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It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about a scenario like that before. In fact, it was one I thought about often.
It was like some other entity had possessed me, because the minute my back hit the wall, some switch inside of me flipped.
His hot breath on me, his six foot one frame towering over my measly five foot eight inches...
The command in his voice, the way his eyes blazed as his gaze fell to my lips, causing my stomach to twist into knots.
In the presence of Dawson Richards, I was someone else, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
I decided that I’d had enough of all this birthday insanity and threw down some money, feeling like I needed to get as far away from M’s place and the memory of Dawson and his ridiculously hot stare as I could get.
But it was no use.
I closed the door, feeling even more defeated as the lights came on to illuminate my empty apartment.
I flipped the lock, tossing my keys on the kitchen counter as I opened my fridge to pull out the oversized cupcake Allie had delivered to the office earlier. I meticulously peeled the blue wrapper back, section by section to keep the confectionery delicacy from crumbling.
“Happy birthday to me,” I sighed out, feeling exhaustion kick in. I devoured the chocolate cake in less than three bites, but it did nothing to sate the emptiness I felt in my stomach.
After I’d eaten my cupcake of shame, I removed my clothes, tossing them into the wicker hamper in the hallway, relishing in the cool air of my apartment as it hit my sensitive skin. I always kept the place at sixty-eight degrees.
As I crawled into bed, my mind wandered to thoughts of darkened hallways, of a tall, sexy man who made my insides twist and my cock spring to life. I groaned as I looked at the digital clock on my nightstand. 11:30pm.
Twenty-eight years old, single, and in bed by eleven thirty. Yeah, talk about lame.
There was no chance in hell anyone would find routine and order sexy.
I closed my eyes as I let my hand slide beneath the waistband of my boxers, wrapping my fist around the head of my cock. My thumb brushed over the tip, feeling the faint beginnings of precum coat my fingertips. Slowly, I tugged at the sensitive skin, building a steady rhythm as I let my mind wander further down the darkened corridor of fantasy, to thoughts of copper eyes and broad shoulders, to fists slammed against the wall beside my head.
Of thick fingers around my neck, and fiery lips that cursed me to high hell before they claimed mine.
Of the weight of his body on top of me as he fucking owned me.
The thought of his cock sliding against mine, pressed against the wall, hard and wet, threw me over the edge.
I cupped my hand over my swollen head as I came, groaning in defeat as my cock pulsed, sticky, warm wetness spreading through my fingers as I fought to catch my breath. I wished it wasn’t mine.
“Holy fuck.” I sighed, staring up at the ceiling as I fell back to earth.
I knew then, as I lay there, that Dawson Richards was going to be the fucking death of me.
CHAPTER 3
Dawson
The whole ride home all I could think about was Nolan. Which only irritated me. His snippy little comments, his blush on stage, the way he fucking whimpered and leaned into me...
Fuck.
I hated it. I hated that he pushed my buttons so easily.
Or that he is capable of pushing my buttons at all.
I angrily threw my keys down in the bowl after locking the door, knowing there was only one way to truly work out my frustrations.
It didn’t take long for me to settle in on my couch, pulling up my favorite go-to porn. I let the video play while I got comfortable, letting my cock spring free from my pants as I slid out of them. Leaning back against the soft cushions, I gave myself a good smack, watching my cock bounce with vibrancy as I focused on the video in front of me, specifically the way Mr. Big Cock was pounding himself into the tight little ass of the moaning computer nerd in front of him.
“You like that don’t you, you little slut?” Mr. Big Cock drawled, shoving his subject’s head down into the dirt.
