Page 4 of Worthy

Two dark forms slip and slide over each other, mewling, grabbing. Limbs are interconnected in ways that seem uncomfortable but sound so fucking good from the noises they’re making…and none of them sound feminine.

I blink once, twice. I don’t even think I’m breathing.

Sweat trickles down my temple and more licks down my spine, a slow descent over each vertebra. My jersey is uncomfortably tight from the rapid expansion of my chest. My muscles are rigid and unyielding as blood rushes through me, hot and illicit. It fills my length until I’m aching.

I press the heel of my palm against it, hard. Harder, shoving it down until I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. But I never look away. My eyes are fixed on them.

They move together effortlessly, like they know one another intimately. Something in my chest pangs, causing me to suck in a breath.

My foot shifts against the thin, worn carpet, and the door creaks closed, eliminating the last sliver of light apart from the small windows in both doors, giving me just enough to acclimate. I don’t want to see them—to have this impossible illusion shattered.

Slurping rings loud in my ears, followed by sucking.

The scratch of nails on denim. The hiss of a zipper.

Moans.

My skin feels like a live wire, zapping, arcing and ready to strike.

A flash of something bright makes my eyes flick up from the dense mass of the two of them. Blonde hair, longer, hanging in front of a face…that’s looking right at me.

I choke on nothing as my eyes clash with the whites of another. I can’t make out anything more than that—I don’t want to.

Everything good flushes right out of me, replaced with repulsed dread. A bone-deep disgust I’ve been warring with for years.

I shouldn’t feel this way…seeing this. Hearing this. It’s—it’s…my most dreaded fear come to life.

The proof that what he did…altered me.

My eyes sting, my nose burning, my body aching. Worst of all—my dick is on fire, balls heavy and pulsing with their own heartbeat. The pressure of my palm against my length only gives me friction, eliciting the worst kind of noise to tear from my throat.

I catch it as it tumbles out, sounding more muffled and painful than it should have.

What’s so much fucking worse than someone seeing me,like this,is that neither one of them are stopping. The one guy…he doesn’t know I’m here. But the other…hasn’t taken his eyes off me.

The shadows of the room seem lighter all of a sudden, darkness fading into shapes. Sharp angles, silver glinting. Big, thick lips pasted on a mouth spread wide open as a tongue slides inside.

Oh, fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

My own breath comes out in heavy pants. I can’t move, can’t breathe. Can’t…

A weak groan falls from my lips as my cock throbs in heavy pulses. White flashes, blood roaring in my ears. And while my worst nightmare shreds what I thought was my truth…a pair of gleaming, gray eyes stare in me, through me, right to my fractured core.

***

That was four months ago, and Abel Silver hasn’t missed a day since to fuck with my head.

Blind panic was all I could feel for weeks. I kept my eyes peeled for Abel, watching, waiting for the moment he’d tell everyone what I saw, what I did… I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep as I obsessed over it.

But over time, as the months went on, it became clear Abel didn’t plan on saying a word—because he has a much more sinister idea: to use me for his own sick pleasure. He derives something lecherous out of pushing me with that sharp, manipulative twinkle in his sad, foster boy eyes.

His tactics have only gotten worse since my mom started fostering him a month ago. It’s becoming increasingly impossible to resist. So, I snapped.

***

“Don’t fucking walk away from me,” I bark as Abel rounds the corner, disappearing down the hallway. The soft pad of his pink fucking shoes across the carpet tells me he’s making a beeline for his room.

Typical of the little runt after toying with me all damn night.

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