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15

ADAIR

I ’m tossing and turning that night, trying to chase the sleep that’s managed to outrun me. Jack’s words earlier made me feel like I’d swallowed a rock. There’s still a heavy, sick weight in my stomach.

I don’t understand why this dominant bully likes making me squirm and cry but seems to loathe literally everything about me. If this was just about stroking myself on top of a freaking picnic table, I would get it. That was a nasty, creepy thing to do. But the hot-and-cold way he treats me is so confusing.

I can’t comprehend why he suddenly decided he can’t even tolerate me enough to hook up with anymore. Or why his rejection stings so hard. I roll over again and pull the pillow over my head with a groan. Why am I letting a guy who makes no bones about hating my guts live in my head, rent-free?

“It’s not a crush.” I say out loud. It can’t be. Sure, the implicit danger in Jack’s imposing physical presence and his brutal masculinity go straight to my cock. I can admit that. But no matter how badly I crave the fierce, unapologetic way he dominates me, I can’t have a crush on a bossy asshole who can’t stand me.

A half hour later, I peek out from under the pillow and sigh in annoyance. I’ve got to get to sleep. It’s going to be a long damn day tomorrow, what with having to deal with the whole car situation. So while it seems like a terrible idea on one hand, I decide that if rubbing one out will let me get a few hours of shut-eye, I’ll deal with the emotional consequences later.

My hand finds my dick as my mind drifts back to earlier tonight… I always thought I was cool with kinky shit, but this fling with Jack has made me realize I need to reevaluate an awful lot of what I thought I knew about myself. I mean, I serve coffee for a living. I’ve been on the business end of a barrage of insults more times than I can count. Humans are a prickly, aggressive species, and they’re even worse before they’ve had their morning jolt of caffeine.

But the way Jack repeatedly and incessantly hammers away at me… dumb bunny… stupid… pathetic… dipshit… If a customer talked to me like that, I’d tell them to get the hell out of the shop without losing a wink of sleep over it. I don’t know why I crave his debasement of me, or why the more he sneers at me and throws vitriol in my face, the more I want him to treat me like that.

I take my cock, hard and already dripping precum, in my hand and squeeze. I stroke myself fast as I think of Jack: The hunger I see in his dark eyes to inflict pain, to twist my body and mind just to show me that he can, scares the hell out of me even as it draws me to him.

His burning need to calls to me because it horribly, perversely meshes with the frightening, fucked-up desires that have taken up residence in my head. Fuck, I’d treat him like a king just for the privilege of being belittled and bruised. I’d worship the ground he walked on if he would only step on me and grind me, body and soul, into the dirt.

Just the idea makes me bite my lip and arch my back until my legs shake and my hips lock. Hot, tingly energy sends a wave like little electric shocks sweeping through my muscles as they tighten when that wave crests. I let out a cry before my head drops back onto the pillow as my second release of the night spills all over my hand.

When I’ve caught my breath and go clean up, I find myself wishing that Jack was twisting his fingers into my hair, forcing me to lick my hand clean while snarling in my ear about how pathetic and dumb I am. I’m so ashamed of those thoughts, but in the end, that’s what finally lulls me to sleep.