Page 31 of Exposed

“He’s an ex-con,” you say.

I nod. “I know. He told me.” I lick my lips. “He told me it had something to do with you. Or, that was the implication, at least. He wouldn’t say what. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just come back with me. I’ll help you figure things out. I’ll give you space.”

“I don’t know if I can be alone with you anymore. Not after what happened with you and Rachel.”

A sigh. A long silence. Another sigh. “Come back.” Your eyes meet mine. I see a glimmer of emotion in them, a tiny, infinitesimal spark. “Please.”

Where else do I go? I have nowhere. No one. Rachel is tainted for me now. I cannot see Rachel without seeing you, fucking, pounding, spanking, staring at me.

I want to go to Logan. I want to bury my head in the sand. I want his arms around me. I want his eyes on mine, his hands on me, his lips. I want that, so badly. I want his truth. The easeof everything that is him. But what if he’s lying, too? What if I become addicted to him the way I’m addicted to you?

You are a drug. I am hooked on you.

I read a book about drug addicts, about addiction. How even when addicts know the drug is killing them, they cannot stop. They return to it time and again, despite knowing the toll.

I return with you, despite knowing that I cannot trust you. That you are lying, that you are keeping truth from me. That you are manipulating me into staying. I go with you, because I am addicted.

Chapter

Seven

You pin me up against the door of the elevator, hips hard against mine, and your hands roam my body, one sliding up to grip my hair and the other stripping me of my clothes. Your mouth crushes mine, but this is not a kiss, this is a demonstration of ownership. Your mouth steals my breath. Your hands steal my will.

Your body erases my thoughts. You are hard against me, giving me no chance of arguing, of hesitating, of pulling away. I am imprisoned by your mastery over my body. You know the buttons to push, and you push them. I am rendered helpless.

You are an incubus.

Somehow, you become naked. I do not remember seeing or feeling you remove your clothes, but I feel your skin against mine. You are not gentle, or slow. You ravage my mouth with yours until I must rip my face away and gasp for breath.

And that is when your hands press down on my shoulders and I am forced to my knees. Your hand is tangled in my hair, and you force my head back. My heart hammers, and I stare up at you, lips parted in shock. This is not the Caleb I know, the man who has possessed my body every night, every day for... for as long as I can remember.

Your penis is an erect shaft in front of my face, thick and veined and plump-headed and as perfect as the rest of you, although I suppose I have no frame of reference, only the knowledge of your body, thus.

“Open your mouth,” you command.

I open my mouth. My body obeys, although my mind is numb.

You thrust yourself into my mouth, roughly. I gag. You pull back. Thrust again.

“Is this what you want?” you demand. “The way I treat them?”

Ah. We return to this.

You thrust into my mouth, and I taste flesh, gag as you reach the back of my throat, choke as you push deeper. My eyes water, and my nose touches your belly. I cannot breathe, and my jaw aches, my eyes leak involuntary tears, and I am paralyzed by this, by you, by the ache, the choking of your erection down my throat, and I suck in a breath through my nose.

I do not like this.

I shake my head and try to pull away, but the door is behind my head and I have no escape.

“Is this how you wanted it?” You ask.

I shake my head.