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Hate me all you want, sweetheart. I can take your fire.
Chapter 4
Shiloh
That motherfucker.
Who does he think he is? Touching me like I’d ever give him an invitation to put his hands on me.
His mouth ...
Fucking staring right at my crotch as if I’m not already painfully aware of the silicone in my jeans.
It’s fucking ridiculous. Downright horrifying that I couldn’t even utter the words ‘don’t you dare touch me’, because the moment his skin touched mine, pinpricks of lightning jabs lit up on the spot. The pain deep in my brain screamed, but the adrenaline pumping in my chest begged him to do it again.
His fingers in my hair. His mouth on mine.
Good boy.
My traitorous body is hot and bothered and screaming for contact. I don’t feel like riding it out with a chick and hoping the friction from the dildo gets me off. I want to shut my eyes, turn it all off, and let my body sink beneath the waves of mindless pleasure.
Before rehab, during the whole ‘dare you to sleep with a guy’ bullshit I had going on with Atty, I may have found myself in an accidental orgy at one point. I may have let a guy making the rounds put his hand between my legs and make me see stars.
All it takes is one phone call, one quick conversation with a girl I used to hook up with, and we’ve got a time and place to meet up and get our rocks off. I can use that.
Because the wetness between my thighs and the pulsing of my dick as I remember the hungry gaze Corvin swept along my body is making me sick.
I need to fuck those eyes out of my system.
“You smell like shit, dude.”
I roll my eyes as I shut the door to Vulture and Valco’s run down apartment. Two steps inside and I’ve already got my sweaty, sex-soaked shirt tossed into the crevice between the couch and the wall, and by the time I hit the kitchen my jeans are dropped somewhere near the cardboard boxes acting as a TV stand.
“Sounds to me like someone needs to get laid.”
I yoink a banana off the counter that looks a shade too brown and peel it like a man on a mission because I am famished.
“I’m good not catching every STD running rampant around the joint.”
I roll my eyes and point the half eaten fruit at Valco where he sits at a little fold out table in a rickety lawn chair.
“We use condoms and shit, thank you very much.”
“Very impressive.”
One thing I’m thankful for here on campus is that there’s never a lack of bodies to hook up with. Once you know the ins and outs of some of the smaller, more backdoor cliques, it’s as easy as getting drunk or high. Without the risk of failing some random ass drug test.
“Is the shower open? And can I crash in your bed for a few hours?”
Valco looks away from his computer and props his arm on the back of the chair.
“Vee is out with some band chick, so have at both of them, but I’m not responsible for what you find under the covers.”
Crashing with Valco and Vulture the last few days has been the break I’ve desperately needed. No pouring my heart out to a room full of strangers. No having to watch Atlas and Blair with their hands all over each other and the quiet ‘I love you’s they think I don’t hear.
No Corvin Morales, who must think he’s some sort of savior for offering to put up with my sorry ass. Joke’s on him; I don’t need his protection. I don’t need his watchful eye.
Give me bodies to drown in, and I won’t have a need for the other bullshit.
