Page 4 of Flog Me, Sir

Chapter Two

Garret

My eyelids opened at the butt crack of dawn, but the rising sun wasn’t my favorite backside. Rather than get hard at her appearance, I shoved my head under my pillow with a scowl. Waking alone sucked ass, but waking with a woman whose name I didn’t remember, along with an awkward farewell, was always worse. I’d had my fill of both, and not for the first time, I found myself wishing for more.

Love that didn’t need to be earned.

Love that accepted less than perfect.

Love that didn’t neglect when needed.

Adoration and devotion.

Two of my three best friends had found that kind of all-consuming emotion, and I envied them like a motherfucker.

Lily looked at Adam like he hung the moon in the night sky. Natalie’s eyes shone with the same kind of light whenever she stared at Jordan. To be adored in such a way—to be necessary rather than invisible to someone you cared about—that must be heaven.

I heaved a sigh and frowned at the darkness behind my eyelids. Negativity never drew anyone in, but while alone, I allowed myself to just be. I gave my emotions free rein, allowed my thoughts to roam as they would, and I didn’t bother with my happy-go-lucky façade.

My stomach complained, and I thought of Tillie girl’s grits waiting for me downstairs.

I wanted to cut my self-reflection short, but memories from the night before trickled through my brain at the thought of food—the kitchen below—and the cute little blonde Mrs. Hummel had introduced me to.

The typical girl next door looks had never hit me as sexy before, but shuttered hazel-brown eyes enhanced by nothing more than a few licks of mascara had struck me and stuck with me long into the night.

I’d enjoyed my time in the church with the two women whose names I couldn’t remember, whose eye color I couldn’t name, even though they’d both peered at me while sucking me off together. It had been that girl—Lissa—I had imagined swallowing down my cum when I finally managed to bust a nut.

My semi swelled, and I ground my hips a bit, enjoying the friction of the sheets beneath me.

So much for those grits.

I fisted myself to thoughts of sneaking my way inside Lissa’s soul, emptying her head of everything but my touch, the painful pleasure I could give her, the world I could open her mind to.

Pre-cum oozed, slickening my length for every slow grind of my hips while I fucked the hand tucked beneath my body.

Far shorter and a lot less curvy than my usual, Lissa had made an impression enough I wanted another look. Another touch of her hand. I wanted to see her breath catch and the pulse in her neck flutter like it had the night before when Mrs. Hummel had introduced us.

I wanted her chained to the church’s cross, sweating and panting, with tear tracks lining her cheeks and lash marks decorating her backside. I wanted her arousal dripping down her thighs, coating my tongue—

“Fuck.” I groaned as my climax caught me unaware, spunk coating my hand and the sheets in a hot, sticky mess, but I rubbed myself in it until the last spurt sent a shudder through me.

My muscles melted, and I heaved an exhale, the frown gone from my face. Thoughts of Lissa and my goddamn hand had been ten times better than the night before with thing one and thing two—even if both had talented mouths and had swallowed every inch of my dick.

I huffed a snort, and my cell dinged.

With my free hand, I fished blindly on the bed stand until I found my phone. Brushing my pillow off my face with my shoulder, I blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the morning light to see who had texted.

Little Sis: How’s my man whore big bro?

I grinned. Banter like that meant she was sober—a rare occurrence. Using my thumb, I typed back a quick thumbs up and capital U with a question mark.

While waiting on her reply, I rolled onto my back away from the sticky sheets and grabbed the closest piece of clothing off the floor beside the bed where I’d stripped the night before.

I rumpled up the tux shirt, somewhat cleaning up my groin and hand before she replied with her usual request for something. My need to give her what our parents didn’t to either of us as children had me agreeing. Accepting and loving my sister without condition, and providing her a safe environment for communication had been my life’s goal from an early age. Providing what my parents neglected made me feel less shitty about relationships as a whole, even if I sometimes enabled my sister’s abusive tendencies. She’d been in and out of rehab, but I still couldn’t say no to her.

She called me her favorite pushover.

She’d also been sober for almost six months, and trusting her story about needing money for a deposit on a new apartment since she needed to leave her loser boyfriend, I promised to wire the cash.

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