Page 53 of Tight End

But the way my skin tingles under his icy blue-eyed stare, the way my heart rattles against my ribcage when he’s in my airspace, and the way the electricity crackling in the air between us ignites fires down deep in my soul…it all makes me think that I’m doing a tightrope dance over a dark, bottomless abyss where hate and lust are in the throes of war.

One wrong move will plunge me into the depths with no hope of a return.

And still, here I am, my mind and body in a perpetual brutal battle.

Fucking him was wrong.

Coming here was stupid.

But I just couldn’t stay away.

I’m drawn to the guy like moths to a flame even though everything about him is wrong, dangerous, and detrimental to my future.

But at the same time, everything about him is magnetic, intoxicating, and all-consuming.

Maybe even more so now that he’s a complete train wreck, and I don’t even want to think about what kind of a headcase that makes me.

I’ve always been the rock for people in my life, always wanting to give of myself, to help and support, to be the strength when everyone else crumbles. It’s who I am.

Maybe it’s part of the reason why I went to the press conference today, but it’s not why I’m here now.

It’s not why I’m fighting the urge to tear off Brixton’s boxer briefs and flip him around so I can violate him the way his heated gaze begs me to.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he says, his voice tight. “You made your appearance at the hotel. Nobody asked you to do anything more. I didn’t…”

His voice breaks off, his thought hanging in the tense air.

“I didn’t want you to come here,” he finally says.

“Liar,” I say, dipping my head and flicking my tongue over his right nipple before teasing his ring. Last night was so quick and hot and dark, I didn’t get a chance to take my time with him before losing myself inside of him.

A moan slips from his mouth and his hands find their way around my back, fingers digging into my spine as I taunt his sensitive flesh.

“I’m not one of your charity cases.” Brixton’s head falls backward against the wall. He thrusts his hips against me, grinding against my cock. “I don’t need a sympathy fuck.”

I lift my head and narrow my eyes at him. “What makes you think I’m here to sympathize with you? You don’t deserve it after what you did.”

Bringing my lips to his neck, I press into him, the friction of our dicks rubbing together awakening every nerve ending inmy body. My lips move down the slope of his neck and I bite his flesh. Hard.

So hard, I hope it leaves a mark. I want him to remember this every time he looks at himself in the mirror. I want him to feel the ache and the yearning all over again.

I work my way back up to his parted lips but I don’t kiss him. Instead, I pull away, my breaths wobbly. His eyes fly open as if he can sense the space I just put between us.

“I don’t deserve it,” he whispers. “So if you came here just to tell me that, then leave. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“You think you can get away with doing and saying whatever you want because you’re a spoiled, selfish asshole.”

His stubbled jaw tightens as he rips open my belt and pants. He shoves my clothes to the floor and I kick them off along with my shoes.

“You hurt people. You ruin them. And you don’t give a damn about the damage you cause,” I say, my cock throbbing as my gaze trails the length of his lean, tattooed body.

I shove his boxer briefs to his ankles and slide my hands up the sides of his legs, squeezing his ass when they reach those perfect globes.

He shoves my jacket off my shoulders then tears open my shirt with no regard for the buttons. I slide it off and rip the tie off my neck then pull off my socks.

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” he hisses, winding his fingers into the back of my hair and giving it a hard pull that sends sparks of need straight to my groin. “Don’t you dare judge me.”

Bringing one of my hands to his hard cock, I lean in close, my lips practically against his. “I know you want me to fuck you. I know you want me to make you come again.”

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