Page 10 of Six
My gaze searches for Oliver, but I can’t find him among all the people. Getting punched during the fight was enough proof that he’s a distraction I cannot indulge in. Still, I give one last cursory glance.
When I walk through the crowd this time, no one attempts to touch me, which is a good thing. The anger inside of me is hardly placated, and I don’t want anyone poking at it.
The sound of my heavy footsteps creates an echo in the deserted corridor, while the anger in the pit of my stomach keeps silently rolling and twisting. The light pain is back inside my head. Fuck! I thought I shook it off.
I need just a few minutes by myself and everything will be set to rights again. But when I enter, the bathroom is not as empty as I expected.
“We should stop meeting like this,” Oliver says, that crooked smile tilting his lips. But his eyes don’t have the same mirth as last time. They are studying me with a smidge of curiosity in them.
I force myself to ignore him and keep walking, halting when I reach my duffle bag.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t take the hint. “You look edgy, Hulk.”
I grunt noncommittally. I’m not edgy, I’m fucking furious, and I need a moment alone to fucking destress. I grip the edges of my open bag tightly, looking at the contents unseeingly, too focused on trying to control myself. To push away the pain and ease the anger.
“I can help with that, you know?” I freeze. Oliver’s delivery is smooth, nonchalant, like he didn’t just witness me crushing a man’s hand, dislocating his shoulder, and knocking him out.
I turn toward him with the intention of shooting him down again, but my eyes fall on his smirking lips. The absence of fear in him is like an aphrodisiac. My cock starts filling inside my briefs at the thought of his hot mouth impossibly stretched around it. The violent feeling inside of me craves an instant outlet, but it can’t be him. My roughness will certainly scare him.
“I thought your offer wasn’t going to stand this time,” I remind him of his words.
He shrugs and takes a couple of steps toward me. I can smell honey on him with a strong earthy undertone. It makes me growl. Christ, it’s delicious.
“Sounds like you need it.” He bites his lower lip in a flirtatious move, and I have to force my body to remain still. I’m fucking trying to resist because he has no idea what he’s getting himself into.
“We can skip all the talking,” he almost purrs. He reminds me of a cat. A sexy kitty who can easily turn into a skittish, yowling one, ready to swat his clawed paw.
“You’re playing with fucking fire.” I grit my teeth, almost wincing at the cracking sound.
“I like it when it burns,” he says in his sultry tone and looks at the growing bulge inside my jeans. “Your cock is clearly asking me to stay.”
Damn it! “My cock doesn’t ask. It uses and takes…forcibly. And right now, I’m not in the right state of mind.”I never really am.
His lips part and then his tongue comes out to slick them. His beautiful green eyes dilate, and the dark ring around his irises grows larger, making his entire gaze darken with lust. My words, instead of making him flee, are turning him on. Doesn’t he have any self-preservation? A cat in fucking heat. That’s what he is.
“Okay.”
Okay?
He suddenly shortens the distance between us and then falls on his knees at my feet, leaving me speechless. His hands very slowly lift, palms up like he’s dealing with a wild animal, which is not that far from the truth. He unbuttons and pulls my pants down to my knees, giving me ample time to stop him, which I don’t.
He gasps a short “Fuck.” Heated eyes zero in on my hard cock tenting the cotton briefs. I can see the pink head peeking out of the waistband, pushing against the elastic. I’m hung like a horse, long and thick, and that’s another reason why I use escorts. Because most people cannot take my enormous size or simply don’t want to.
Oliver doesn’t seem scared by it. Quite the opposite, actually. He looks hypnotized.
I’m looming over him in this position—more than usual, since I have at least twelve inches on him. I take in every piece of him, from the bottom of his scuffed black sneakers to his long legs, the purple hoodie, which has slid to the side, displaying the golden skin of his shoulder. His desire-stricken eyes. The lust for me is clear in the hitch of his breath and the blush on his cheeks.
Why should I keep pushing him away when we both want this badly?
I’m so close to him, I feel the urge to touch a lock of stray hair that has fallen on his cheek. But I don’t do that. I never do that. Because fucking isn’t an intimate experience. It’s a way to release the extra energy, stress, anger, and pain while feeling so damn good.
“No touching,” I tell him. “Hands behind your back.” His eyes narrow with caution when he lifts them up to my face—I don’t like to see it, not on him—but he quickly follows my order. And the small action has my dick hardening painfully.
My hand hesitates on my briefs for a second while I’m reminding myself he isn’t one of the sex workers I usually fuck. He hasn’t been briefed and warned beforehand about what I want and expect. The fight inside me is raging, but the need to vent is going to win very soon if he remains here with me.
I’ve growled menacingly at the very few stupid people who’ve hit on me in the past, never tempted by any of them. This raw attraction toward Oliver is so damn overwhelming.
His cheeks turn redder, and as if he can read my mind he tells me, “You can be rough. I like it.” His damn words have precum forming on the tip of my dick.
