with Penny every day, and he was learning his way around the kitchen. He had made leaps and bounds and could have sworn he’d felt better.
But a few days later and the darkness returned, and he felt blindsided by it.
Vulnerability was scary to Thames. His heart was battering inside his chest, so much so, his entire chest ached. He had felt these anxiety attacks in prison for years, and he’d hidden the debilitating effects they had on his body. He’d wait until he was in his cell, and then he’d try and find the safe place in his mind.
Most times, he’d jerk off, and it wasn’t to feel pleasure, but to take the edge off the adrenaline coursing through his body.
He stood under the hot spray, staring down at his hard dick, wondering if he should do that now.
It was night and the house was still. Charlotte had been on the bed reading on her phone when he’d disappeared inside the bathroom. With shaking hands he’d turned the hot water on and stripped, desperately seeking the heat. Vision spotting, he’d locked the door because he didn’t want her to see him this way.
He spent so much of his time thinking he was going to be jumped, waiting for someone to hurt him the second he’d let his guard down. He’d made so many enemies, had drawn so much blood, that all he could do was look over his shoulder, waiting to be struck.
But he didn’t have to worry about that now, so why was he still feeling like it was about to happen? Maybe he was never going to feel like his old self again. He could never go back to feeling untouchable. How the fuck had he ever felt invincible? What a foolish boy he used to be.
It was always kill or be killed.
Strike first or get hurt.
“I win when he’s down?”
“You win when he’s dead.”
He wrapped his hand around his dick and pumped, but all he saw were the scared, pleading eyes of the men he’d hurt. The very same men who’d tried to touch him. Who’d tried to defile him.
Like he’d been burned, he let go of his dick and beat his forehead against the tiled wall.
This wasn’t going to work, and he wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon. He needed another way, or he might do something stupid.
Charlotte was face down, belly flat against the mattress, fast asleep when he stumbled out of the shower and crawled into bed. He pulled the sheet off her body and kissed up her bare leg. He pulled her night gown up and over her hips and buried his face in her ass. He felt like a man possessed, needing nothing more than the scent of her pussy.
If he didn’t fuck her now, he’d die.
Pulling her panties down, he spread her cheeks apart and worshipped her smooth skin, lapping his tongue along her folds. She stirred beneath him, releasing a surprised groan deep in her throat. Within minutes, she was wet and writhing, and he was so hard, he might break her if he wasn’t careful.
And he wasn’t careful.
That was the hard part. He couldn’t control himself. He just wanted to stop seeing those pleading eyes every time he shut his eyes. He just wanted to be sane again.
He was shaking with need when he dropped the towel and directed his dick at her entrance. His muscles strained, every inch of him ached for release. He grabbed a chunk of her hair and slid into her without notice. She gasped at the sudden move, moaning out his name.
“Yes, dove, keeping saying my name,” he strained out, the ache present as ever in his voice.
He was a feral animal, walls down, face hidden from her as he fucked her without restraint. Deeper and deeper, and it wasn’t deep enough. Every stroke of pleasure pushed the bad thoughts away. If he wasn’t inside her, he wasn’t breathing. So he fucked her, until the bad disappeared, and it was just this – him and her, her body and his – fucking.
He slipped his hand to her pussy, massaging her clit in circles, building her up until she came. She came over and over again, crying into the pillow, hair in her mouth. He sucked at the soft spot between her neck and shoulder, biting gently as she came down from her umpteenth high.
And then he fucked her savagely again. Harder than before.
He wanted to leave her sore. He wanted her to ache.