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Little dragon. Like the mythical creatures, she’s already proving to be curious, playful, and stubborn. But it’s her innocence and vulnerability that call out to my soul. Two things she’s hiding well from the rest of the world, but I see. Because like me, she’s built a wall, but hers looks more like a Roman shield wall and mine is a replica of Gollum’s cave. Dark, damp, and no visitors allowed.
I’ve made the walls I've built around my heart seem insurmountable, yet Rayne's presence makes me long to tear them down. She seems to see past the scars on my soul, and that terrifies me even more. But it also makes me want to be better, to confront my past and find a way to heal. Fuck!
I can’t deal with all of this. So for now, I retreat into my cave, seeking solace in the silence of the night and mindless sex. Except tonight, I don’t have the energy or desire to seek out some random woman at the Masquerade Club. I want this woman tonight, which is precisely why I won’t have her. Never mind that she’s damaged goods . . . and so much better than I am and doesn’t deserve me. I know I'm hurting Rayne with my withdrawal, and that knowledge gnaws at my conscience. But I can't allow myself to care about her baggage, not right now. Not when I can't even face my own inner demons.
I lean back on the loveseat, shifting aimlessly through channels. The low volume bleeds into my subconscious like an insidious lullaby. I stumble upon some tolerable porn and decide to stay for the night's entertainment. My hand replaces my dead lover as my most reliable source of pleasure after Savannah. I close my eyes and let my imagination wander, thinking of Rayne's lips on me, her ass taking every inch of my length with each thrust. It has been too long since I felt a woman's touch, awakening emotions I have long tried to bury—emotions that terrify me.
My eyes fly open at a quiet choking sound. Rayne stands, leaning against the archway leading from the hall. I groan inside as she stares, her mouth agape. Concern turns to curiosity on her face as she watches me, my lounge pants resting low on my hips and a small towel across my belly. I keep my head on the back of the recliner as I stroke my cock, turning my gaze back to the screen. Pretending she's not there. Despite the low volume, there's no mistaking the moaning and sucking sounds issuing from the TV. I wait for her to leave. She stays . . . a presence I can’t ignore.
I whisper, "Watch with me," despite the voice in my head warning me not to.
My heart thrums as she stays motionless, undecided. Anxiety and anticipation whirl through me in heated waves, both hers and mine. Will this enflame her further? I have no idea how much experience she has. Jaden, get a grip. This is a woman who was sex-trafficked so of course she can handle it. But still, I sit there watching her from the corner of my eye, suspended in a moment of uncertainty. Should I stop or continue?
After several long moments of pregnant pause, she sits on the recliner, hovering on the edge of the seat next to me, her eyes glued to the screen in equal parts revulsion and curiosity. Like she longs to watch me pleasure myself but won't let herself admit it. Something the voyeur in me recognizes. She's close enough that I can feel her heat radiating off her skin, yet too far for me to touch her without effort.
“Do what you want.” I try to hide the desire leaking from my voice and fail miserably. Her head snaps up so quickly it's almost comical, beautiful chestnut irises darkening with desire.
“What do you mean?”
I swivel my head toward her, our eyes connecting like magnets.
“Take whatever pleasure you want from this experience." Show me who you are.
Her lips are a deep, alluring brown and part slightly as she pauses in surprise; it's clear that no one has considered her enjoyment before and she is unsure how to respond.
Little Dragon, I'll show you just how good it could be if you'd only let go. I'll make you scream.. . .
She curls her legs up under her, turning my way. Not enough to seem too eager but enough for me to notice. She clasps and unclasps her hands, while I secretly smile. Our growing bond tells me she's desperate to touch me, despite all her claims of hating sex. My gaze drops to my dick where I slide my thumb around the head, tracing the precum around the glans. Her eyes are glued to my hand as she licks her lips again. Goosebumps rise on my skin as I imagine those full lips engulfing my cock. I grow harder, balls clenching tight, begging to come undone beneath her watchful eye.
I grip hard and stroke fast. It's a motion I've done a million times before, yet something about her watching me stimulates me even more, and soon enough heated jets of cum shoot onto the towel across my belly. I smother any sound that wants to escape from my mouth, not wanting to do anything that might spook her. Refusing to let her see she’s affected me. As the tremors fade away, I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Her breathing is heavy yet shallow, as if she's struggling to keep it even.
"You act like this is the first time you've seen someone masturbate." I watch her startle in surprise.
I lock eyes with her, shadowed by yearning. Uncertainty gnaws at me, teetering on the edge of whatever comes next. Never have I allowed anyone such an intimate glimpse—not even Savannah. But Rayne stands apart, a blend of vulnerability and raw sensuality that fuels my desire even more.
As I sit here, the air thick with tension, she goes stiff, her eyes narrowing like she's zeroing in on a target. "Don't you dare judge me," she fires back. Her words hit something raw in me—my deep-seated fear of judgment, a vulnerability I didn't think I'd ever have to confront again.
Her anger has an unexpected effect, sharpening my arousal but also making me cautious. I've spent years not giving a damn about anyone else's opinion. After losing Savannah, it was just me against a world I'd grown to resent. But right now, in this moment with Rayne, something's changed.
"I'm not judging you." I contain my own rising frustration. If she's going to make everything a battle, we don't stand a chance—not even as friends. "I'm saying stop following society's script and figure out what you actually want. Especially when it comes to your own desires."
I ditch the towel, adjust myself, and hold back the lecture right on the tip of my tongue. While I figure out why I give a damn, I wait for her to say something, some final remark to close this volatile chapter between us. But once again, she throws me off.
"You're probably right," she says, turning her attention back to the TV. But I can feel it—the question still hanging between us, amping up the tension, doing similar things to my cock.
And then a thought breaks through, uninvited but not unwelcome. Could we find something neither of us has experienced before? Great sex, but without the scars and baggage. It's a dangerous idea that threatens to pry open compartments of myself I've sealed shut. But sitting here, watching her, it's a possibility that I can't easily dismiss. And for the first time in a long while, I wonder if I should even try to.
10
RAYNE
I don't even know what the hell I'm doing, going back to Jaden's den after delivering that pizza. His rejection stings, but there's something about those low moans from the TV that reel me in. Curiosity killed the cat. Screw it, I won't overthink this. I'm tired of playing it safe and trying to be logical. So, I quietly tiptoe toward the doorway, my curiosity and desire battling for control. And when I finally see what's inside, it's like . . . no way, it can't be.
The storm outside matches the turmoil in my heart as I'm pulled in, unable to resist the wild and chaotic attraction he stirs within me. Un-fucking believable. Caught in the act. He's masturbating. My heart rate kicks up as I stay glued to the doorway, watching in fascination and horror. He notices me with a whisper: "Watch with me."
I should turn and run. But instead, I slowly saunter over and perch on the sofa beside him. Watching this porn together should be wrong, but I blame the drugs as his desire washes over me. Could it be true? Does he really want me for me, not because of some curiosity about dark meat?
"Do what you want." His voice commands my attention. He wants me to take pleasure from this experience, to show him who I am. My heart thuds as I force myself to meet his gaze—dark and mysterious, calling out to something deep inside me. Seems as if I’m just as perverted as he is.
