Page 58 of From Best To Bested

As Roman’s head bobbed, Ezra got a firm grip and rammed his cock down Roman’s throat.

“You think you’ll choke on Levi’s dick this much?” Ezra looked down at Roman, watching him struggle, watching Roman desperately swallow and hold all of Ezra.

He’d done this to Roman a hundred times over. He could handle it, could resist the gag reflex and let the tears roll down his cheeks. But Roman couldn’t handle the accusation, the question that hit harder than Ezra’s entire shaft down his throat.

“I didn’t realize there was any fight left in ya.” Ezra bucked his hips, choking Roman with his cock, demanding Roman take every inch, not with words but the rough thrust again and again. Ezra hadn’t been this brutal in a long time. He wanted to break Roman down all over again, it seemed, shatter his willpower, and remind him of his place in life. But Roman already knew his place and accepted Ezra for everything he craved. Romanwould give the man anything and more if possible. He just needed to understand why Ezra was angry, why Ezra suddenly rejected him, why Ezra allowed—no, arranged—the night with Jake Finnegan and his crew.

As Roman gagged, Ezra spit onto his face, holding Roman to the base of his dick and rocking his head forward. Roman worked to keep up, to fix this.

Roman didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to react. What did Ezra know? This was some new trick. Ezra always managed to trick Roman, but he could never see the trap until after the fact.

“Bet you thought you were pretty clever, huh?” Ezra controlled the motion, as he often did, moving Roman’s head, making him obediently compliant to servicing the man.

Ezra’s dick became easier to hold in Roman’s mouth as his erection lessened. It seemed Ezra struggled with this information almost as much as Roman.

“I can’t even keep it up—that’s how much you make me sick.” Ezra tucked his slick dick into his pants and shot Roman a look of absolute disgust. “Bet you’re just dreaming of the day Levi becomes champion. Bet you’re hoping that’ll save your cheap ass, keep you from getting passed around.”

Roman trembled.

“But he’ll get bored with you just like I got bored with you, just like everyone who takes a turn on you gets bored.” Ezra ran his hands through Roman’s ruffled pink hair and dragged him to his feet.

“Levi’s not going to do anything,” Roman said weakly, regretting the lie the second it left his mouth.

“You really think anything happens in this place without my knowledge?” Ezra leaned in close, invading Roman’s space in a way he’d grown so accustomed to, yet for the first time in a long time, it sent a shiver through Roman’s body. “Your littleno-nothing friend thinks he can make a move for my power. He thinks he can step up to the rank of champion because he got lucky against a few nobodies.”

“No.” Roman held his head low, unable to look into Ezra’s angry green eyes.

“For too long, I’ve dragged out this slow death of yours.” Ezra slapped his hands on Roman’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You know I hate you, right. You know I’ve hated you. I’ve hated you since the first day I saw you.”

These weren’t questions; they were facts, truths that Roman had learned to ignore over the long, brutal months. He gave way to Ezra’s carnal desires as a way of mutual pleasure, not subservient torment. He focused on Ezra’s charming smile, not his hateful eyes. He accepted his feelings would always need to be second in order for them both to be happy.

“In the arena…” Roman hadn’t seen Ezra’s hatred during their first match, but he’d seen it nearly every day since. When Ezra talked to him, laughed with him, kissed him, fucked him, Roman always saw the hate and malice and rage in Ezra’s eyes, but he tried so very hard to focus on the smiles and kind words.

“Not the arena.” Ezra shook Roman’s head with a no. “I’ve hated you so much longer than that.”

“W-what?” Roman looked at him pleadingly. “Why?”

“The name Stacy Anderson mean anything to you?”

Hearing Stacy’s name come from Ezra’s mouth hit Roman like a fucking sledgehammer. If there were any shreds of calm, collected stability left inside his psyche, it’d surely been shattered at this point.

Roman stared wide-eyed and bewildered.

“I loved her with everything I had,” Ezra spoke calmly but was unable to hide the hate in his glare. “You took her away and then had the audacity to live your life.”

Roman withered a bit with each word, listening intently to Ezra, though his confession struck harder than any fist.

“When you got locked up, I tried to move on, tried to see the justice in you losing a few years of your life after you took all of Stacy’s years away. Everything.” Ezra’s words held a venomous heat that hit Roman’s cheek with breathy rage. “But then I found out you were just living it up! When I heard you were some hotshot champion, swinging your dick around and acting like you owned this place, it made my skin seethe.”

Roman never considered himself that lucky as the champion. It always felt one misstep away from falling apart. And it had. Ezra had ensured that much, taken it from Roman. He didn’t need a further explanation. He’d pieced it together. Ezra wanted Roman to suffer, so he took away his title.

“Stripping you of your title, that took so much training and preparation,” Ezra said. “And I really just wanted your ranking so I could make you a target, make your death quick and easy and satisfying.”

Roman listened obediently, having months of training to not flinch at Ezra’s words, Ezra’s actions, Ezra’s wants and needs and desires. Roman let Ezra satisfy himself with a confession meant to cut Roman down—if there was anything left in the man to break.

“When I first arrived, I wanted you dead,” Ezra said plainly, no hidden malice, just a fact of life. A fact Roman accepted. “After what you did, you thought you could live your best life, riding on top of the world as some fucking wasteland champion to a tiny prison that you carved into your image.”

That made sense. Roman didn’t deserve to keep his head above water, to swim against the brutal currents. No, Ezra had arrived so he could shove Roman’s head underwater and let the undertow drag him to the depths where he belonged.

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