Full steam ahead.
I fucked him hard and fast, and I drank down his throaty moans as he pushed his ass back to meet every powerful thrust. Lust shimmered in my belly and my balls drew up tight when he began whimpering my name and begging for more.
Harder.
Faster.
Deeper.
I gave him everything he wanted. And when I leaned over him and bit down on his shoulder right after ordering him to come, he did.
So did I.
With my release deep inside of him, bathing my cock in its own juices, I continued to pound him. It was only when I opened my eyes to look down at his beautiful ass still holding me in the tightest, hottest grip I’d ever known, that I realized it was my own hand wrapped around my too-sensitive flesh. Horror gripped me as I grappled with how real the fantasy had been.
No fucking way.
I released my dick and stuck my hand under the water to get rid of the ropes and ropes of cum I’d spewed on myself.
And the wall.
Disgust tore through me as I angled the shower head to clean off the wall, and then I quickly rinsed. And as I dried off and pulled on just my briefs, pants, and nothing else, I kept hoping Nathan wouldn’t be waiting for me once I got out of the bathroom.
But luck just wasn’t on my side tonight.
Chapter 5
Nathan
I jerked awake at the sound of the bathroom door opening and quickly straightened against the headboard, though I wasn’t sure why I didn’t want Vincent to know I’d dozed off. I was surprised I’d managed to drift off myself, considering how on edge I’d been the second Vincent had gone into the bathroom. I’d sat and stared at the gun for a while before I’d forced myself to pick it up and go to the door to double-check it was locked. I’d then quickly changed into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt before crawling onto the bed and turning on the television in the hopes that it would serve as a distraction. Without my phone, I had no way of checking the news to see if my neighbor hadn’t bought my story about the broken window and called the cops or the press. Mr. Deville had once complained about reporters waiting outside my house at all hours of the day, so I had to hope that fact would have kept him from calling anyone about what had happened tonight.
I’d put the TV on a 24-hour news program, but there’d been no mention of anything. Of course, it wasn’t like a broken window at my house would make national news, but if the cops had shown up and found the place riddled with bullets and me missing, that sure as hell would have been breaking news. I’d thought about using the motel room phone to call Preston, but the fear of the call somehow being tracked, not to mention I had no clue how to explain to Preston what had happened, had kept me from reaching for it.
It was torture to be out of the know. I wouldn’t label myself a control freak, but I definitely liked knowing what was happening around me. I wasn’t someone who easily “turned off” at the end of the day. I was hoping that quality would serve me well in D.C., but right now it was basically torture.
So the fact that I’d fallen asleep while so much shit was happening that I had absolutely no control over was practically a miracle in itself.
As Vincent entered the main part of the room, I carefully took the gun off my lap and placed it on the nightstand. I’d never been a fan of guns, even though my father had taken me and Brody hunting often enough. I’d been twelve when I’d made my first kill. We’d been going hunting with my father a lot longer than that, but I’d been purposely missing my shots for all that time. I’d finally broken down and killed a young buck after my father had railed at me and Brody for being sissies. He’d been particularly hard on Brody because my brother had cried when my father had handed him a rifle and told him we were going hunting for the first time. Brody had always been the softer-hearted of the two of us. Even when we’d gone fishing whenever we spent the summer at my maternal grandfather’s cabin in northern Minnesota, Brody had insisted that we use artificial bait instead of real worms, and we’d always thrown back whatever we’d caught. As much as I’d hated killing that deer, I’d needed to protect Brody from our father’s cruelty more.
So I’d pulled the trigger.
My father had slapped my back with pride and then he’d told me to finish off the poor creature with a kill shot. I’d done it, and I’d suffered through every second of him sharing the story with the guy we’d taken the deer to so that its body could be processed for meat…and, of course, the actual trophy…its head.