Page 51 of Manhattan Tormentor

I want him to keep talking, hearing the rasp in his throat. “Is that so?”

“Are you ever going to tell me what this is all about? You can’t decide if you want to torture me or fuck me.”

There’s something wrong with me because I can hardly hold in a groan. He’s right, I’m deranged. Obsessed with him, unable to stay away.

I’m curious by nature, some would say cruel by nature too.

Rules have never applied to me. Is that why I keep pushing him for a reaction? Because he has never adhered to my way. I could go around and around with questions. But as he steps nearer to me, everything falls out of my head. I climb to my feet, putting us at eye level once more.

“Maybe I want both. I’m a gluttonous man, Fierro.”

Truth.

I drink to excess; I party to excess. I play ball until my muscles burn. And now I’m hot for a guy I can’t get out of my head. If I fuck him, will this magically disappear so I can get back to being me again, unbothered by anything?

The bad mood my mom put me in yesterday is still sitting on my shoulder. It would be easy to take it out on Sage. He’s an easy target, that isn’t my intention, nor my reason for being here. I could have gotten drunk with Bates and found some easy college pussy to play with. My apartment is ready for me to move into when I want, it would be easy to throw a party for distraction since I chose to live alone instead of pledging to a fraternity.

I should be at the bar; I know where I stand with partying. Allowing myself to be led by this… whatever this feeling is, is not me.

Normal healthy people don’t have compulsions like I have. Guess it makes me as strange as the nerd I’m hot for.

“You really are full of yourself, aren’t you?”

He’s right. I am. “What’s wrong with that?” He moves around me and grabs his notebook. He scribbles before tossing it on the computer table. “You know what’s a better question? Why you keep letting me. What’s your excuse, Fierro?”

“You’re a dick,” he tells me without hesitation, and I laugh. “But you’re okay to look at and you give a good hand job.”

Every inch of air vacates my fucking building. A wheeze coming on at the same time my cock aches, growing harder.

That rusty monotone delivery of his is a turn on, and I never thought in a million years I’d be saying that.

I have to know. “Are you depressed?”

“What? No.”

“Do you have anxiety? Dark thoughts?”

“What the fuck?”

“I’m trying to figure if something is up with you, like you need medication or if this is your personality.” I end with a teasing grin. I don’t mean it, he’s probably more normal than I am.

“You fucking impossible prick.”

I grin wider, tasting his arousal. Is this our thing, fighting before we make out? It’s new for me. Girls usually fall over themselves to get at my mouth, not bragging, it’s just a fact.

“You torment me because of your own issues, Finn. Nothing to do with anything I’ve done. You unload because you can’t cope with whatever you have going on inside you. You expect me to fight back, so it gives you a legitimate reason to keep goading me. But even knowing that, I also know people do nasty shit for no reason. Doesn’t mean I have to sink to your level and join you.” He shrugs, casting me a look over his shoulder before he spreads out in the roller chair.

“You think you’ve got me down pat, huh?” It bothers me he has. I’m not proud of being cruel to him. Me and my friends have fucked people up before when they deserved it. Sage did nothing to me. I’m scum and should hate myself, but I don’t. I’ve grown up in a household where the biggest asshole got all the spoils. You wanna blame someone for how I turned out, then let’s say I have daddy issues.

I shove my hands in the front pockets and rock back on my boots, noting how his eyes roam over me. I like that, he’s not shy, not hiding he likes what he sees.

“Do I get to appraise you now?”

“It’s not tit for tat.”

“But fair.”

He shrugs. “If you must.”

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