Page 27 of The Try Line

CHAPTER 12

MIK

I'm panting—from exertion, from fear, from arousal.

The post orgasm clarity isn't hitting me like it did in the garage the other day. If anything, the amount of jizz covering me and the general area is having an opposite effect on me.

Fucking hell, I really might need a doctor. There's no way my cock is going to even attempt to rally after everything it's been through tonight. I'd already made myself come twice before Jason found me, and then came harder than I ever have in my life. I was so dizzy from it I didn't even realize what he was doing until his cock pressed against my hole. I was terrified he was about to split me in half, but also excited by the prospect. All my morals went out the window the moment he wrapped his lips around my cock. They must have abandoned me with the last of my brain cells, because I suddenly have no scruples against getting railed within an inch of my life. The most fucked up part of it is that his anger is part of what turns me on. I want him to take it out on me, to take me hard and rough, to use me to put us both out of our miseries.

Instead, he came all over me, and now he's staring at me without saying a word.

Is it the shame? Do I have a degradation kink that I didn't know about? Do I get off on feeling bad about myself, and being hosed down, marked like some kind of animal? Apparently, yes. Because the feel of his release cooling on my ass and balls and dripping off me onto the chair is both mortifying and the hottest thing I've ever experienced.

I should be freaking out. I should be crying that this isn't me, that I'm not this person.

Truthfully, I feel more like myself than I have in eighteen years.

I turn my head to look over my shoulder and find him still staring. No, not staring. Glaring. Where before I saw lust and possessiveness, now I see anger. His eyes flit up to meet my confused gaze, and I think I see… disgust. He tucks himself away and steps back, turning away from my eye contact.

Oh, there's some of that clarity I was missing.

What the fuck am I even doing right now?I'm bent over a chair with my legs spread wide, exposed, while cum drips down my ass. What am I waiting for? Permission to get up and clean myself off? Fucking pathetic.

Pushing myself up, I grab the towel I thankfully had the foresight to lie over the chair and wrap it around my waist. Cum still got on the chair in a few places, but I have some upholstery cleaner for that. If I get to it quickly enough, it won't stain.

"What are you doing?" Jason asks in a gruff voice. Yeah, he’s pissed.

"Cleaning up. What does it look like I'm doing?"

I walk over to the closet and grab the cleaner, a spray bottle of water, and a rag. I avoid eye contact, because it's very obvious I've done this before and that sense of shame I was missing before is creeping up on me.

Jason makes a dismissive sound, like a cross between a grunt and a huff of annoyance. I feel his eyes on me as I tend to the chair, finding the silence between us more awkward than ever. When I finish, Jason isn't watching me anymore. He's standing in front of my desk, holding a photo up to the candlelight. It's my favorite one, the one I keep on top of the stack. The one that reminds me of the days I was happier than I've ever been or ever will be again. Back when life was easy, and I had my best friend by my side.

Jason looks up at me, and then at the box he pulled the photo from. I sigh, realizing what it looks like. A bunch of pictures of us, of him, next to a box of sex toys. That I clearly use often enough to have an entire process for cleaning up afterward. My box of dirty little secrets. It's not far off, but it's not like I jerk off to those photos. Just to the thoughts of him and what our life would have been like if I hadn't fucked it up. If he hadn't left.

He thumbs through the contents of the box a little, then scoffs. After one last look at me, his expression completely unreadable in the dim lighting, he turns to walk out the door. Before he passes through the threshold, he stops and turns back.

"We should probably keep our distance."

I nod dumbly, because I don't have a response to that. He's right, we should probably stay far, far away from each other. What I don't understand is why he seems so pissed off. Like I was the one that came in here and forced him to my will. If the past few days have shown us anything, it's that I clearly have no willpower when it comes to him. My brain just shuts down and my body complies. My moral compass and my backbone are weaker than I would have ever believed.

"I'll text you a kitchen and gym rotation, so we don't have to cross paths. And I won't come down here again."

"Why did–"

"It was a mistake," he says tersely. "As soon as the roads are clear, I'm leaving."

There's a stab of pain in my chest that radiates to my stomach. I close my eyes, trying to breathe through a wave of nausea, and when I open them again, he's gone. I finish cleaning up, noticing the picture he was looking at is missing. I feel a pang that it’s gone, and another that he’s the one that took it. That he’ll look at it and maybe remember the way we used to be.

By the time I make it back to my room, the reality of everything I've done comes crashing down on me in full force. The look of disgust on his face, the way he spoke to me, the grimy feeling I can't scrub off my skin, it all compounds. My skin is slick with a thin sheen of sweat. Chills rack my body, and I lose the contents of my stomach, the bitter taste of whiskey burning its way up my esophagus.

Barely strong enough to force myself into bed and under the covers, I fall into a fitful sleep. I dream that I'm playing on Jason's rugby team. Only every time I try to get possession of the ball, one of my own teammates tackles me hard enough to knock the wind out of me. When the game is over, both teams converge around Jason in a massive orgy, where he fucks everyone in every which way. The entire time he's fucking all these impossibly hot guys, he looks me straight in the eye with that angry, disgusted look. Then Janel and Jase show up, and, completely ignoring the orgy happening on the field, they both look at me with that same expression.

I don't know what time it is when I wake up. There’s a little light in the sky. The rain isn't as heavy, and the thunder isn't as loud, but the clouds still make it dark enough that it's impossible to tell what time of day it might be. Not that it matters. I'll be staying right here for the foreseeable future. I feel like shit.

I fall back asleep and wake up two more times before I have to get up to pee. The pressure in my head is intense, and it only gets worse when I stand. I consider getting in the shower and rinsing off. I feel like I've been coated in a thin layer of oil, and the cold water would feel nice on my overheated skin. It's so fucking hot in here, it's stifling. I wish the fan worked, but the electricity is still out.

The longer I stand, the worse my head feels. My heart is beating too fast, and I want to puke again. I fall back into bed, flipping my pillow over and hoping for the fabric to be cooler. It's not.

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