Landon #3
“Why?” he snaps, not even flinching as I bury my hands in his hair. “Because I didn’t tell you I’d be missing this weekend? Because you didn’t get fucked hard the way you crave?”
“That’s exactly why. You don’t get to come around and tell me I can’t fuck anyone else, then not show up. It’s unfair.”
“Unfair?” Nate laughs. “Everything you do is unfair. You go around forcing people to do things for you as if you own them, living in your rich boy dreamland as the honest people around you work to the bone.”
And now, Nate does sound like he hates me. Like he resents everything I stand for, who I am at my core. And it pisses me off. It makes me feel small and insecure as he demeans me.
“You make me sound like a monster,” I tell him. “You act as if I’m toxic or evil.”
“Aren’t you?” he pushes, shoving his face next to my ear as he adds, “Are you not made up of lies, all the way to your core?”
That… is more honest than he’ll ever know. I am made up of lies; I lie to people constantly, hiding my own weakness in terror.
I hate that he can see this, even if it’s misguided.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” I sneer, unwilling to let him see the effect he’s having on my psyche.
“I do, actually. Clever, and handsome, and witty,” he rattles it off, as if he’s keeping a personal tally of all his best qualities.
“Fuck you,” I snap, mostly because he’s right.
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he purrs, angry and so fucking pent up that I can see his lust as he pulls back just enough to stare at me. “You’re such a desperate, wicked little thing that I bet you dream of it daily.”
When I say nothing because once again, he’s right, he adds, “Hm? Am I right? Are you sitting around your little condo, hand in your pants, imagining all the ways I might break you someday? Imagining me defiling you?”
My whole body sings, an admittance to his claims, as I remember lying in bed, massaging my dick to memories of him. Of our time together.
“Nathaniel,” I grit out, “I would rather take a hot poker up my ass than be left unsatisfied by you.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it. We have both been present every time he’s taken me, as I’ve fallen apart and eaten up every single tormented or pleasureful thing he’s dealt.
Nate grins, a sick and twisted thing, as he grips my jaw in a punishing hold. “That’s not what you said the last time you were sat on my dick, Landon. That’s not how you were acting when I had my fingers buried in your—”
“Enough!” I interrupt, unwilling to hear his recollection of all my weakest moments. Of all the moments in which I wanted him. “Get your hands off of me.”
I’m angry again. I’m upset that I’ve fallen this low—succumbing to desiring him so desperately that he can see right through me. Right through the fight.
How can I possibly fight when the opposing side can see my surrender so clearly?
But Nate does not listen; he never does. Instead, he slams his mouth to mine, taking my lips in a hungry, wet kiss that has my head spinning and my half-hard cock thickening with each passing second.
His tongue assaults mine, tracing my teeth and dominating my body. I’m writhing against him, half submission and half struggle.
“That’s right, babydoll,” he murmurs, his hand falling from my face to grip my hard dick. “You feel this? This is mine. I did this. Try denying your desires now.”
Nate is the worst. He is every horrible thing I’ve ever wanted, every torturous craving that has consumed me before I could sink my teeth into it. Nate is, in this moment, my very own devastating defeat.
“You should have called,” I whisper, and I don’t intend to say it. His silence shouldn’t mean anything to me. I can’t stand him.
Yet, the idea of him exiting my life is making me anxious. Panicky. Sad.
What is the point in having him, even in this way, if I’m still surrounded by this misery?
Nate stares at me, his gaze colliding with mine as he digests my soft complaint.
Then, finally, in the softest voice I’ve ever heard him conjure, he says, “I’ll call. The next time I can’t make it, I’ll call you.”
And then he’s devouring my mouth again, taking from me what I’ve yet to offer him: emotion. And the misery once again recedes.
I follow Nate around for the remainder of his night at Chastain Castle, even briefly running into Cameron, whom I met at the New Year’s party so many months ago.
He was in the kitchen, wide-eyed and saddened. Whatever he had just encountered, it seemed to have shaken him to the core. The man looks like he’s tough as nails, but in that moment, he was a small and broken thing.
Even I felt bad for him, and I’m not one to dish out sympathy. But then he scurried away, and I leaned against the kitchen island as Nate finished up the spare snacks he was previously preparing for the party.
And now, as we enter his little cottage some time later, the excitement I felt on the way here returns to me. It’s time for payback.
Nate is about to experience sensation overload, the exact torture he’s been putting me through from the moment we met.
He just doesn’t know it yet.