Page 43 of Dirty Martini
“You’re going to come because I told you to,” he says, not leaving any room for argument. “But you’re going to cry out for me because you want to.”
I gasp as he nails my prostate again. “N-No…”
“Who’s fucking you so good right now? Whose cock is destroying this hot little hole? Who’s claiming what’s his?” He pinches my cheeks together, licking a stripe across my mouth that makes my eyes roll to the back of my head. “Who is it, baby? Tell me.”
It’s all too much. His dirty words, his relentless thrusts, his perfect grip. I go somewhere else. I float. I soar and crash and freefall and the only thing I can think of is?—
“Oh God,Rhys!”
“Fuck yes!” he shouts, moaning when my cum coats his hand, nearly roaring as his hips flex one more time before stilling. I wish he was taking me bare. I wish I could feel his cum filling me, heating me, claiming me.
He holds himself there for a second, chest heaving with deep breaths, before pulling out of me and rolling to the side. We lie next to each other, not touching, but our bodies buzzing with what we just shared. I’m still a bit delirious as I turn my head, watching his blissful profile and the satisfied smirk on his lips. “What happens now?”
That look of peace vanishes in an instant. When he turns to look at me, cold hardness is all I’m met with. He doesn’t say anything as he gets up, pulling the condom off his still half-hard cock. He stands there, tall and proud, regal as ever, like a prince.
No, like a victor.
After a moment, he comes close and leans over the bed, face inches from mine. He searches for something, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, before he smirks once again. “Now you’regoing to lie here and think about the fact that you may have won a few battles, but I won the fucking war.” Pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, he winks at me with devilish promise when he pulls back. “Sleep tight, baby.”
And then he leaves me just like that. My mouth is agape as I watch him go, and a flash of regret hits me.
I let himinsideme. I let him manipulate me to his will, take me, and annihilate everything I ever knew.
The fucking bastard won.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rhys
I feel hungover.
I stare up at my ceiling, knowing I have to get up, but dreading stepping foot outside my room. It’s not that I’m scared, I’m just not ready. I feel like a hypocrite, not prepared to face the consequences of my actions. Actions that felt so justified in the moment but now astound me.
I fucked Everest.
No, I didn’t just fuck him. I don’t think that’s what you could call last night. Iunleashedmyself on him. Every ounce of hate, every inch of frustration, every single part of me that’s been caged in came loose and was let out on his body. Now, in the light of day, I’m almost ashamed of the things I said to him. Not because I didn’t mean them, but because I showed my hand. If he had been paying attention, he would realize that I’m not the true victor here, I’m just as much of a loser as he is.
Because he made me lose control. Because he made me give in to instincts I tried to deny. Because he turned me into a possessive monster that I don’t recognize.
But I don’t regret it. How can I when my dick is as happy as it’s ever been and my damn chest feels lighter. Fucking himwas like the therapy I’ve needed for years, something I’ve been missing, and I can’t wish that away for anything.
My hand wanders down to my hard dick as I remember it perfectly. The way his snug hole hugged my cock. That annoyingly gorgeous face of his as it contorted in pleasure. The way my skin was on fire when it was wrapped around his tight body.
How he screamed my name until his voice was hoarse and his throat was raw.
It can’t happen again. I lost it once, but I can’t allow it to happen a second time. There’re so many reasons it’s wrong. Reasons that the practical, reasonable side of me can acknowledge. The most important being he’s Elton’s baby brother. My best friend’s blood. Knowing I’ve used him and taken him and claimed him would ruin my friendship with the one person I care about the most. I wouldn’t risk that for anything, not even someone as tempting as Everest.
Also, what would it say about me if I gave in to this pull between us? Everest ruined my life, turned it into something I never imagined, and it’s insane to think that I want him after all of that.
But God help me, I do.
He’s been all I can think about, and I know that I’ll never stop thinking of being with him like that. I’ll crave him with every inch of me, knowing the pleasure he can bring me, reveling in the fact that he’s been thoroughly ruined by my hand.
But doesn’t that make me vindictive? Does this deep, hot, and sticky possessive jealousy make me the villain? This isn’t who I am. I’m not someone who just lets go like that. I’m not someone who acts before he thinks.
It’s with a sense of foreboding dread, however, that I acknowledge that in my quest to ruin him, I’m risking ruining myself too. He broke my trust once and he’s bound to break itagain. Getting involved with him, even if it’s only sexual, can only bring trouble that I can’t afford.
Maybe he won’t even want to do it again. I hate to admit that the thought of him lying in his bed just like I am, regretting what we did, stings. He might hate himself just a little bit for letting me inside him, and wasn’t that the point?
