Landon
UNLESS I’M TOO DRUNK to think straight—and that very well could be—I swear I can see the heat swirling in Nathaniel’s eyes. As if the very nature of my defiant personality is turning him on, making him ravenous.
But also angry. So fucking angry as he stares down at me, teeth basically bared as he sneers.
In his tight shirt and black felt cowboy hat, he looks like a Southern belle’s wet dream. Or mine, depending on how much liquor is coursing through me. Because even as I know this man is terrible, a stalker, and a self-centered ass, I kind of want to lick him.
To be fair, he interrupted my potential hook-up, and I’ve been hard long before he told—Garry, I think?—to fuck off.
Suddenly, large hands are gripping my hips, Nathaniel’s hot breath assaulting my skin as he leans in and whispers, “Are you aware of how expensive that drink was?”
I scoff, ignoring the hot pangs of desire coursing through me. “A few bucks, maybe? Absolutely nothing for me, but I’m sure it’s concerning for a servant—”
My words are cut off as Nathaniel’s hand wraps tightly around the back of my neck, holding me still.
“You’re a terrible, self-absorbed little rat,” he spits out, panting against me. “Someone ought to teach you how to mind your manners.”
“Plenty of men teach me a lot of things, thank you. Now paws off, you won’t be one of them.” I’m pleased that I’m able to keep my words from slurring together, but Nathaniel isn’t impressed as I struggle against him.
It’s not a real struggle, not after I’ve been primed for sex and he’s so hot against me. But I try anyway. I have to; otherwise I’ll regret it in the morning.
Hate and attraction seem to blend seamlessly with liquor involved.
With his firm grip still encasing the back of my neck, Nathaniel drags me from the dance floor and into the hallway that leads to the restrooms, where he shoves me against the wall.
This area of the club is far less crowded, with only the occasional patron passing by to utilize the facilities.
Which means we’re basically alone.
“Let go of me,” I demand, but as the words leave me, I find myself gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer.
All I can taste is whiskey, and yet all I can smell is Nathaniel. His hands trace my body as he pins me down, his eyes stern and assessing.
I can see the battle in them, can sense his hesitation.
He’s just as fucked as I am. Drowning in hatred and lust and so fucking confused.
Nathaniel leans in once more, his lips brushing the shell of my ear and pulling an embarrassing shiver from within me.
“You act so tough for such a submissive man, little Lanny,” he whispers, and there are traces of tension and restraint laced in his voice.
A small laugh leaves me at the absurdity of it. “I may bottom sometimes, but never once have I been considered submissive, Nate.”
The nickname slips from between my lips so easily, yet it pours poison down the back of my throat. I’m becoming too familiar with him, too comfortable.
And I’m not the only one affected by it—Nathaniel shivers, his warm, hard body pressing further into mine.
It’s strange. Julian and I were perfectly matched in almost everything; his body was a comforting weight against my own because of this. I love fucking with men who have my build—it’s a preference.
But as Nathaniel pushes into me, taller and broader and so mean, I can’t help but crave it. And he’s staring at me as if he’s promising me a pleasure so severe it will shift into pain.
“In my hands, under my command, you would submit. I’d force you to,” he tells me.
“You could certainly try,” I shoot back. “In your dreams, that is.”
Rage swells in his eyes, and Nathaniel grips the side of my head, digging his fingertips into my scalp and yanking at my hair.
God, why does that feel so good?
“When Julian had you pinned down, taking you like he owned you, did you cry?” he asks, his voice dripping with violence and promises of doing just that. “Did you finally drop this bratty act?”
Mentioning Julian was a mistake. Even intoxicated, that murky darkness builds inside my chest, turning me into a cornered animal. I shove at his chest, meeting his eyes head-on as I narrow my own.
“When Julie fucked me, I held him down and rode him till he begged for me to stop,” I snap. “And after he filled me up, I flipped him over and destroyed him.”
Heat flashes in his honey-colored, cat-like eyes once more. It battles the rage, the primal look within them.
“Isn’t it sad?” he purrs, voice suddenly gentle and yet mocking at the same time as he leans in again, brushing his lips over my cheek. “Isn’t it so disappointing that my boss’s son will now be the one to ride him until he cries, babydoll?”
Babydoll. The nickname is sickeningly sweet compared to how he stares down at me, how he speaks. How he touches. I love and hate it in equal measure, absolutely appalled by his audacity.
And still, something inside of me cries out in misery. The idea of Atlas, sweet and kind, riding Julian like that makes me sick. Makes me angry.
I was the first to do it; the first to learn his body and his desires. It’s just not fair.
And now Nathaniel is here, rubbing it in my face like the cruel, sadistic man he is. Fuck him. Fuck all of this. Why am I even entertaining his crazy stalker tendencies? He can do nothing to me.
This misery feeds off the black ink inside of me, and I swing. The punch is weakened due to my intoxicated state, but it still makes Nathaniel’s face snap back, his jaw working as he returns his furious gaze to mine.
We stand just like this—panting and glaring—before I give him one hard shove to the chest and slip away.
That man can rot in hell for all I care. He’s rude, malicious, and so audacious that I can’t even pinpoint where the reasoning comes from.
Plus, who insinuates that I force men to sleep with me? I’m hot for Christ’s sake; I don’t need my gift for that. It’s wrong.
And now I’m unsuitable company, angry and horny.
It’s time to find Susie and get the fuck out of here.
My leg bounces beneath the dining room table. In short, I’m wound up. Tight. The sadness is building and building, right alongside the rage I feel for Nathaniel Barfred.
Not only did I not get laid last night, but I’m reeling from all his stupid comments. Little Lanny, babydoll, submissive.
A part of me wants to punch him until he can do nothing but wallow in the pain, but the other part? I want to make his everyday life a living hell.
The desire to fuck up his world, to show him just how terrible I can be. Whatever crawled up Nathaniel’s ass that day we first met has made him horrible to be around.
What is he doing in California anyway? There is no way he flew all the way here just to torture me.
His little spiel about ‘taking out the trash’ is weak and delusional.
If he wants to fuck me, whether out of hate or passion, he should just say that.
Making up these excuses about how terrible I am and how he needs to fix it is so lame.
I can see it in his eyes—how badly he wants to rail me. I can feel it in how he touches me. Always so rough yet so desperate.
He’s pathetic. Nathaniel Barfed needs to learn how to ask for what he wants, rather than make excuses.
Not that I’d give it to him. No way. He deserves to suffer.
And the arousal I’m feeling, the idea of him holding me down and making me scream, is not enough to persuade me otherwise.
I think.
Taking another drink of my protein shake, I sigh. My fists are clenched, my expression stuck in a permanent glare.
I will avenge myself. I will use the hatred within me that he finds so alluring and seduce him, only to break him.
Then, it will be me taking out the trash.
“Jesus, what’s gotten you so worked up this early?” Susie asks, appearing next to the table in her work clothes.
“Nothing,” I spit out, turning my glare onto my shake.
She laughs quietly, taking the seat across from mine. “Does this have anything to do with Nathaniel Barfred? I saw him at the club last night.”
My head snaps up, my panicked gaze meeting hers.
“How much did you see?” I ask, my voice strained.
“Not a lot. You guys disappeared from the dance floor while I was getting another drink.”
I almost sigh in relief. I can’t have Susie getting the wrong idea, or worse, reporting any details back to Julian. Not that it would matter—I just fear that he’ll think my feelings for him weren’t genuine.
“Yeah, well, he pissed me off. I didn’t even get laid,” I complain, slamming my protein shake back onto the table.
Susie raises a brow, grabbing the bunch of bananas from between us to snap one off. “Really? It looked like he was ready to fuck you. Why—”
“Never,” I insist, my blood boiling once more. “He will never get his hands on me. He…” I imagine him on his knees, broken and crying for mercy. “That bastard doesn’t know what he’s done, what he’s just unlocked.”
I’m so caught up in my plans of revenge that I barely hear Susie’s low whistle.
“That sounds ominous and a little goofy if I’m honest,” she teases. “But you do you, Lan. I’m off to work, okay?”
I don’t respond. I’m too busy marinating in the anger, the misery building inside of me.
Maybe I should try seeing my therapist again. I really do not feel well. All of this push and pull with Nathaniel and the situation with Julian, is opening a plethora of emotions that I’ve been so decent at hiding.
I haven’t felt this down since… well, since the last time Julian and I got into a fight.
And now there’s Nathaniel, who is absurdly obsessed with me and my gift, even though I never harm anyone with it. I swear, he thinks he’s the Batman of all superpowers.
My mind is reeling, but the clock is hitting ten, and I still haven’t gone to the gym.
Cardio should cool me off, right?
Wrong. By the time I’m leaving the gym, sweaty as all hell in my beater and my shorts, I’m still losing it.
Would it be weird to call Julian? I think just hearing his voice would make me feel better. I mean, we were best friends long before we were anything else, and I need that.
I need my best friend.
But I also know it’ll only hurt to hear him right now, so soon after imagining him with Atlas. Does he bottom for Atlas? Does he love the way his skin feels, the way he used to enjoy mine?
God, I really need to get laid.
As I push back the front doors of the gym, I spot a very familiar street bike in one of the closest parking spaces.
“Landon.”
Oh, motherfucker. I can’t seem to go a single day without running into Nathaniel. Can he go home already?
I turn, finding the man himself leaning against the building, his eyes bright as he stares me down.
“No silly cowboy hat today?” I ask, my tone bland and disinterested.
He doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he says, “You’re coming with me.”
I’m sorry, what? And why is he moving closer to me?!
“No way in hell will that be happening,” I reply easily, turning to head toward my car.
A large hand wraps around my bicep, my back slamming into a firm chest.
“When your stalker says to do something, you do it. Didn’t Daddy teach you how to respect your elders?” Nathaniel clicks his tongue, an annoying and alluring sound.
“He taught me a lot of things,” I mutter. And then I concentrate on the source in my chest, on filling the air around me with my own desires, and I speak. “Let me g—”
A hand clasps over my mouth, stifling my words.
“Your gift isn’t very useful if you can’t speak, is it?” he growls, digging his fingers into my skin. “If you try to manipulate me again, I’ll rip your tongue out, got it?”
The threat makes me shiver. The way he says it, I think he might be serious. I’ve never heard him quite this angry before.
“Nod if you understand,” he pushes, gripping me tighter.
So I nod. Not because I’m obedient, but because Nathaniel was wrong. I can recognize someone who is stronger than me.
“Good. Now get on the bike,” he adds, removing his hands from my body.
“I will not—”
“Landon,” Nathaniel interrupts, spinning me to face him. “If you want me to leave you alone, if you want me to go, then we need to talk. Get on the fucking bike.”
Alright, fine. But only because I’m confident that in a one-on-one fight, I could escape. And, if I’m honest, I’m kind of curious as to what he has planned.
Could I use this against him? I guess we’ll find out.
Reluctantly, I follow him to his bike.