“I love you,” Kai says.
“I love you, too.”
“No, I love yousomuch,” he insists. “I… I don’t really like this.”
Even as keyed up as you are, his admission almost breaks you.
“I told you that you can say no.”
“I want to help you. You’re sure this is what you want.” Kai’s voice sounds uncertain.
“Yes.”
“Why 22?”
“Lucky number?” The laughter that judders through you is nervous. “I don’t know.”
“It sounds like a lot.”
“It sounds like just enough.”
He nods. Licks his lips. “So, we’re starting, then?”
“Seems like it.”
“Shouldn’t we…” He shakes his head. “If you tell me to stop, I’m going to stop. Please don’t saystop itornounless you mean it. I can’t handle that shit.”
“...But the rest?”
“Yeah.” He flexes his big wrists. “I guess so.”
“You promised,” you remind him.
“Uh-huh.” He gusts out a sigh. “Get on your knees, Sterling.”
The use of your full name is unusual for him, and underscores the fact that he’s not especially comfortable. The tone of his voice is good, though, deep and resonant in a way that sends a hot cramp of arousal across your belly.People who beg get on their knees.
You kneel carefully, cognizant of the picture you make in your mind’s eye. Like there’s a camera trained on you—and isn’t that a terrifying thought?—as you sink down and fold your hands on your lap. Beneath you, the hardwood floor is cool. Your senses are heightened, even in the dim light.
Kai takes a step closer. Cups your jaw. His hand is warm and huge, and you can’t help but butt against it.
“I love you,” he repeats.
“I know you do,” you respond.
“I respect you, too,” he says. “You want me to act like I don’t, though.”
“Right,” you say. “I want you to use me.”
“I’ve never used anybody before.”
“Pretend, then,” you encourage him. “That I’m just a stupid fan who followed you home after practice.” You wet your lips, which are surprisingly dry. “Like I’m just a hole for you to fuck.”
It happens so quickly that you don’t have time to brace for it. Kai uncurls his fingers and, on the same side of the face, slaps your jaw. Not too hard. Just hard enough to sting.
You swallow hard. “One,” you say.
Before you—or, more likely, he himself—can overthink the ramifications of what just happened (oh my god Kai just hit me oh my god), he uses his other hand on the other cheek. Open-palmed. It’s louder than it is forceful, a whipcrack snap when the tips of his finger make impact.
