Chapter 10 Razor #2
I got closer, lowering my voice to a deep threat.
“Why’re you, a posh boy, on your knees for fifty quid on my turf, eh?
” I caught his scent. Clean, expensive, wrong for this place.
And, Jesus, it hit me hard. As if he’d rubbed fucking poison all over himself and I’d inhaled his toxic air. “Ghost send you?”
“Who’s Ghost?”
That answered that. “Who you feeding intel to, then?”
“No one. Seriously. I know nothing.” His voice came out thin, honest in a way I wasn’t used to. He looked as if he’d wandered into a room he’d never meant to be in. Embarrassed more than ashamed.
“You’re gonna have to explain why you offered your dirty mouth for fifty quid, then.” I didn’t soften it. “Explain why you wandered into my world and left your little cunt mates to rip off my line.”
He shut his eyes, wiped a shaky hand across his brow.
Sweat caught where my breath had hit him.
“I… fuck, I didn’t mean to take your money.
” He dragged the words out as if they hurt.
“It was a mistake.” He looked up, eyes wide, and rushed to correct himself.
“Not what we did. Either time. I mean…I thought you were… into me. I was sadly mistaken when you handed me cash instead of—” he swallowed, voice dropping “—my turn.”
I watched him, and something inside me loosened.
Then snapped. It shouldn’t have been complicated.
It shouldn’t have bitten me like this. That I’d been wrong.
That he wasn’t a paid thing chewed at the thin patience I’d hauled into the alley.
And the anger tasted metallic and close, hot in my mouth.
I didn’t think. Never did. I reacted. And I hit him.
Hard. A sharp, feral cuff to his jaw. Puncturing the soft lie that’d been slow cooking in my gut.
He lurched back, cracking his skull on brick.
His lip split across a tooth; blood welled bright and awful on his skin.
For a second, the world shrank to the panic in his eyes and the hand he pressed to his jaw, clutching blood and bruise, and the hot sting burning through my knuckles.
I hadn’t wanted to hurt him. And if I was honest, if I dug past the noise and the rage, I’d meant to hurt myself.
And seeing that red, his blood on my hands, it tore at me.
Split me wide open, tumbling out the things I’d been holding shut for far too long.
Shame. Hunger.
A stupid, aching want making no sense.
So I grabbed his jacket, slammed him back against the wall, and stepped in close enough to feel his breath. “Are you scared of me?”
He drew in a shaky lungful of air, a line of blood tracing down his jaw. “Petrified.”
Our eyes locked, and something shifted. Small, sharp, dangerous. That wasn’t the fear I was used to seeing. No flinch. No plea. A tremor underneath it. If it’d been anyone else, I’d have left them on the ground, lesson taught.
But him? He looked scared, yeah. But not of what I’d do to him…
Of what he wanted me to do.
So I got in even closer, lips a whisker away from his. “But you like it? That fear?”
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
Fuck. What was I meant to do with that? It was beyond reason.
I’d never dealt with this. Not once. I paid for it.
Took what I needed. Got my fix and left it where it belonged.
Kept it right outside my world. I’d made peace with that.
I knew I couldn’t have both. I’d tried once and fucked it up.
What I had was all it was ever going to be.
But there he was. Pretty as sin. Face marked by me. And I couldn’t fucking control it.
I kissed him. Hard. As sharp as I’d hit him.
Tasting the blood for myself. Salt, copper, skin.
He flinched, pain no doubt coursing through him, but he kissed me back.
Just as feral. As fucking hungry. Tongue and teeth and blood.
And I pinned him there with my body, right into that wall as if I could squeeze him into it, make us both squirm into brick and hide whatever this was.
Then I stopped. Pressed my forehead to his.
Swiped a thumb over my mouth and tasted him.
His blood, sharp and real. And when I looked down, I was hard.
Rock fucking hard. So was he. He knew it.
I knew it. I could see it in those pretty eyes of his.
The raging fucking need for me to touch him. It was inevitable.
I undid his belt slow, eyes never leaving his. Gave him that heartbeat. The chance to push me off, to tell me no. Would I have stopped? Probably not. But the choice was there, anyway.
He didn’t take it.
And without that hesitation, I dragged his trousers down till they caught at his ankles, then I sank to my knees.
His cock snapped up, slick at the tip, waiting.
For me. The sound he made hit me straight in the gut.
Yeah, I wanted it. Always had. I liked dick, sure.
Preferred it. Craved it. But what I really liked was control.
Only this time, it didn’t feel as if I had any.
But to pretend, I shoved his hips back into the wall, brick biting into his bare arse, and held him there.
Made him feel what I felt. Exposed. Stripped down.
No armour left. Because that’s what he’d done to me from the start.
He’d got under my skin. Looked right through the noise, the front, the name. And I hated it. Needed it.
Both at once.
I took him into my mouth. Deep. All the way. Till he filled me, heavy and hot, and fuck, he tasted good.
“Oh, God,” he gasped, hitting his head on the wall with a dull crack. “Fuck. God.”
I worked him good, dragging my tongue so I could hear that sound again.
That broken edge in his breath, then pulled off, let him hang there.
Cock wet, twitching in the cold air. The danger of it, the alley, the open street, the chance someone might see, crawled under my skin, right into my blood.
He wanted it too; I could feel it in the way he shook, in the noise he made.
In how he didn’t even try to hide himself. He was wrecked over this. Same as me.
If my world saw me like this, on my knees, taking cock down my throat, they’d think I’d gone soft.
But this? This weren’t softness. This was power.
Making a man stand bare in the dark, trousers round his ankles, knowing I could do anything to him and he’d still want more?
That’s control. And that was my hit. Him at my mercy, breath shaking, waiting for me to finish him.
Yeah. That was my fucking addiction right there.
So I dragged him back in. Lips to the tip, tongue teasing, then down till he hit the back of my throat.
Once. Twice. Again. Again. My jaw ached, breath burning, throat gagging on him, but I didn’t stop till he was trembling, scraping the brick behind him with his fingernails cause he didn’t know where to put them.
Then I pulled off, licking him clean, lips slick and swollen, and stared up at him.
“You’re a filthy, pretty thing, ain’t ya?”
He gasped, eyes wide, voice only breath when he looked down and said, “Yeah.”
I wrapped my hand around him, firm, making him feel every inch I gave him. “Say you want it.”
“I want it.” He didn’t even hesitate.
I dragged my thumb over the slit, lazy strokes spreading his slick down the length of him. Then I watched the head disappear and reappear through my grip. He was leaking. Trembling. Begging. God, it was good. It’d been a while since I’d done this.
I bent in, licked the tip, tasted salt and heat and want. “Dirty fucker.”
He jerked his hips with instinct, not intention, and swore under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut before a moan slipped free. Christ, he was addictive like that. All undone and still trying to hold on.
“You want me to make you come?”
“God… yeah. Please.”
That plea? That’s my high. Same rush as when I’ve got some bastard pinned to the floor, bleeding and begging, and knowing I’m the one who decides how it ends.
This ain’t any different. Him begging me to keep going hits the same place as them begging me to stop.
It’s the power. That’s what gets in my blood. Keeps me coming back for more.
So I took him in again. Deeper. Tip brushing my throat, nose buried in that perfectly trimmed hair. I swallowed, flexing my throat around him till he groaned. His legs gave a little, and I caught him by the hips, held him steady. Felt the tremor of it run up my arms.
I don’t do this. Not for anyone. Not anymore.
Not because I can’t, but because when I have, it meant something.
Yeah, I’ve done it before. Back when I was young, stupid, still working myself out.
Before I learnt it was a death wish round my way.
After that, I got careful. Kept it quiet.
If I went down on a bloke, it was paid for and private.
The whole boyfriend act wrapped up neat and forgettable.
That way, no one could use it against me.
But with him? There wasn’t any thought. Just want.
He’d stripped me bare the second he looked at me.
Maybe this was my way of evening the score.
Keeping his dick out in the air, making him raw, as exposed as I was.
And when he came, I sucked him through it.
Took every pulse, every shudder, my hand tight around his base, his breath stuttering. Mine wasn’t much steadier.
Then I spat to the side, wiped my mouth, and looked up at him.
I didn’t know if I wanted to hit him again or kiss him. Maybe both.