Breathless (The Game 3)

I chuckled under my breath. “Lying little masos don’t deserve personal space.”

That made him scowl. “Lying? I’m not fucking lying.”

“Lying by omission,” I elaborated, leaning in closer. Just a few inches separated us, and whether he wanted it or not, his body reacted to me. His breathing quickened. “We’re gonna let it slide, luckily for you. Because it means my brother and I can use foul play too.”

He tried to jerk away, but I didn’t let him. I cupped the side of his neck, with my thumb planted over his jaw, and kept him in place.

“When was the last time you were intimate with someone?”

He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Why? I don’t know. I had a one-night stand a few months ago.”

“That’s not intimacy,” I murmured. “When was the last time you spent twenty minutes kissing someone? Or sleeping in someone’s arms?”

“All right, that’s—Christ.” He tried to wrench away again, to no avail. “All I wanted was a fucking beating. Not this shit.”

Man, I made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want anyone to come too close, physically or otherwise. If I told him we could stop the car now and let him out, he’d go for it. He’d already swallowed his pride once, in the club; he wouldn’t do it again. Not for this, not now.

So I didn’t offer.

Instead, I rested my forehead to his and shifted my hand to his cheek. In response, he screwed his eyes shut and balled his hands into fists in his lap.

“Shay, if River and I turn you into a crying, beaten mess on the floor, do you want us to leave you there?”

He clenched his jaw. “I can pick myself up off the floor.”

That was answer enough.

One more question. “What’s suffering to a masochist who’s terrified of affection?”

I didn’t allow him time to reply, instead covering his mouth with my own. I kissed him slowly and felt my own goals change. River had always given me shit for my impulsiveness and random ideas. He liked to say that a plan never survived a meeting with me, even the plans I’d created myself. I changed my mind on the go and thrived when I had to think fast.

As I wove my fingers through Shay’s hair, I felt him relax slightly. He trembled with a shiver, and it happened again when I scratched his scalp. At this point, I was ready to use every damn weapon. I was going to get through to him, one way or another.

Violence wasn’t the only way to disarm someone.

I waited him out with unhurried kisses until he finally caved and started kissing me back timidly. Reluctantly.

The flashes of the city lights faded as River drove us out of DC, leaving the car in total darkness where I took all the advantage I could. Shay drew a shaky breath, and I deepened the kiss, coaxing his tongue out with my own. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to see how quickly we could get through this trip to the house.

Bringing one of his hands to my chest, I silently told him to touch me, and he tentatively curved it over my shoulder.

“I-I don’t wanna feel good,” he stammered.

No, he did. But something was holding him back. Presumably the same part that felt he deserved punishment.

“Sometimes a masochist has to do something he doesn’t like to get what he needs.” I nipped at his bottom lip.

It felt wrong to play along with his delusions, but I had to be patient.

“True, I guess,” he mumbled, fidgeting with the neckline of my tee. “So I gotta do this, kiss you and stuff, because otherwise, you won’t beat me?”

Was he trying to justify his own enjoyment? It was as endearing as it was tragic.

I couldn’t fucking wait to break down his barriers.

“That’s right.” I stroked his cheek and kissed him gently, waiting for his reaction. Waiting for him to finish his reasoning with flawed logic. “First you have to feel good.”

He swallowed. He still struggled with eye contact.

The tension between us crackled, and I could taste how fragile his internal defenses were at times. I imagined a military squadron standing before him, but the front line wasn’t as tough as he wanted it to be. Some of the lines would be easier to push through than others.

“Okay,” he whispered.

I was already through one side of him, and he’d only fooled himself into thinking he didn’t have a submissive nature about him. The way his body responded to me told a different story. His speech and posture had changed drastically since he’d sat in front of River and me at the club.

The next time I kissed Shay, there was less hesitation from him. He’d officially allowed himself a moment of pleasure by promising himself that he’d suffer later. It was sick, and I vowed to myself right then and there to be with him every step of the way. Fuck, consider me committed to ensuring his recovery, regardless if it was my place or not. I knew it wasn’t. He was a grown man; I should let him do whatever the fuck he wanted, including wreck himself.