Page 119 of The Revenge Game
“Maybe because I spent so long in high school being belittled that it’s hard to believe anyone would ever like me for me.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can filter them. They hang in the air between us.
Justin’s expression shifts from frustration to something softer.
Shit, I’ve never truly articulated how those years of constant bullying rewired my brain, how they planted seeds of doubt that grew into forests of disbelief. Every time someone shows interest in me, my mind searches for their ulterior motive, like a malware scanner that can’t be turned off.
Success, money, acclaim—none of it has overwritten that base programming.
“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.” Justin’s voice carries the same raw truth it did when he told me about Bobby Ray.
The intensity in his eyes pins me in place, like I’m caught in the world’s most emotionally devastating spotlight.
I believe him.
I believe Justin Morris thinks I’m amazing.
This is Justin increasing my sense of self-worth, even though he was the one who degraded it in the first place. How fucked up is that?
I stretch up to kiss him because that’s easier than conjuring a reply.
Justin kisses me back so hungrily that I forget about everything except the way he feels against me.
My back hits the wall as his hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my jaw with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the urgency of his kiss.
He tastes like mulled wine and Justin, his tongue sliding against mine with a thoroughness that makes my knees weak. I clutch at his shoulders and then move my hands into his hair, needing an anchor as everything I thought I knew about usshifts and realigns. The music from the club fades to white noise compared to the thundering of my heart.
When Justin finally breaks away from me, his pupils are blown wide, making his eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them. His lips are swollen, hair completely wrecked from my fingers, but his expression holds something fiercer than just desire.
“Can we please just go home?” he asks.
Home. The word hits me like a sucker punch. Because somehow, without me noticing, home has stopped meaning my carefully curated fake apartment. It means Justin’s apartment, with Cassie’s judgmental stare and Tabitha’s noisy demands for attention, with the specific way he arranges the coffee mugs and that comfortable spot on his couch where I always sit.
I have to choke down the lump in my throat to push the next words out.
“Okay. Let’s go home.”
We decide not to bother with public transport and catch an Uber instead.
The whole ride, Justin pulsates with barely suppressed tension.
We barely make it two steps inside his front door before he’s on me, kissing me like my hesitation is a personal challenge he’s determined to overcome.
His lips don’t stay attached to mine. Instead, he kisses down my neck, pausing at that spot behind my ear that makes coherent thought impossible. His breath is warm against my skin as he whispers how much he wants this, wants me.
It’s like Justin Morris is on a one-person quest to prove to me with his actions that he thinks I’m amazing.
It’s in the way he touches me with such reverence, how he keeps pulling back to look at me with those blue-green eyes, checking that I’m really here with him, how he smiles when I gasp at his touch.
It’s the way he wraps his lips around my cock and sets to work, worshipping me in a way that leaves me gasping against the wall, one hand braced on the key hook—which is definitely not designed to provide this kind of support.
It’s in the way that pleasuring me gets him so close to the edge that after I’ve exploded, he only needs a few strokes before he’s coming too.
Eventually, we break apart to greet the cats, who seem miffed we’ve been ignoring them. Cassie’s tail twitches with clear judgment while Tabitha lets out a series of meows that sound suspiciously like a lecture on proper household etiquette. Then we go to bed.
But we don’t sleep.
Instead, Justin and I talk.
