now…he wants you. He’s got a prospective customer, something like that.”
Again that shrug. “I thought if I ignored him for long enough, he’d go away. But he won’t. I’ve got to tell him no. I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll go to the club and—”
“The fuck you will. You’re not going anywhere near him.”
I’m surprised by the anger in my voice, the rage.
“Colby—Mr. Raines—it’s not your problem.”
“He’s not touching you, he’s not talking to you—” The jealousy is so strong I cannot breathe. I can feel it wrapping around my throat. The idea of this gilded punk even thinking about Finn that way, even for a moment—
I’ll kill him.
No. No, you will not. Calm down. A minute ago you’re thinking you can’t feel anything, now you’re overwhelmed with a feeling you can’t do anything with…just chill out.
My hand is tight around my glass, as I have my third bourbon of the night—the final one, if I know what’s good for me.
My other hand is clenched into a fist, and now Finn reaches out, puts his hand onto mine.
“I appreciate this so much, but I’m absolutely serious. I can fight my own battles. I’ve done it all my life. I don’t need help.”
I don’t know what happens, whether it’s his touch, or the pain in his words, or the strength behind that pain, the courage that let him exist in that club-world that wanted to chew him up, or maybe it’s just my jealousy and possessiveness, I can’t tell, but I grab that hand, the hand that was supposed to comfort me, and I use it to pull him across the counter—he responds with a startled yelp—and with my other hand, I’m dropping my glass, grabbing his collar, pulling him until we are face to face, and without another word, I am kissing him, claiming him, refusing to let him go.
He doesn’t fight.
Maybe, for a brief moment, he struggles—I see his eyes flick towards the door, as though worried about someone coming in—but I don’t care, not when the taste of sugar and liquor on his tongue is the sweetest, most tempting flavor I’ve ever encountered. Not when this urgency inside me says I have to have him now, have to mark him as my own, so that no one in the world ever thinks about touching him, ever again.
That’s how he ends up half-lying on the counter, me pushing him down, shoving plates out of the way, things clattering and crashing to the floor. I simply do not care.
He kisses back, and it’s a kiss for survival, the kiss of a man who needs my breath to live.
I have never in my life needed so badly to be inside someone, as I need him now. This isn’t just sex, it’s a battle for my own existence.
My entire body is throbbing with this desire. My cock wants to burst free, to thrust, to penetrate; it feels hard enough to cut through stone.
I refuse to struggle with clothing. This is no time for a chaste striptease. I rip and I tear. Buttons pop off of Finn’s borrowed shirt, pinging against the cabinets and the floor, until his chest is laid bare.
His scar is mine. I press my lips to it, I feel its alien smoothness, its warmth.
Are you just after him because he looks vulnerable, because he has this scar? Are you one of the ugly-chasers he’s so afraid of?
I reject the thought. He’s not afraid of me, and it’s not his vulnerability—not just his vulnerability—that draws me in. It’s everything about him, and as though to demonstrate this, I leave the scar behind, and kiss and lick down his belly. His flesh is hot, and ripples beneath me as he gasps; I think I’ve found a ticklish spot, just a hands-breadth from his small navel.
The pants are fastened by an outsized belt, covered in steel like some bondage device, but I am quickly through it, yanking the waist down, exposing his narrow hips with their birdbones, and I must kiss each crest, the velvety softness of the skin, the rising mound that leads to his hidden cock.
My face is buried in him, breathing in his humid musk, this scent so masculine, it does something to me, it goes straight to some primitive portion of my brain, releases some hormone that combines comfort with excitement, relaxation with energy. I could breathe him all night. If it weren’t for this raging need to fuck, I could lie here, my face between his legs, forever.
The