Page 20 of This Might Hurt

I can feel my mouth tugging into a wide grin. “You stop being a good person. So don’t get five points.” Studying a display of blue wheelbarrows along the side wall, I awkwardly wrestle one down while keeping the phone to my ear.

“Do you think I’m weak?” It’s not an accusation like everything else, just a quick, uncertain question.

“No.” That’s the easiest answer in the world, and I don’t even have to lie. “Staying good takes a lot of strength.”

“I’m by the back garage now.”

I wonder what makes a back garage different from a front garage. Fucking rich people. Panting with the effort, I nudge my wheelbarrow down the masonry aisle. “Do you know the best tool for mixing concrete?”

There’s a dumbfounded pause. “Are my problems boring you?” he asks witheringly.

“No, of course not.” I shove a couple of bags from a tall stack of quick-set concrete into the wheelbarrow. “You inspired me. Are there cameras?”

“Yeah.” He pauses to consider. “But he parked really far out. He’s scared someone’s going to scratch his paint. I’m pretty sure he’s outside the view of the camera.”

I sit down on the edge of a shelf so I can catch my breath. “Great observation, three points. See? Everything works out. You know what to do.”

This time the hesitation is real, because everything’s easy until you can’t take it back. “Jude…” he pleads hoarsely.

I can close my eyes and see what he sees, how bad this looks. It’s probably the dumbest stunt I’ve ever pulled. But I wasn’t lying to him. This is exactly what I would do. “Tell me one thing. Do you want that guy to feel scared?”

His breath shivers a little. “Yes.”

“Then what do you do, good boy?”

“I point the gun,” he murmurs. My erection is back with a vengeance, throbbing slow and hot, and I can feel a leak of precum dampening my boxers.

“I’m opening the door,” he narrates uncertainly. “It’s not locked.”

“Does he drive a douche car?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a black Lamborghini Aventador. It looks like the Batmobile had sex with a doorstop.”

The employee walking past glances at me weird when I burst out laughing. “Hey.” I jump up and wave him over.

“Where do I put it?” Andrew complains. “The seat? The dashboard?”

Now he’s just being helpless, so I ignore him and lower the phone. “I was wondering if I got everything you need to make concrete.” I gesture to my wheelbarrow of shit.

Studying it in confusion, he shrugs. “Sure, besides water.”

“Thank you so much.” As he wanders off, I put the phone back to my ear. “Did you sort yourself out?”

“No thanks to you,” he grumbles. “What are you making concrete for?”

I pin the phone against my shoulder and start shunting my load toward the front of the store. “Nothing. So leave the note there, and you’re done.” No answer. Maybe he deserves some reassurance after all that. “You—”

“Is this it?” he breathes, his voice very careful and edged with something raw.

The wheelbarrow clunks to a stop. My heart pounds uselessly as all the blood in my body sinks toward my cock. “Is this what?”

“Is this the high?”

Oh, god. I can picture him shivering in the dark, pupils dilated, drowning in this unfamiliar feeling. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. It’s wild, isn’t it?”

A sound breaks in his throat, something between a whimper and a moan. “Fuck, Jude.”

Abandoning the wheelbarrow, I sprint toward the tiny single bathroom at the back of the store.

I slam the door behind me and yank at my belt, shoving my jeans down awkwardly with one hand.

“You’re at four points,” I croak, kicking them around my ankles and slipping my hand into my boxers to cradle the wet, aching shaft.

“So I’m still good,” he whispers. He has to be able to hear me. No one on earth could mistake the noises I’m making.

“Uh-huh.” Sliding my waistband under my balls, I prop my shoulders against the cool tile wall and jerk myself off in fast, uneven strokes. “Stay good for me.”

Andrew breathes slowly, steadily in my ear as I pant.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t hang up, just listens to my soft grunts and moans, the slap of my skin.

Sweat clings to every inch of me, and I can’t breathe.

I fuck up into my fist, imagining that he’s here, that I can smell and feel him and look into those deep, sad eyes as he asks me to do bad things for him.

I don’t know how long it goes on. A minute?

Two? If I couldn’t hear him, maybe I’d last longer, but with him right there I can’t manage it.

“Shit,” Andrew says suddenly. “They’re calling for me.”

“Wait,” I gasp, my hips jerking, but he’s already gone. I grab a tissue from the dispenser and come into it with long, painful spasms, catching the glistening cum that was all for him. Even half ruined, it’s the best I’ve ever had.

Gasping for breath, I sink into a crouch and hang my head between my knees to stare at my soft cock.

I need him here to lick me clean, to witness this and understand the power he has over me.

His goodness and cruelty and arrogance and wide-eyed innocence.

The only person I’ve ever met who’s just as much of an unmitigated disaster as I am.

And here we are, so far apart he might as well be living on the surface of the fucking sun.