Page 43 of Wristlocked
His floor.
She thinks I don’t know she spends half her nights there when she’s not with me. The elevator rises, and I stare at the little lit circle, wondering what he would do if I knocked on his door with her in my arms and offered her up to him. I look down at the ruin of her knees and the sticky mess coating the insides of her thighs.
Probably fucking kill me.
I push the button for the eighth floor.
She tries to protest when I pull her into my shower, but as soon as the hot water hits her skin, her resistance melts away. I clean away the destruction with an ache in my chest and a tenderness I don’t recognize, tasting the raw flesh at her knees and hip bones. I end up on the wet tiles with her in my lap, combing the tangles from her hair with my fingers as the water washes away the last of our sin.
Once she’s asleep, I lock myself in the bathroom and call Celeste, using the lingering scent of my soap on Gia’s skin and the memory of my name in her throat to survive. God, she was fucking stunning tonight. A phoenix, indestructible, begging me to break her. But when I finally crawl into bed and wrap myself around her, I’m no longer sure I can.
And the pieces of her that are already broken were never mine to fix.
I round the corner on the first landing and slide to an abrupt stop. Lyot Chace is leaning against the metal exit door, his hand buried in black curls I recognize as sophomore Jason Mallard’s, his dick buried in Mallard’s throat. I’ve been waiting to getthe pretty boy alone for days, but at the moment, I can barely remember why.
He opens his eyes at my arrival but otherwise doesn’t react. Something flickers low in my gut, the black lines of the tattoo on his lower abs overlapping the image of Gia’s own ink and stirring the goddamn memory of him on his knees in front of her. It’s a memory that lands in my dick, visceral and heavy, and for all my newfound moral intentions, I say the first thing that flies out of my mouth.
“Done fucking girls, then?”
“I was really only ever into fucking the one,” he replies, shrugging, but I can see his knuckles whiten on the hand holding Jason in place. The added pressure makes the kid moan around Chace’s cock, and I have to fight the urge to yank him back and punch the little asshole.
“Didn’t look much like fucking to me,” I push. Gia’s tried honey, but I’m done letting her beg, and it’s never been my style anyway. I don’t know for sure that the stick will work any better. I only know I couldn’t walk away right now if the stairs were on fire, any more than I can stop the words coming out of my mouth. “Looked like she put you on your fucking knees and told you to come like a dog to heel.”
The flash of fire in his eyes makes me smile, but he still doesn’t rise to the bait or stop thrusting slowly into Mallard’s idiot mouth.
“Ever stop to think what that means when I’m inside her?” he asks. Present tense, I notice.
“That you can come on command?”
“That I don’t comeuntilshe commands.”
Oh.
I can’t stop the images that flood me. Gia with her hair in sweaty tangles, bite marks on her breasts, and her legs wrappedaround my—his—hips, spent and liquid from hours of taking her pleasure. My cock twitches unhelpfully.
“How does that work with your dick in their mouth?” I gesture to Mallard. Chace sighs and detaches himself. It seems I’ve finally got his full attention.Good.
The stupid kid stumbles to his feet and gives me a glare before going in for a kiss, but Chace turns his head and sends him away with a lazy swat on the ass. As the door closes, he tucks himself back into his shorts, and I pretend I don’t notice that he’s still half-hard.
I am too, and I wonder if we’re picturing the same things. When he steps into my space, I don’t back down.
“I’m not a fucking dog,” he growls. “It only works withher.” Despite his anger, it still has the weight of a confession, and I see the struggle in his eyes when he bites out, “Has she tried it on you yet?”
No.
I don’t immediately reply, though, trying to decide what answer will cause him the most pain. Do Iwanther to try it on me? Would it even work? For a sudden burning second, I wonder ifIcould do it tohim, and I turn away, needing some fucking space between us after all.
“I come whenever the fuck I want to.”
“And how’s that working for her?” he asks. Fucking Christ. The guy’s making it way too easy. Maybe he’s the real masochist.
“Haven’t asked.” I give him my best smirk. “She’s too busy screaming my name.”
“Classy.” Instead of anger, he gives me a disgusted look, reminding me abruptly of Celeste. Something twists inside me, and now, beyond being an asshole, I’m actually fucking pissed.
It doesn’t matter; maybe it’s better.
“Maybe thinking she wants ‘classy’ is exactly your problem. She came looking forsomething, and she seems to like what she’s found.” I lean in. “I’ve had her in ways she says you never have.”
