”

He arches a brow at me as if he believes my words about as much as I do. Picking up his whiskey, I shoot the remaining amber liquid into the back of my throat before setting it down next to my empty glass and walking away. I weave through the crowd again, paying no mind to the naked bodies and the few hands that dare to reach out and grasp at my arms to get my attention.

Stopping in front of the room I’ve reserved for the evening, I swipe my black membership card over the keypad, the door unlocking and giving me access. I nod to the bouncer, letting him know we’re all good here, and hold open the door for Carter, feeling his presence behind me. My adrenaline spikes, anticipation a live wire thrumming through my veins as I ready myself to be alone with the man I haven’t been able to get out of my head all week.

The room is simple. Lights are dimmed around the space except for one illuminating a queen-sized bed in the center of the room, made with simple white sheets, the headboard pushed against the far wall. A large wardrobe sits off to the side, filled with everything we could need for this kind of scene—toys, lube, simple restraints, a blindfold. Unfortunately, we won’t be using any of that tonight. A large viewing window fills the entire length of one of the walls. My eyes flick up to the light placed at the top of the door, glowing red, telling me we have complete privacy for as long as we want it.

Carter hovers by the door while I walk further into the room, opening the wardrobe doors and glancing at the contents. I pull out a long, flesh-colored dildo, turning and smacking it againstmy palm purely to see if I can make him uncomfortable. Much to my dismay, Carter only looks annoyed.

“What do you want,Griffin?”

Ahh. So he’s done his research. I’d hoped as much. The name slices over me like barbed wire, and I crack my neck to the side to ease some of the tension rolling through me.

“Finn.”

“What?”

“Call me Finn.”

I have no idea why I say it. Only the people closest to me call me Finn. But it feels more like me than Griffin ever did. IhateGriffin. My dad is Griffin. Griffin sounds all wrong coming from Carter’s lips.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want to be called. Imagine my surprise when I finally tracked down the dickhole writer who has been avoiding me, only to find out it wasyou. Was this all some sick game to you? You think fucking me around for the last few months only to, what? Follow me here to catch me in some illicit acts? Thought you’d take it a step further and get me to hook up with you? What's your endgame here,Griffin?” His tone is fierce, each word piercing and getting louder as he goes on. But I don’t flinch. Even though his words shred what remains of my self-worth.

I replace the dildo, carefully closing the doors of the wardrobe and turning back to face Carter. He’s wearing black slacks that were tailored to fit his athletic build. Strong legs make me guess that he’s a runner like me, leading up to a trim waist and muscular chest. His biceps bulge at the fabric of the blue button-up shirt where they’re crossed over his chest. His rich chocolate brown hair is quite long on the top, styled and tousled back out of his face now, the sides are shorter, but just enough so that it’s off of his ears. My cock bucks as I take my fill of him.

Fuck. My hands itch to touch him again. It’s almost painful not to reach for him.

I meet his eyes as I rub my palm over the thick outline of my dick, not making a single attempt to be inconspicuous about it. Carter’s eyes track the movement—just like I wanted them to—his jaw ticking, his only tell that I’ve affected him.

“What’s your endgame here, Nash?”

Can’t say I love it, but it’s better than Griffin, I suppose.

“How’d you figure out who I was?” I counter, walking aimlessly around the room, checking it out.

“Does it matter? Let me guess, since you don’t seem to want to be forthcoming about shit,” Carter says as he leans back against the door, crossing his ankles like he’s catching up with an old friend instead of interrogating an enemy. But is that what I am? I certainly don’t want to be. “Your family owns the Northwest Explorer, and while you’ve been playing me for months on actually doing the interviewyourequested, you’ve done a deep dive on my family—looking for a story. You started with me, ’cause you thought I was the weakest link, right? And tracked me to Temptations. What I need to know is what you plan to do with the information you have on me now. I’m assuming you’ll be exploiting it since taking a meeting with me to feature the distillery seems to be out of the question.”

I’ll give it to him, he’s got quite the pessimistic mentality. I wasn’t expecting him to jump to such dark conclusions about me. When I take a step back, I can see it. But he doesn’t know me from the next asshole, and I’m sure he has his reasons for being skeptical. He also doesn’t know my reason for following him to Temptations. Too bad I can’t tell him that without sounding like a fucking crazy person.

I saw your photo on the distillery website, and my knees almost buckled with how beautiful you are. Your striking blueeyes called to me like whispers, giving me hope that someone was out there, created just for me.

Instead, I take slow, measured steps in his direction and watch his reaction. Once I’m a pace away, his breathing starts to pick up, just ever so slowly, an increase in the rise and fall of his chest. He shifts so that he’s standing upright, putting us at near eye level, his jaw ticking, eyes squinting at me like he can’t figure out my play. I stop once we’re toe-to-toe, his scent surrounding me—rich molasses and spice—sending my senses into overdrive.

Fucking delicious.

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