21 Cutter
I DON’T KNOW WHY I told Aubie that. As if he didn’t already have enough ammunition to use against me. My mouth just couldn’t seem to stop regurgitating ever more embarrassing facts. Telling him about how I enjoyed what we did? He might have guessed that, but there was no need to admit it.
And the not having sex for seven years bit? Jesus, could I get any more pathetic?
I can’t actually swear to the no sex thing, since there were times during my dark days when I couldn’t tell you what I did the night before.
Did I hook up with anyone? It’s possible, though highly unlikely.
Like I’ve said, I was a wretched loser. The kind of women who would be attracted to that were probably best left forgotten.
I can’t even stand to think about myself then. How far and how fast I fell. I had no idea I was that weak inside, and I don’t ever want to be reminded of it again. That’s why it’s so important that I stay away from him. I can’t put myself in a position to lose control like that again.
Only two people knew that side of me–Daryl and Sammy–and while both are tough on me for different reasons, I know they have my back. They’re probably the only two people in the world I trust.
I certainly don’t trust Aubie. I can’t. His reputation speaks for itself.
And yet, I still keep seeing his eyes when he talked about wanting forgiveness.
That vulnerability.
It spoke to me.
The physical part I could walk away from. I’ve always been able to separate sex from emotion. Maybe it’s the athlete in me, compartmentalizing priorities. How else do you explain a self-imposed seven-year drought during my prime years?
Could Amber have been right when she accused me of being a robot?
It would always start an argument, and I’d always try to prove her wrong with make-up sex.
But I’ll admit that half the time I was just going through the motions.
Unfortunately, whatever I was back then doesn’t seem to apply to this sudden obsession.
And that’s what it is.
An obsession.
An ache I can’t seem to fill.
I know I could walk away from it. Like any hunger, it would pass. Just give it time.
What’s fucking with me, though, are the feelings.
I can’t have feelings.
I certainly can’t have feelings for Aubie Gauthier.
A man cast from the same mold as my fucking brother.
I’m better off sticking to my original plan and staying away from him. He said he agreed with me. That we should stop whatever this is before it goes any further, and I believe him when he said he would honor that.
The problem is, just being in the same room with him stirs that craving inside me.
Why him and why now?
I’ve successfully avoided any emotional or physical entanglements for seven years. Didn’t get so much as a ping on my inner radar. Granted, I’m alone, but that never really bothered me. Most of the time I like my own company.
Most of the time.
Lately I’m not so sure, because that’s when my brain starts picking at me. It’s always been a struggle to get out of my own head, but I thought I had perfected a technique to shut it off. I had to in order to pitch. Put everything in its box and lock it away. Nice and neat.
And then Amber and Callum blew that to shit.
Suddenly nothing fit where it was supposed to, and it drove me nearly insane.
Enough that I crawled inside a bottle to numb my own failure.
It took a lot of work to get past that. It was more than just the alcohol.
I had to find my center again. To slowly rebuild those bridges I relied on.
I thought I was close. I mean, I actually made a friend who wasn’t Daryl or Sammy. I even opened up to her.
Then I opened up to Aubie.
Why?
Why, why, why?
God, I just want to turn off my head. To go back to those days when I had everything under control.
Before Aubie invaded my life.
I’ve been driving while my mind chases its own tail and am surprised to find myself sitting at the end of my mother’s driveway. Nope, I can’t be here.
I back out before anyone sees me and tear off down the street. Luckily there doesn’t seem to be anyone outside on the sparsely populated street, because I’m sure my truck would be recognized. I’ve had it since high school.
What the hell made me go there? My mother is one of the last people I want to see. Every time I look at her, I see the disappointment in her eyes. Her failure of a son.
At least now I have something new to obsess over.
I head home to change for work since I have to go in early for the two interviews scheduled.
After slapping together a quick tuna sandwich, I hop in the shower and for a few minutes manage to shut off my brain.
Then my hand wanders down to grab my cock and it starts again.
I push away the image of Aubie’s lips wrapped around it while his hands map my body.
It only takes me a couple of minutes to come.
That’s something new, too. I’ve never been one of those guys who needed to jerk off regularly. Left to myself, I could go weeks without it. I always thought I just had a low sex drive.
Apparently not.
At least, not where a certain man is concerned, because just thinking about him makes my dick hard.
This isn’t helping.
Focus.
I make it to the club without any more unscheduled side trips. It’s so early I don’t even see Renee’s car in the parking lot, and this time I pay close attention. Just because it’s been quiet since Devers showed up doesn’t mean Scarponi forgot about us.
The club is deathly silent when I slip in the back door.
So silent I can almost feel the old house breathe.
I take my time moving through the hallways, savoring the solitude before the chaos begins.
I’ve got an hour before my first interview, time I should be spending working on this week’s schedule.
Unfortunately, I’ve only got one thought circling my head.
One thought that plays over and over like a cheap porn video.
Aubie dances tonight.
He’ll stroll out on that stage and take off his clothes then pretend to fuck everyone in the audience. Something about that twists a knot inside me.
I push the thought from my mind. No. Don’t think about it.
The tight heat of his ass when my cock sunk inside…
Don’t. Think. About. It.
“The ball’s in your court.”
He agreed with me. This isn’t happening. Subject closed. Move on.
I start the coffee machine and pull up the schedule template on my laptop. Soon I’m lost in a logical world. Nice and neat. My first interview comes and goes. After that, my evening is too full to think about things best left forgotten.
Until 9:45. I don’t know why I know that’s his time slot. I don’t know why my feet take me in the direction of the main house. I don’t know why I sink into the darkest patch of wall at the back of the room where I won’t be seen.
I don’t know why my pulse thunders when the lights dim and the first beat of the music starts.
I press against the wall when he appears, his body moving with languid, feline grace. He’s wearing a black lace body suit, his wide eyes painted a smoky purple, his hair strategically tossed to look like he just got fucked.
My cock hardens.
The way his body writhes and thrusts against the pole makes life in my pants even more uncomfortable.
Stop watching.
He takes his time pulling down the zipper of the bodysuit. Inch by maddening inch. I hold my breath, waiting for I don’t know what.
I shouldn’t be here.
He slithers his arms out of the flimsy garment, leaving it to ride just above his crotch while he dances erotically across the stage. Like the rest of the audience, I can feel myself being pulled forward. Waiting.
He licks his lips and grinds his hips as he slips his hands into the top and rolls it down to finally reveal his glorious cock.
I don’t even know how he loses the garment, so focused am I on his body. On his rock hard cock. On that damn dragon tattoo.
He brings one hand to his mouth and pulls it open to lick his fingers while the other hand closes around his cock and strokes it ever so slow and steady.
The way he stroked mine.
A collective groan goes up from the audience. My dick is so hard it’s painful. I need to get out of here but I can’t move. The need to feel his full lips around my cock is almost life-threatening.
I slither along the back wall toward the door, trying and failing to tear my eyes away from the stage. I can’t stop a whimper of need when he pulls his trademark move of tasting of his own precum.
I’m almost to the door when I feel it–his eyes finding mine across the room. I freeze as every thought leaves my mind. I’m a blank slate, an empty vessel waiting to be filled.
His lips curl up in that knowing smirk that used to piss me off but now holds the filthiest of promises.
This craving can’t be normal.
This desperation can’t be healthy.
Knowing I could silence all these demons in his flesh.
“The ball’s in your court.”
I dart out the door and sprint to the restroom, hoping I don’t run into any of my men on the way.
A splash of cold water on my face helps me to focus again, but it doesn’t alleviate the problem in my pants.
I can’t jerk off in the public restroom and I can’t pretend it away.
It’s obvious to anyone who looks at me. Maybe if I can make it to my office I’ll be okay.
I inch out into the hallway and look around. No one about. I manage to get to the office without running into anyone and find it thankfully unoccupied when I get there.
What possessed me to do that? I knew he’d be there. I knew what would happen. What always happens.
I no sooner slide behind my desk when Javi invades the room.
“Here you are.” He heads straight for the coffee machine to fill his mug. “I tried your phone.”
I pull out my phone and notice I have two unread messages. The other one is from Evie. “Sorry. I got hung up in the main house.” He doesn’t need to know why. “What did you need?”
“I wanted to talk to you earlier but you were busy with the interviews.”
“I’m here now.”