Page 23

I blink, realizing how ridiculous that sounds, but the alcohol is hitting me, making me say shit I shouldn’t say.

“Y-you need to tell me.” My voice is far away, tinged with sadness. Guilt. Turmoil. Fucking fear, because this isn’t how I am with people. At least, not like this. But I need him to understand. I need someone to understand because explaining it is difficult. How do I make him understand?

I want to get up. I really do, but the switch in my brain that makes me functional has short- circuited. Mack and his demanding voice has me all fucked up.

He looks at me like I’ve grown three heads, and already I feel like I’m dangerously close to letting Real Alex slip through the cracks.

Which I can’t do .

“Get the fuck up,” he seethes, taking a step closer to me.

I scramble to my feet, swallowing hard as I adjust my aching cock. Our eyes meet, and he leans in closer. As badly as I want to ask if I did good, I won’t.

I can’t ask for shit from Mack. This, whatever this is between us, it’s delicate. Probably the most delicate thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.

Maybe it’s the alcohol.

Maybe it’s the fact I’m surrounded by all the things I’m never going to have.

Maybe it’s because Jordan somehow hacked my subspace without me realizing it.

The walls dropped for a fraction of a moment, and Real Alex broke through.

Jordan doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, just keeps staring at me like he can’t decide if he wants to punch me or kiss me. So I make the decision for us both, consequences be damned.

I lean in and kiss him because it’s what I need. I need to feel his soft lips, his warm tongue. I need to feel what words can’t convey. I need to feel his heartbeat beneath my palm.

I need to be grounded so I don’t get lost…

My tense muscles loosen, and I unravel just the slightest for him. My breath catches, my stomach swirls with anxiety and panic. My eyes feel the beginning of tears on the edge of sanity.

Push me over the edge, Mackenzie.

Please…

Mack kisses me back, and I can fucking breathe, but it lasts seconds at most, because he shoves me away. He pushes me away, and he leaves me standing there, hard, on the verge of breaking.

And alone.

So fucking alone.

Even though he’s still standing right there, at the sink, avoiding his own reflection.

I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

I came so close to letting him see me, but I can’t do that. I fucking can’t.

So I adjust my stupid cock and promise myself I won’t let him get that close again.

Next time I’ll be better. I’ll have more control. I won’t allow myself to be so weak.

Mack glances up at me as I come to stand next to him. He doesn’t say anything, and that pisses me off. There’s no point in saying something because he won’t care—because he doesn’t care.

“Wait two minutes before you follow me,” he gripes, and I scoff as he unlocks the door and pulls it open.

With all the emotion swirling in me, and those bitchy, needy, little pieces of me clamoring to make themselves known, I push it all down and lunge toward him, grabbing his arm and making him face me. The shock on his face is clear. I glare up at him, noting the darkness that’s returned to his gaze.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” I snap.

I shove him aside, catching him off guard, and he stumbles into the wall. I leave without a word, my steps full of purpose, my heart full of anguish.

What the fuck are you doing, Alex?

I push past some guests as I head back to the dance floor, not bothering to look behind me.

My body is shaking and my head is a mess, and if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to break, and I can’t let anyone see me break.

The crowd on the dance floor is thinning out as people start to leave, but there’s still a good amount of people drinking and having a good time.

But I don’t give a shit. I head for my suit jacket that’s hanging over my chair at the table and grab it, fishing my room key out of the pocket.

I see Mack out of my peripheral, and I try my hardest not to look at him. My cock aches and I know I need to get out of here so I can take care of myself in fucking peace.

My hurricane of emotions swirl, biting at my consciousness, or what’s left of it.

He doesn’t want you .

No one wants you because you’re not worth it.

You’ll never have all of this happily ever after shit because you’re not worth it.

No one will ever love you.

I push back the tears threatening to fall. Sure, crying at a wedding is expected, but I don’t need any of these assholes—friends or family—to see me come undone. Especially because it has nothing to do with this fucking wedding.

I’ve had too much to drink, and I’m too worked up emotionally and physically. The trifecta recipe for an Alex Brewer disaster.

I need to get out of here so I can breathe, come, and relax. Maybe pass out.

So that’s what I do. I don’t bother to stop for anyone, and no one stops me.

I think I hear someone call my name, but I ignore that too.

The music thumps loudly as the sounds of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere” fills the air, chastising me and shoving those whimsical romantic notes down my fucking throat, reminding me of what I’ll never have.

I jab the elevator buttons, and then I hear the voice, loud and clear.

“I’m fucking talk to you, Alex!” His firm grip is on my shoulder and he forces me to turn around .

Jordan stands there with a confused look on his face, his eyes glistening from drinking, his pouty, kiss-swollen lips parted.

“Leave me the fuck alone.” I shrug him off.

I mash the button, willing it to work faster. The bitterness starts to spread. It’s up to my stomach now.

You aren’t worth more than a blowjob in the bathroom.

Fucking slut. No wonder you can’t find someone to love you.

I screw my eyes shut, shoving the heel of my hand into them as I curse, trying to ignore the vicious voice in my head telling me what a piece of shit I am.

“Alex…”

The elevator door opens not a moment too quickly and I rush inside. Mack follows me, and I try to catch my breath. It’s coming in fast as the voice in my head gets louder, replaying all my failures. I slide my hand around my neck, but I didn’t wear my choker today. Fuck .

Fuck, fuck, I need something in my hands, I need—

My hands find my undone tie, fingers playing at the fabric, needing something to grip, but it’s not enough. It’s not harsh like a chain. It doesn’t do shit for me or the vicious voice in my head.

“Look at me, Alex!” Mack barks. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I shake my head, and for one moment, I steal a glance at him. In the bright lights of the elevator, he looks wild as fuck. His slicked back hair is messy, strands falling out from the gel. His eyes are wide, and he’s looking at me like he actually gives a shit.

For the briefest moment, I want to believe he does, because I am that fucked up.

I push past him when the elevator doors open. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

I will not be fine if I don’t get into my room in the next five minutes and cry my way through an orgasm and pass the fuck out.

That’s always been part of my problem. I feel too much, and I shouldn’t.

Tears are hot as hell when you’re choking on dick, but it’s a total mood killer when you’re getting fucked or touched.

People tend to freak out and think there’s something wrong with you, or that they’re hurting you, but it’s the exact opposite.

It doesn’t hurt at all. It feels so good.

The sting of nails scraping down my chest or a tight grip on my throat, a brutal shove here and there.

I want to feel everything. That kind of ecstasy…

it isn’t comfortable for most people. The people I’ve been with, aside from the dom I hooked up with two years ago, they don’t want to hurt me.

They don’t understand that it’s not the pain I’m after. It’s the switch inside of me that flips when I am pushed over the edge. And when I break, they hold me. They touch me, they love me. Even if it’s just for a moment .

I crave the pain so they can make it better after.

The only person who ever understood that was Britt, but she couldn’t handle it. Because she didn’t want to hurt me, either, and seeing me unravel is not pretty. I get why people walk away.

I don’t blame them. It’s a lot.

The sexy, kinky asshole isn’t as fun when he’s overstimulated. He’s a fucking mess and out of control.

That’s why it’s easier to be Asshole Alex who doesn’t care.

The slut you fuck in Vegas or get a messy blowjob from in the bathroom, rather than Real Alex—the guy who begs to be choked and fucked until he cries, who wants to be cuddled and held until the sun comes up afterwards.

I am so fucked up, I accept that, but why can’t someone else accept it too?

Mack chases me down the hall, his footsteps heavy. “Don’t give me that shit, Alex. Something is wrong.”

I ignore him as I head for my suite. He pushes me against the wall just before my door. He grabs the keycard out of my hand and whips it down the hall. Not that it goes far, since it’s light as a feather, but I get his point.

“What the fuck, Jordan. Knock it off,” I bite out, moving to go grab my key, but he shoves me against the wall again.

“No.” He holds my gaze, one hand on my shoulder. His palm is hot against my shirtsleeve .

I push back, trying to go for my keycard. The weight of his body presses against mine and it silences the bitterness for the briefest moment.

It hurts. It hurts too fucking good. I think he might actually leave a bruise.

“Please,” I hiss through my teeth. Though I’m not sure if I’m begging for him to stop or to rough me up some more. I’m too drunk to know which is which.

My cock stirs from the weight of him on top of me, spurred by his harsh touch, but I know we’re out in the open. Anyone can see us.

He’s not in his right mind. If he was, he’d be singing another tune.

I look at him, the tears edged in my eyes as he pulls on the fabric of my shirt. Every nerve in my body comes alive like an electric shock.

“Someone might see you,” I whisper, trying to be cocky but only sounding weak. He grunts out a sound that goes straight to my cock as he gazes back at me with a heated glare. “Wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

His free hand settles on my waist, holding me in place with brutal force. His chest rises and falls against mine as his nostrils flare, his touch is aggressive. Brutal. Like the fucked up asshole I am, I only want more, but I know I can’t have it.

It’s no use fighting. Between the vicious voice telling me I’m a fucked up asshole and Mack’s heavy body pressed against me, the first tear escapes my right eye. I force myself to look away from him. My cock strains against my pants, which are already tight as hell.

“Just let me go,” I say through a sob. “I’ll be fine, I—” I look towards the other end of the hallway. No one is up here, but that doesn’t mean they won’t come traipsing up any second. “Everyone else does.” I say the words without thinking, forgetting myself for a moment.

His grip on me lets up as I wipe the tear from my cheek. He looks at me with judgment, and I fucking hate it. I’m used to being judged, but when he looks at me like that—fuck.

Then he walks away, and I can simultaneously breathe and not breathe all at the same time. The disappointment and relief are choking me. He’s leaving me. Just like I knew he would, but so badly didn’t want him to.

My eyes fall shut as I take in a shaky breath, and when I open them again, he’s stopped in the middle of the hallway.

I stare at him from my spot against the wall, unable to move. His large body takes up a good portion of the hallway and I can’t tell if he’s spotted someone or what. He bends down slowly, stands up, then turns to face me. The light glints off something in his hand.

My key.

He walks back to me. His gaze is hazy, but it’s also full of darkness as he swipes it against the lock .

I smell the alcohol on his breath, mixed with his cologne.

My skin is hot and my heartbeat sounds so loud in my own ears I think he has to be able to hear it, and my cock is so painfully hard, I think I could bludgeon him to death with it.

I can still feel the spots on my body where he touched me, burning something fierce.

I know what his grip feels like, know what he tastes like. Like poison, I can’t get enough.

“Get in the fucking room, Alex,” he rasps out as he turns the handle and pushes the door open. His tone is rough, commanding. The switch in my brain wants to flip, but I’m too overwhelmed. Obedience is harder when I’m overwhelmed.

And because I’m me, of course I say some stupid shit.

“Make me,” I choke out, tilting my chin up in defiance.

Just as I think he’s going to tell me to fuck right off, because I’ve gone too far, he calls my bluff.

He grabs me by the throat and shoves me inside my room, walking in after me.