Jagged Edge

I grunt, not sure I can manage words, and brace one hand on the wall by his head, looking down as he curls his fine-boned, roughened hand around his semi. His dick is long and thick and pale, the wet head flushed with a glint of metal—a piercing. I feel heat spread inside me at the sight of it, gathering in my balls.

His fingers tighten around his cock, and he drags his fist up once. Then again. A sound escapes him, a choked moan, and I look up into his face. His mouth has slackened, his eyes gone heavy-lidded.

Smoking hot.

I close my hand over his, so we’re jacking him off together. Slow. Hard. His breath hitches. His eyes dip to my mouth.

“This good?” I ask, before I forget my own uncertainty and lack of experience when it comes to this, and he groans, turning his head away.

“So…” His voice rasps over my nerve endings, making me ache with want. “You wanna fuck me?”

My turn to be caught off guard, and my hold on his hand—on his dick—goes slack.

Hell, damn right I do. The thought of sinking inside him is turning my mind inside out. But somehow his question feels like a trap.

“Not sure you’re up to it,” I deflect. “You’re bruised all over.”

He smirks. Lifts his free hand to his pierced nipple, plays with the metal there, and my mouth goes dry. “Worried? That’s touching, but I’m used to it.”

“To bruises?” I frown, and release him so that I can step back, take a good look at his face. “Tell me how you got them. Got caught in a fight? Did another thug come after you?”

I don’t mention the scars, but I have a feeling that if I do, he’ll clam up all the way. As it is, he’s closing off, pulling up his shiny armor, and only glimmers of the real Jason show through.

“Johns happened. Men happened.” He lets his head drop back, offering me his neck. Or at least it looks like an offering. “They like marking me.”

“Christ.” I have to swallow to get the next question out, and I hate that my dick is iron-hard by now. “Do you like it?”

It’s one of the questions that has been preying on my mind during long, sleepless nights.

He gives a one shoulder shrug. “I’m fine with it. Whatever gets you off.”

He’s still jacking himself, still toying with his nipple, only I realize he’s still not fully hard. Not like I am.

Which kind of irks me. My pride is stung, I guess.

Dammit. Is he just winding me up, trying to get me to fuck him to get more money out of me?

And if he is… what then? This is a job for him. I just wanted to see him. Touch him. Taste him. Get to watch as he comes, as he loses the last defenses he owns, but he’s turned the tables on me.

Better this way. As long as I pay, I won’t care. I won’t look at him and wonder if it’s good for him. If he likes me.

And Christ, why am I thinking of this? How could I even wonder if he likes me when I’m paying him for this?

“Come on, Raine.” His voice is breathy, his cheekbones flushed. Am I misreading this? He looks aroused. Except his dick isn’t hard. Can he fake the way his pupils are so wide, the way his chest is heaving, the tremor in his hand as he beats his meat? “Do me.”

“No. Just keep stroking yourself,” I tell him, my voice rough. “I wanna see you come.”

He bites his lower lip, his gaze sliding away. His hand slows down. “Look…”

I crowd him again, running my hands over his chest, over the hidden scars, over his shoulders. I bend my head, run my mouth over the side of his neck, because I want to, dammit, and inhale his scent. “Come for me.”

He grunts. His hand starts moving faster again, his breathing frantic, but he’s repeating something under his breath, over and over, and I make myself go still to listen.

“I can’t,” he’s grunting with every stroke, “can’t, damn you, can’t. Fuck.”

Cold washes down my back. I step away and fish in my back pocket for my wallet.

“Fine,” I say and feel the ice trickle into my voice. Yeah, that’s good. I’m shaken, by all that happened tonight, and this was the last straw, the last push back into reality. “Here’s forty for the blowjob. You’re free to go.”