Page 25 of Gambler's Fallacy

He flinches and takes a step back, his eyes flicking to the doorway before going back to my face. “Does sh—” He cuts himself off, then asks, “Did he hurt you too?”

“Not like he hurt my mom.” My hand hurts. I pull it away from the wall, staring at the smeared paint on my knuckles. “Fuck.”

Seven falls silent, but he doesn’t continue to move away from me. Instead, he says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I repeat. “Why are you sorry?”

I need to calm down. I need to think rationally.

But all I want to do is hunt the Step Asshole down and beat him to a bloody pulp.

“Because…” Seven hedges, and his eyes flick tothe door again. “Because I’m not… I don’t know what to say. Do you want me to look at your hand?” He smiles, but it looks forced. “You’re gonna break your fingers one day.”

I reach out to Seven, my thoughts hazy. My hand wraps around his throat.

His breath catches sharply, but he leans into my touch instead of pulling away from me more.

I squeeze for a few seconds. I’m going to hurt him.

I loosen my grip, but I don’t let go. “Tell me to stop,” I whisper.

He gives a quick shake of his head. “I don’t want you to stop,” he says. I realize he’s trembling, but he takes a step closer to me.

He’d been upset even before I’d hit the wall.

I scared him.

But the rage is still roiling inside of me, and I can’t stop myself. I shift my grip and push—slam—Seven up against the still-wet wall. He lets out a mewling gasp, and I grind my cock against his perfect ass.

“I’m going to fuck you right here,” I growl.

“Yes,” he says.

I think he’d say yes even if he didn’t want it, and that should stop me.

It doesn’t.

I push his long hair aside and bite the back of his neck, frotting against his ass. His hands clench against the wall, but he pushes back, too, increasing the friction.

He needs to stop playing with fire, I think, as I claw at his sides.

Seven continues to make soft sounds, pleading with me, and he rubs back against my hard cock. “Fuck me,” he pleads. “Don’t wait.”

Arousal spikes through me. I reach for his zipper and loosen his jeans enough to push them down and expose his pert ass. I grip his ass cheeks, smearing more of the blue paint on him.

I can almost hear Vortex admonishing me, telling me to slow down.

Caleb would egg me on, though.

I spread Seven’s cheeks and spit on his hole.

He jerks — in surprise or pleasure, I can’t tell — and whimpers something unintelligible. It doesn’t matter what he’s saying. He wants this, even if he’s scared of it.

Of me.

I undo my own fly awkwardly, wiping my hand on my shirt first to avoid getting paint onto my cock. When my erection is free, I spit on Seven’s hole again.

“I’m going to fuck you raw,” I growl into his ear. “Unless you want me to be gentle?”

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