Page 10 of Resist Me Not (Bloody Desires #4)

Chapter six

WALKER

I lean back against my door as soon as it closes behind me.

Holy shit. Holy shit. A first kiss has never made me so instantly hard.

Who am I kidding? Trey’s chaste kisses above my cut nearly made me hard, but feeling his tongue, the pressure of his hands on my neck and gripping my sweater, while slotting our hips together and holding me there?

Fuck . Did he learn kissing from old black and white movies when every lip-lock has a music stinger or Hollywood dip involved?

I’m almost pissed he didn’t come up but also even more turned on that he didn’t. That he’s making me wait. That he’s going to make me wait through three more dates.

“Ngn…” I moan as I squeeze my dick through my slacks.

He felt how hard he made me, didn’t he? He pressed his hip against it.

He had to have felt it. I’d pull up a photo of him to jerk off to if I’d been able to find any online.

He’s so handsome, and classy, and such polished perfection that it shocked me to find his profile picture for Manifest Ventures was a silhouette of his profile in front of a neon cityscape.

It’s like he doesn’t want anyone to know what he looks like.

Which makes sense, or places might know him when he comes in to review them, but damn, what a waste for more people to not be able to appreciate his appeal.

I’ll have to settle for envisioning Trey’s piercing black stare, subtle grin, and the sound of his sinful baritone.

I almost push away from the door to drop back onto the sofa or go into the bedroom, but I use where I am to play out a fantasy instead. What if he had come up and pushed me against the door like this when we crossed the threshold?

I open my slacks, ready to shove my hand into my underwear, but I resist doing that too. Trey would probably tease me while whispering and blowing hot breath on my skin. I slip my hand in but keep it outside the underwear, dragging my fingers up and down my length through the fabric.

I’m already out of breath. I was when Trey walked away from me, but a few steps later and the ratcheting of my pulse had me feverish.

I used my daily inhaler earlier, which helps prevent attacks.

The one I bring with me is a rescue one.

I don’t need to be rescued now. Not yet anyway.

But I never could have guessed what would bring me close to needing a puff was calling someone Daddy and having him call me a good boy back.

Do you have something special for Daddy?

I hear the question in Trey’s voice as I trace the slit of my cockhead with my thumbnail.

It’s not only about the sex dripping from his voice, or even the way he made me melt with that kiss.

He’s sophisticated and charming and somehow not at all pretentious about it.

And he listens. Dear God, does he listen and honestly seem interested in everything I say.

I would have told him my darkest secrets if he let me keep going—that time as a kid when my parents caught me behind the coffee table with a stick of butter and a bowl of sugar; how one of my worst panic attacks was from when I crawled upside down into a sleeping bag, pretending it was a cave, but then couldn’t turn around fast enough to find my way out; when I got a haircut right before Pride and had to pretend I’d gone for the penis-shaped bowl cut on purpose instead of admitting I went to a cosmetology school to save money.

And all I know about Trey is some of his travel writing exploits, that he likes good food, fancy cocktails but doesn’t overindulge, and his mother is a nurse. I want to unwrap his layers and have him unwrap me. Fully unwrap me.

Like I’m imagining him unwrapping my lower half by letting my slacks and underwear drop to my ankles.

My tip is bubbling with wetness, and I convulse at the first pass of…

Trey’s beautifully manicured fingers smoothing the fluid up my shaft.

He drops to his knees to worship me, while mocking that he won’t actually take me into his mouth, not tonight.

He just breathes on the wetted flesh, like he breathed on my neck and ear with his whispers.

He palms my sac with just the right amount of cradling and gentle tugging. Passes over my slit again to gather more precome and starts to earnestly pump me to full mast.

That’s my good boy, so hard and eager for me.

“Ngnn…” My stomach is twisted up in warm knots. I want so badly to come but also crave more of the tease. More of Trey’s voice. His tender care and commanding presence, like I’d never have to worry about anything ever again if I just surrendered to him.

I’m pumping—no, Trey is—furiously now. He tugs a little more on my sac, then reaches up to press a palm to my chest like he’s anchoring me. Guiding me. Leading me toward the light of the best God damn orgasm I’ve had in months.

“Please!”

Please what , doctor?

Fuck! Imagining doctor or good boy in Trey’s voice equally sends me careening over the edge.

“P-please… take care of me, Daddy.”

That’s my good boy.

I come with a spurt over my fingers and probably with enough of an arch to spill onto the floor.

I am beyond feverish now, sweaty and breathless, and…

whoa, okay, maybe I do need a puff from my inhaler.

I’m still picturing Trey stroking me as I ring out the last of my release.

He’s still on his knees, marveling at me with that complete focus of attention like nothing else in the room could compare to just… me.

He brings his fingers to his lips to taste me. Meaning I do, but picturing Trey doing it—oh, he would; I could so believe he would—leaves me limp and content and so wishing he had come upstairs.

Three more dates. I am going to be getting very well reacquainted with my own hands during this time, and I’ll probably keep over-idolizing how our real first time might go, but damn, if Trey isn’t the first person I’ve ever met who I truly believe would never disappoint me.

I drop my head against the door again with a faint thud.

I am so fucked. How am I in this deep after only one date?

One and a half sort of. I’m usually smarter than this, more resistant, because my track record sucks and my day job always gets in the way, but for once, the object of my affection doesn’t seem like he’ll mind.

I might mind, because I already really want to see him again, and Saturday feels so far away. I would have suggested tomorrow if I didn’t want to avoid sounding desperate. I wonder if he’s texted me already. He might have. An extra little tease to—

My phone rings, and I nearly lose my breath enough to seriously need my inhaler.

Trey? But when I fish it out of my slacks on the floor with my clean hand, it’s one of Curtis’s friends.

A semi-mutual friend. I mean, someone I like fine, but I wouldn’t know without Curtis, and it is an instant cold shower.

I kick out of the tangle of my underwear and slacks and make a beeline for the kitchen to wash my other hand.

By the time I answer, I’m still sticky, bare-assed, and in need of more cleanup, but the lump in my throat makes it too weird to not check what this is about so I can never think of Curtis again.

The matcha stuffie from Noah is sitting on my kitchen island, well within view of what I did against the door. At least answering the phone half-dressed on this side of the island means one less instance of scarring him for life.

“Uh, yeah? Hello. This is Walker.”

“Dude, thank God! It’s Bryan. Sorry to call out of the blue like this, but have you heard from Curtis? I’m kind of freaking out.”

My stomach sinks, which sends my gaze to the floor too and right in line with my still slightly hard dick.

“Uh, we broke up,” I blurt, because how else do I even respond to this right now?

“I guess Curtis hasn’t told anyone yet, but I don’t know what he’s doing right now.

” And he’s not my problem anymore. I couldn’t actually say that. I don’t want to be that dick.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” Bryan says, and he sounds like he means it. He was always a decent guy, but maybe not someone I’d naturally hang out with if not for Curtis. “Maybe that’s why he’s being radio silent. It just caught me off guard. You know how glued he is to his phone.”

Yep. Twenty-four-seven sales guy, but I was the workaholic, and only he was allowed to complain about it. “Too true. He did have some work event last night and a conference out of town starting today, so maybe he just hasn’t had the chance to check his messages.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I’m probably being paranoid, I’m just not used to him not even answering texts, you know? Plus, calling just goes straight to voicemail like his phone is dead. Or off? Has he ever shut his phone off?” Bryan chuckles.

Considering it went off mid-fuck once and I still ended up being called the bad guy after he answered? No. No, I don’t think he ever has shut his phone off, but fuck if I care.

Again, I don’t say that.

“My guess is work bender and all is fine,” I choose instead.

Since I’m facing the island, I also see the small simple frame currently facedown next to the matcha stuffie.

I wanted to cool down before disposing of it, but I tilt it upright now.

Funnily enough, Bryan was the one who took this photo.

It’s just us, me and Curtis, candidly sharing a laugh.

I didn’t even know Bryan took the picture until he emailed it to me, and I printed off a few copies in different sizes.

When I tried to give one to Curtis this same size, he said, “I don’t know if I’m really the snapshots on the walls and end tables kinda guy.”

“You could take a smaller one? Keep it in your wallet for when you miss me?”

“Do people do that?” He’d huffed like it was oh so quaint I’d even suggested such a thing.

He did put the photo in his wallet. It’s probably there now—until he finds it when sifting through credit cards at some unknown date and chucks it. I should have known then we weren’t right for each other.

I drop the whole thing into the trashcan and hear the glass break. I never liked that frame anyway. Too art deco for my apartment.

It's your basic one-bedroom bachelor pad.

A little dark, especially with the curtains and shades drawn, with exposed brick on one wall of the living room, and black cabinets in the kitchen.

I like it darker. It's cozy and safe like being wrapped in a warm blanket and very helpful for reducing stress.

Plus, I'm around the harsh fluorescents of the hospital most of the time, so this is a nice break.

I'm not much of a decorator, but no cheap IKEA crap adorns my place, mostly hand-me-down furniture, but good solid stuff that will last, all plush and soft and richly colored, and with some of my favorite posters framed on the wall.

Like my FIRST DO NO HARM poster. It’s cliché for a doctor and mine is maybe a little morbid, but I love that poster.

Most have the Caduceus with two snakes and wings, but this one has my symbol, the Rod of Asclepius like what I have tattooed down my spine.

That’s actually what makes the poster morbid, because instead of a snake wrapped around a rod, it’s wrapped around a human spine with an exposed brain at the top.

Super metal and with the most important words of the Hippocratic Oath emblazoned artistically around it.

“I’d expect a drunk dial tonight,” I say to Bryan, “and if not, at least one before the conference ends. Sorry. I’m not trying to badmouth him, but we ended things pretty upset with each other.

I’m still sorry I can’t help. Keep me posted if you hear from him?

Don’t have him call me but you can, just so I know he’s okay.

” At least that should make me sound a little less like a jilted lover.

“Will do, Walker. Thanks, man. Sorry you two didn’t work out. I know Curtis can be a dick sometimes, but I honestly thought you were good for him.”

“Thanks. He just wasn’t good for me.”

“I get it. Maybe no news is good news, but if I learn something, I’ll shoot you a text at least. Be well, man. Sorry again.”

“I’m sorry too,” I say as I hang up, staring dejectedly at my now very limp dick, but to be honest, what I’m really thinking is…

I’m not sorry at all.

“Except about the peepshow, Mr. Zappy. I am sorry about that,” I say and leave the stuffie turned away from me facing the door. He doesn’t need to see more of my bare ass when I move from the kitchen to the bathroom.

I need a shower. Not a cold one though. I’m thinking hot and another after dinner date with my right hand. Waiting three more dates is going to be tough.