Page 26 of Never To Suffer (The Hollywoodland #4)

SHIMMY

MISSIO, BLACKILLAC

This guy is what would happen if the sex appeal of James Bond and the dark brooding of Batman collided and became one.

Older Batman, though. When he’s got those streaks of gray hair everyone knows he and Robin bang like rabbits behind closed doors.

I can’t tell if he knows I’ve been eyeing him since he found me out in the hallway, wallowing in my self-loathing for being an idiot.

Okay, he’s more like Superman, swooping in to save the day when all hope looked lost. Maybe I’m too much of a horny nerd.

Nerds have needs, too, though. Especially nerds terrified of flying but getting ready to board a long flight in a little more than twenty-four hours. I need something to take my mind off it, and the good doctor here will take care of that craving.

I run my hands through his short, graying hair, something I’ve wanted to do since he first said my name.

The rolled-up sleeves do nothing to ease my raging hard on, either.

Noticeable veins running through nice big, tattooed forearms as he takes hold of my hips, pushing me down and grinding against me.

His hands would look fucking amazing around my neck.

I bet he fucks hard, and right now, that’s what I need. I’d guess he does, too.

“Xander, you don’t have to do this. I only wanted to help, not?—”

“Bill me, I don’t fucking care. Please, don’t stop.

” I slide his glasses off, putting them on the arm of the couch.

His eyes have swirls of greens and browns, like marble, or at least that’s what I can make out from the sliver of color around his blown-out pupils.

My hand slides over his thigh, brushing against the bulge and making my mouth water.

The lazy, unhurried way he runs his tongue across his lips has my cock trying to rip through the seams of my pants.

“Why did you have to be so fuckin’ pretty?” His deep, smooth voice has a haunting quality, but there’s something more, a growl right on the edge. A beast he hasn’t let out in a while that’s pacing its cage.

“You’ve… done this before?”

His lips pull back in a sly grin and it might be the first time I’m seeing the real him. He nods, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been with dogs before. In fact, Xander, I prefer them.”

Shit. I can’t believe we’re doing this.

I reach down between us, palming his cock as his hand slides up the back of my head, holding me to him as he kisses me deeper, harder.

It’s been so long since I’ve been with someone who isn’t hiding who they are.

Someone who knows what the hell they’re doing with another man.

I want this man to destroy me, to reduce me to whimpers and whines, to make everything else melt away.

When he throws me down on the couch, it knocks the wind out of me, but I love it.

He climbs over me, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants before he cages me between his strong arms. I don’t even try to hold back the moan as he rubs against me, or the whimper that comes out when his teeth graze against my neck.

Without warning, he freezes. His expression matches someone who’s remembered they left the house with the stove on. “I shouldn’t…we shouldn’t do this. You’re…young. Probably too young.”

“I’m thirty, do you want to see my ID, or do you want to get in my fucking pants, Doctor?”

“I’ll stop if you want,” he whispers, but I’m not listening and he’s not stopping.

“Why? Do you want to stop? Want to go about your day and get your groceries and play with your cat?”

His eyes are little disks of honey around the black, blown out pupils. He shakes his head and growls.

My nerves are pop rocks—mini explosions going off wherever our skin meets. “Take off your fucking pants and let me see what we’re working with.”

Our tongues wrestle for control as we grope one another, searching for ways to get rid of all the clothes between us.

He wraps around me and in an almost fluid motion, he’s flipped me over, grinding against my ass.

His hand reached down the front of my pants and when he cups my cock, my head rocks back.

“Yes, oh god. Ah, there we go. He does like dogs!” I laugh, thrusting into his fist.

“Oh, you’re gonna be a mouthy brat, are you? Well, I can fix that.”

I’ve been told by more than one person that the best way to shut my wise mouth up is to shove something into it.

Some people mean food, others, like Theo here, have something else they want me to choke on, and I’m more than willing to help him out with that.

His eyes grow wide when I shove him back on his ass, and drop myself right where I need to be, between these two tree trunks he calls legs.

He swallows hard, watching me as I tease him, kissing him through his boxers and tracing my tongue along his abdomen while he helps me pull his pants down his thighs. I watch the daze take over and his head rocks back when I lick and nip at the sensitive skin of his legs.

“Ah, fuck!” he moans as I pull his cock out and give him a low whistle.

“Holy shit, Dr. Clay. You sure you were asking if the couch would fit through the doorway when you’re packing this?”

“You just going to sit there and admire it, or finally put that smart mouth of yours to use?”

The deep rumble from his chest is the last sound he makes before I take him into my mouth. He stops breathing, holding the last breath he sucked into his lungs until he hits my throat. His back arches and hands shoot to my head, grabbing two fistfuls of hair and holding me down.

“Holy shit! Holy fucking shit.”

My panic attacks about failing Dani are long forgotten, along with the conversation I had with my father.

Maybe that’s why I’m doing this, deep-seated daddy issues.

What else would drive me into the arms of older men only to be shoved out of their beds before sunrise?

Dani’s tried to help with my near fatal attraction to older men, men who have the power that my father has.

The power I could have but don’t want. Now, I tell her I’m clumsy, or getting into bar fights, but it doesn’t help her worry less.

Too many nights end like the one with Mitch did.

Bruised, broken, and bloodied, I always end up wishing I could make better choices.

I like it rough when it starts, but they take it too far.

All of them do, eventually, because I make them see what they are, and they hate me for it.

They pay to get off, and I pay the price for making them feel good.

Theo’s hands graze my cheek, and I prepare for the worst. For the real him to beat the shit out of me after he’s finished in my mouth. For the name calling and the pain, both physical and emotional.

“Fuck, you’ve got a hell of a mouth on you, Xander. Keep it up, baby.”

Baby? They never call me that. They call me faggot, homo, queer, bitch boy. They don’t call me baby.

“You’re so pretty on my cock. No, that’s… you’re fucking breath taking, baby. That’s it, beautiful. Wait, are you…crying?”

I pinch my eyes together and wait, no doubt about what’s coming next while I’m trying everything to keep the tears back. The thumb wiping my face makes me flinch, but I keep going. The pain starts if I let go of his cock.

“Stop. Xander, stop!” He pulls my face from his lap, holding his hands on either side of my head as he stares at me. I can’t look at him, so I brace for the impact and hope it isn’t my face this time.

“Xander, I said you didn’t have to do this. I meant it.”

“I…want to.”

“Do you? Why are you crying?”

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I can stop. I promise.”

“Oh. Fuck, I really should have seen that coming,” the growl dissipates, replaced by something else.

Softness and understanding. Kindness. He pulls me off the floor, but it’s gentle, not painful.

I still can’t make eye contact with him, but damn, I want to.

I’m not sure if I’m scared because it might be a trap, or scared because his concern sounds so real.

“You’re safe, Xander. I won’t hurt you; that’s not how this is supposed to work. Those men aren’t men. They’re disgusting pigs and you… you deserve better.”

“How did you—?” My chest tightens and I can’t breathe.

I can’t focus. Before he can say another word, I’m on my feet and across the room, collecting our bottles and heading into the kitchen like nothing happened.

The sound of the sink helps clear my mind as I rest my head against the overhead cabinet.

“Stupid fucking…” I mumble to myself, grinding my teeth together. “What were you fucking thinking? What the fucking fuck, Xander. God fucking?—”

The weight of him pressing against me stops my muttering. He reaches around me, turning the water off and wrapping around me, leaving gentle kisses below my ear.

“I’m a psychiatrist, Xander. You’re not the first person I’ve met who’s suffered.

Sadly, you won’t be the last. But you don’t have to face this alone, and you don’t have to worry about that with me.

” I can’t stop my body from melting into him.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I like this?

The hypnotic smokiness of his voice pulls me deeper into him, dragging me to a safety I don’t recognize.

“You’re braver and stronger than you think, Xander.

You’re worthy of kindness and respect, and that’s what you should get from these men. But you can’t stop yourself, can you?”

“N-no.” It’s a sob filled with years of resentment and hate directed at myself. I can’t hold it in anymore and I scream. “Fuck! FUCK!”

“There you go. That’s good. It’s a release, and that’s a start.” He doesn’t bark at me, doesn’t yell. His voice stays soft and even. “You’re okay. No one will hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

I’m gulping air and the tears opened a floodgate I don’t have control over. The bravado has all but vanished, hiding somewhere and leaving me raw and exposed. But not scared. For once, I’m not scared. “Show me. Show me what it’s supposed to be like.”