Page 74 of King of Pain
My God, this man.
“Okay,” I reply, “Beautiful it is.”
His face lights up with a stunning smile, and then, like an announcer in one of our video games exclaiming,‘Finish Him!’,he does exactly that with his next words.
“And Chance…” he begins, his hand still on my arm, voice steadier now, “I’m not oblivious to what this is. Just... be patient with me. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
I’m done. Cooked. All I can do is nod. My brain can’t even form words. If he keeps looking at me like that, I won’t survive the wait.
But…
“I’ll wait forever, Beautiful.”
TRACK THIRTY•ONE
Drive
Anthony
Winter break and the holidays have been incredible. Better than expected. Better than anything I ever thought I could have.
Time spent with Chance, with friends, with laughter and warmth—and more food than a person should consume. Especially lasagna. So much lasagna.
We’ve spent the past two weeks in a haze of movie marathons, video games, long walks with Little G, ringing in the new year, and just existing in the same space.
Chance has shown me… possibilities.
That scares me more than anything.
Because I like it.
I likehim.
I find myself getting more and more comfortable with his teasing, his flirting. The nicknames that used to fluster me now feel like tiny sparks igniting inside my chest. The way he drops his voice to that deep, sexy smolder I know he uses just to make me blush. It still makes me squirm, but I don’t fight it as hard anymore.
I don’t want to fight it anymore.
I haven’t let myself fully acknowledge it until now.
Since the night I saw him in his room—splayed out, lost in pleasure, moaning my name—I’ve felt something shift inside me. An awakening I never expected would feel right for me. But it does.
For years, I convinced myself that part of me was dead. That it had been taken, beaten, twisted into somethingunrecognizable. That my body was never mine to claim. That my sexuality was not mine to choose, a predetermination tied to trauma.
But I was wrong.
Becausethis want simmering just beneath my skin is mine to give away. And I find myself wanting to.
I catch myself staring at Chance. At the strong curve of his back when he stretches in the morning, shirtless and barely awake. At the way his tongue peeks out and glides along those full lips when he’s concentrating on something. At the way his sweatpants cling to his body, highlighting the thick, round curve of that hockey ass, forcing me to grip the edge of the counter just to keep myself from reaching out.
But Iwantto reach out.
Iwantto know what it feels like to casually rub those big athletic globes whenever I want.
To have those full lips pressed against mine.
I’ve never been kissed.
What was taken from me was always done in an act of force. A theft. Kissing was not part of their torment, thank fuck. My body wasn’t mine in those moments, but this?
