Page 17 of Chasing Riddick

S ame rules apply.

This was absolutely fucked up. Even though Riddick didn’t seem interested in confirming that I wasn’t supposed to be experiencing any sort of release, I knew that’s what he meant.

He’d punished me the first day when I told him I’d touched myself a little. Then, today seemed to be a reward. He stretched me out, surfed with me, and kept me company while I made dinner.

It was nice.

I hadn’t had a home-cooked meal for dinner in a really long time. The last time I got to sit at a real table and eat something homemade was with my mom. That happy memory cut me directly to my core, and I glanced at the picture of her that I had hung up on the wall next to Mark Foo.

She was laughing in the photo, and it was how I liked to remember her. Having her up in the shack made me feel less alone, though it obviously wasn’t a good substitute for a real person.

Having Riddick stay over for dinner, even though he didn’t eat with me, had made me feel for the first time like this place I’d bought for myself was more than just a house.

It was home.

I’d been so happy.

Until he left and dropped more mixed-ass signals on me.

Unintentionally or not, the dude had basically edged me all day. Showering and getting ready for bed was fucking uncomfortable.

My balls were literally aching with how many times I’d gotten hard with no release. Like, I’m not joking; they actually kinda hurt a little.

I crawled into bed, tugged up my charcoal grey duvet, and snuggled in. I contemplated just saying fuck it and jacking off for some relief. Eyeing up the bottle of lotion that had sat unused on my nightstand for the last two nights, I bit my lip.

Why was he doing this to me?

There had to be a reason. Remembering how pissed I had been with him for making me do three hours of swim sprints, only to find out there had been a legitimate reason for that level of intensity in his training, is what stopped me from reaching for the lotion.

What if this was some sort of mental training he was putting me through?

Like some Mr. Miyagi shit?

Yeah. That was probably it. This had to be some kind of super-specialized mental conditioning. There was no other explanation for it.

After the way he’d left, like touching my face had burned him or something, I wasn’t under any illusions that he was actually into me.

Even if he was into me and this was all some weird way of flirting, I was still hella competitive at my core, and I couldn’t let him win. If this was a challenge, I needed to come out on top. It’s just who I was .

Forcing myself to ignore my painfully hard cock, I dug into my end table drawer and pulled out a bottle of over-the-counter sleep aids.

I didn’t love taking them because they made me wake up all groggy, but I started taking them after my mom died. The memory of how she’d looked when I needed to identify her body had kept me up all night. So, for a while, these little sleepy skittles were the only way I could ever get any rest.

After taking the tiny white pill, I rolled onto my side and shut my eyes.

I could do this.

I wouldn’t let him win.