Boy in the Club a boy & billionaire novel - Rachel Kane Page 0,16
and I feel like someone has worked a miracle in this room.
My skin is prickly, and I don’t want to come down from this, I don’t want to get back to normal, and when he removes his hands it’s a loss I cannot withstand. I nearly fall. He is there, he catches me. Kissing me again. Touching my lips with his cum-wet finger, drawing a little wet line over my lower lip before kissing it off, tasting me, his eyes lighting up.
I am done with clothes and loincloths and everything else, forever. There is nothing left to be done but to be naked against this man forever.
I’m so stupid.
I let my mind run away with me.
What a clown I am.
That is why I’m no good at this.
This is why I swore not to come back.
Not this, but something like this, something worse than this, something awful, but it’s all the same stupidity.
Reality has a way of crashing in on you, the moment after you come. When you remind yourself that your whole modus operandi is taking stupid risks because it’s the only way you’ll ever feel close to anyone, even if its a fake closeness, a closeness of the moment.
I step back and I straighten out my cloth, which is ridiculous, I’m still hard, my cock is still straining against it, and the fabric is soaked through, and the scent of my seed is in the air, and everyone’s going to know.
But I have to step back. I have to. I can’t do this. I can’t feel like this, it’s dangerous, it’s wrong, it’s some kind of mental pathology, letting your guard down with a customer.
Customer? I’m not a whore. I didn’t accept any money for this.
Then why do I feel so cheap all of a sudden?
He knows something’s wrong, even if he doesn’t know what it is. Concern plays over his aristocratic features. He wants to reach for me but he doesn’t know if it’s allowed. Don’t be kind, I want to tell him. This isn’t a place where kindness prospers. This is a place for ugly people doing ugly things to each other.
Can’t he see I’m the wrong person? There’s still time left in the night, he could go out there and pick up an empty-headed boy who will never experience a single emotion in these rooms. A man like this could easily pleasure two or three guys in a single night. I can sense that about him. He has that much to give. He wants to give it to me, but the passions of a minute ago have fled, replaced by stark fear and self-disgust.
I swore to myself I wouldn’t do this, I wouldn’t trust anyone ever again.
Especially not a man like this.
He’s looking at me, hurt. I can see the hurt, I can practically taste it like a metallic tinge to the air around us. You’re not going to understand, so don’t try to.
He reaches out for me, those hands again, and he touches my scar.
That’s what does it.
That’s what pushes me over the edge.
I slump, and feel like I weigh three times as much as I did before, like my bones have grown gigantic and heavy beneath my skin, like I don’t even know how I’m going to turn away from him, away from those kind eyes and those gentle hands, because he doesn’t understand, he thinks he’s kind, but no man is truly kind. No man is gentle. In the end, it’s always the same, and this time was going to be different, I was just supposed to be delivering drinks, not escaping from a room with my cock softening and my cloth stiffening as it dried.
He doesn’t even know what to say. I haven’t given him a chance to say anything. All I can do is look back at him one moment, before pressing the button to let security know I’m done with the room, and opening the door to make my humiliated escape.
Nobody out there asks me what’s wrong.
Nobody cares to. Rushing out of someone’s room on the verge of tears is just what happens here. You take a break and catch your breath, go for a vape or a smoke out on the balcony, wash your face and get back to work.
That’s the job.
That’s what we do here. We don’t show pain, unless a customer wants to see it.
I am going to spend the rest of my life regretting tonight.