Page 14 of The Chance

Hell, I’ve even tried the gay hookup apps like Topple.

Yet every time their hands land on me, I recoil. My skin crawls. My boner deflates.

And I feel like I’m lying.

My palm twists over the crown of my cock and a gasp escapes my throat as if to remind me that it’s definitely not a boner problem.

Don’t think about Jordan.

Dark hair and navy-blue eyes seep their way into my subconscious anyway and instead of fighting it like I always do, I just … give in.

Just this once.

I’m too close to coming to put up much of a fight when my thoughts become languid sexy fantasies that put Jordan on his knees for me. My cockhead sitting on the tip of his tongue. His plush lips spread wide and waiting for me to feed him my cock. He looks near desperate when I hold myself back, admiring the way my fist bumps his chin with each stroke.

In my mind, he’d be antsy. Begging. Waiting for me to fill his warm mouth.

Imagination breaking wide open, I thrust into him until I’m hitting the back of his throat and he’s choking on it.

In reality … I’m practically fucking my own fist and clamping down to stop the images from ending too soon.

I bet he’d be glorious on his knees.

Sinful.

Submissive.

The thought of Jordan softening beneath me is what does me in. I’m painting the shower wall with my cum, my barely contained groans filling the shower up with all the sounds I wish I could share with someone else.

My chest is heaving with the comedown, my pulse thumping in my ears.

But with each moment that the high of the orgasm fades, the more and more my chest constricts.

It’ll never be real.

The rest of my shower is completed on autopilot, an aura of darkness settling in around me as I mindlessly dry off and dress for the day.

It’s so heavy that my usual mask of normalcy can’t even hide the entirety of the shadows I cast as I join a freshly showered bodyguard in my living room.

He might have a quirk to his lips, a simple almost smile that’s fucking mesmerizing.

But I can’t even look him in the eye.

Chapter Seven

Mac

“Last time we talkedabout your twin and what happened on the bus. How are you feeling about that now?”

My eyes bulge at Dr. Ivy Surah’s directness.

“You remembered that?” I ask, dubiety lacing my tone. “That was six weeks ago.”

Doc almost tsks, her brow lifting just the slightest amount. “It was over twomonthsago, Mac. Besides,” she taps a slender finger to her temple, “I take notes.”

My mouth works like a fish before I shake my head and lean back on the couch.

“I would say the same …” I trail off and drop my sight to the floor because if I really stop to think about it, I actually feelworse.

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