Riot

“It’s just a phase, Dex,” I tell the kitten as I head to the kitchen. “It’ll pass. Change of the seasons and all that shit. She’s hot, all right? And she’s sad, and fuck if I know what I’m doing with her. She’s intriguing, you know?”

Dex meows, and Batman pokes his head around the door, giving me a soulful look, which means he’s hungry. I fill their bowls and let Dexter down so he can have his kitty dinner. I watch them eat.

The boys look content. This is their home. We have each other. It’s a better family than any I’ve ever had. No fights. No backstabbing. No yelling and cursing.

Why isn’t it enough anymore?

It’ll have to be. Just a phase. Just a fucking phase.

I glance at the bottle of scotch on the living room table, decide against it, and opt for a hot shower. Yeah, I know I showered at the gym, but it’s cold. There’s the bite of snow on the air, and my heater isn’t working so well. Might as well warm up and get into bed. Gale gave as good as he got back at the gym, and my solar plexus aches from his punches.

It’s a good ache, though, clean, tugging at tired muscles. Different from the confusion inside my head.

Pax, Pax. Her face flashes in front of me as I undress, as I touch where her hand stroked over me, over my pecs, over my stomach, and lower...Fuck, I’m hard, hard like I was in that hotel room.

With a grunt, my hard-on hampering my movements more than my bruises, I kick off my shoes, socks and pants, push down my briefs and step under the warm spray. A sigh escapes me. I brace my hand on the tiled wall, bow my head under the showerhead, let the water drench me, the warmth seep into my muscles and bones.

Pax tied to the bedpost, her tits bared, her legs spread…

Fuck. I grab the soap and scrub myself angrily. Turn under the spray. Just stop, stop thinking about her. A client. Someone who’s seeing you as some sort of therapy.

Sex therapy.

I’m so fucking hard, goddammit. Why am I fighting it? She never needs to know I jacked off to the thought of her.

Leaning back against the wall, I grab my dick and stroke it. Oh fuck, yeah. I keep fighting it and fighting it, and what good does it do? Need her...Shit, I can picture her on her knees, sucking me off, her soft mouth around my dick, her small hand circling the base.

Shit, so good. Need more. Need to see her, feel her, but I can’t, so I tug harder, faster, my breath catching as the pressure starts to crest. I knew I wouldn’t last, not after fantasizing about her all day today—and the days before. Fuck, since the day I met her.

And tied her to that bed.

Oh shit. I thump my head back on the tiles as my dick jerks and hot cum splashes my chest. Pleasure hits a second later, snaps through me like lightning, wrenching a moan from my throat. Another splash of cum and my strokes slow.

My muscles tremble, turning to jelly. I let the water wash me clean and I slide down the wall to the stall floor. Resting my arms on my bent knees, I let my head fall back and close my eyes.

I’m drowsy, my dick finally limp. I could fall asleep where I’m sitting.

Only problem is, nothing’s clearer. The fact I just came thinking of her is a fucking big clue to the fact that I’m fucked to hell and back.

Chapter Nine

Paxtyn

Can’t stop thinking of him, no matter what I do. It’s been days since I last saw him at the hotel. The feel of his hard muscles under my fingertips, his cock straining under the thin cloth of his briefs, and the outline of the barbells. The taste of his mouth—salty and sweet—and the look in his gray eyes. The way he looked against the dark bed cover. Flushed. Aroused. Handsome. Sexy.

A sexy devil.

Is it normal that my thoughts keep coming back to him? To how good he felt wherever I touched him? Is it a good sign? Does it mean I could date someone again?

Aren’t we way ahead of ourselves here, Pax? a sarcastic voice in my head asks—a voice that sounds too much like Corey’s.

Corey who’s sprawled beside me on the sofa, scowling at the TV. He’s one unhappy boy tonight.

“Hurts when someone else breaks up with you, doesn’t it?” I nudge him in the ribs, because any distraction from my thoughts of Riot is good distraction.

“Shut up.” He props his elbow on his knee and plants his chin in his hand.

Ignoring me.