Twelve

Nic

H e's staring at my fingers, watching as they stay wrapped around his arm. I'm both darker and paler than he is, my patchy hand an odd contrast next to his flawless skin. "Cade." I loosen my grip, but I hate that and end up squeezing tighter, deciding not to let him go.

He's sort of been avoiding me, and while I know it's because of how I left things after fucking him, there's a part of me that wonders if there are other reasons. He won't look at me, hardly speaks to me—not even at work. I know he wanted it, me and the things I did to him. He did, but maybe seeing my skin like that… I don't know. Maybe it grossed him out or something.

"I told you!" He whips around—getting mad as I press the issue—ripping his arm out of my hold. "I'm here for the same reason most people come here." He waves an arm out at the crowd, and it's not hard to guess what he means.

We're surrounded on all sides by some real horny motherfuckers. Most of them aren't even subtle about it, and I'm struggling to rationalize why I'm so bothered.

"Same as you, right?" He doesn't do a very good job hiding the hurt, which almost makes me want to laugh—not because this mess is funny, though. It's not. It's frustrating as hell. It doesn't make any sense.

This is why he irks the absolute fuck out of me, why I don't understand my own obsession. Cade came here to be his horny self, probably itching to move on from his last hookup—with me —and he's upset about me possibly wanting the same thing?

"Go back to your—" He grits his teeth, getting visibly flustered at his own anger. Such an easy book to read. " Corby ," he sneers, and I wonder briefly if he's been drinking or if he's genuinely this much of a drama queen. We get caught in a stare, and I see the moment he gives up. "Nic, seriously." He sighs, his shoulders slumping resignedly. "Go away."

His cheeks are flushed, a sheen of sweat covering his face. It reminds me a little of how he looked when we fucked. I'm pretty sure that was his first time bottoming. Maybe his first time having penetrative sex with a man, period, if anything Baby says can be believed. I should probably feel bad about the way I handled him. I know I hurt him. At one point, I even wanted to. And I guess, yeah, I do feel a little guilty for it.

But he literally asked for it. Begged—fucking moaned —for it.

Cade ate it up. Practically went mindless beneath me, and I just… I should have had enough sense to stop myself. I thought about stopping things a lot that night, but he just kept saying more . Egging me on until my cock was forcing him open, and it unraveled him. Had him splitting wide open in more ways than one. It turned him into a total slut for it—the pain. Me.

That's what his problem is. He just wants more of that and is too stubborn to ask for it.

If I wanted to be fair, I'd be the one to give in this time. He was the one who pushed the boundaries the last time—went against his own will and asked me for it like the good little toy he was meant to be. I should relent. I can do that—I want to do that—if it means a redo.

Only he opens his mouth and ruins it because that's who he is.

"You weren't exactly the good lay I thought you were gonna be, Nic. Just leave me alone so I can find someone who is."

The smug as fuck look on his face as he starts to turn has me reacting. I reach out and grab him like he's mine because, for a crazy second, it feels like he is. What the fuck is wrong with him?

He's impossible to talk to, and I expect him to fight me. Yell at me, look at me like I disgust him, something . But he doesn't do any of that. He lets me dig my fingers into his wrist, and that compliance…

Fuck it.

I head toward the back of the crowded room, dragging him along with me and ignoring his halfhearted complaints. When I feel his arm slipping out of my grasp, I grip him tighter and pull until he's close enough to touch me.

"How does this whole thing work?" I look over my shoulder, having to yell a bit to make sure he hears me just before we approach the entryway being guarded by two men who are clearly bouncers.

"What?" Cade asks, playing dumb. But he can't hide the want or the embarrassment when he sneaks a glance at the hallway next to us. "The—no." He shakes his head, making his hair bounce a little. He needs a haircut. This might be the longest I've ever seen it, and the last thing I need to be thinking about is how much more grip the length could give me. "I'm not going in there with you ."

I roll my eyes, squaring my shoulders to fight off the subtle sting those words inflict. He came here, to this club, to fuck around with someone. In there is exactly where he was planning on ending up.

"Yeah, you are."

It's me or nobody. Those are his options because there is no fucking way I am letting him go to detention with someone else. I'm giving him what he wants, what we both want. The least he can do is be grateful for it.

I know enough from what Baby and Corby have told me, so I don't wait for Cade's rebuttal before I grab him once again and pull him with me down the dark hall. It gets quieter, the thrumming of the crowd and music muffled as we round a corner, and there's another open entrance with a barely visible red glow that I'm certain is our destination. Technically, this area isn't allowed. They say it's a room to be used for peace and quiet, but in reality, it's where you go for quick hookups. Oftentimes anonymous.

A small part of me wishes this were anonymous—that he was some stranger that I could come on or in and then never see again. But mostly, I'm okay with this. I'm putting myself in this position because I crave it.

I don't crave Cade . It's the control he gives me. There's just something about it, something foreign and immensely satisfying about having that kind of power over someone. There's so much else in my life—everything, really—that I have no control over. So, yeah. I crave it.

But he's Cadence Howard. I've spent a lot of time hating him. He's one of the most annoying people I know. He is so entitled and full of himself, and… it's not him that I want. It's like he said. This has nothing to do with who we are and everything to do with getting off.

"I came here because I wanted literally anybody but you. I'm not going—"

"You're so full of shit." We're whispering, being quiet because that's the vibe back here. My heart is pounding louder than our voices, going rampant as he keeps being himself and fights it.

A few people slip in and out of the room before us as we stand off to the side, but we ignore them. I'm not sure why I'm even letting him argue. I can admit that the things he says bug me—that he likes to pretend he doesn't want me because the alternative is embarrassing to him—but I know him pretty well. He's too open with me—thinks he's hiding behind an attitude that really only ends up showing me everything most of the time.

I let his arm go before turning and walking in. He'll follow me, I know it. And if he doesn't, I'll get over it.

Maybe.

It will be harder than I want it to be, that's for sure. I hate even thinking about it and have to look to make sure he is still behind me—except he's not there. And now I'm the one embarrassed. I got a little too cocky. Sort of look—and feel—stupid for it now. I stopped taking the very thing holding my mental dam together for him. I told myself that he wasn't the reason, that I just wanted to come. But I wanted to come for him. I needed it, and now he's left me hanging.

I want to go back out there into the hallway and grab him. Take him and drag him in here. But I don't do that. He feels like mine, but that doesn't mean that he is.

My heart starts to pound harder, and I make myself stay still because I have no clue what I would do with him in front of me right now. I'm so angry, and it makes no sense. This really isn't the place for all of this, either. I can't see anything but the red glow of the LED lights and silhouettes of horny guys, hear the faint noises of people getting off, and the quiet music playing over speakers being slowly drowned out by my heartbeat the louder and louder it gets. I can smell the sex in the air. I shouldn't be in here. My eyes slip closed as I tighten my fists. They start to feel numb, and I try to focus on staying calm no matter how much worse it all gets. I need to go to my car, but my muscles are rigid, and moving doesn't feel like a good idea.

But then my eyes are open, and he's there. It's infuriating how much of a relief that is. I can't see the details of his face, can't see whatever posh outfit he's wearing tonight, but I know it's him. He steps towards me, and my stupid heart starts to slow. It goes from wild and erratic, something that makes my skin vibrate, to something that soothes me instantly when it's clear he's back in this.

I'm making all the wrong choices where he's concerned. Looking for him when I should be avoiding him. Trading shifts with coworkers so we work together, even if it's only an hour or two. Staying at home, in our room all the time, hoping he'll return like an idiot. Stopping the meds I probably still need just so I can come without knowing for sure if he even wants that from me anymore.

I am wrecking myself, and what's worse is that I'm aware I'm doing it and can't fucking stop.

I blow out a breath as he moves closer, and I can't think of a reply when he says something snarky under his breath. I'm too relieved to match his attitude as he's moving us, walking me to a corner, and I let him. Do it happily even. It almost feels like I popped a Xanax as I trail behind him. Like my body is being flooded with a flurry of euphoria instead of all of that oh-so-dramatic panic and disappointment from before.

We're always trading places. I take a step on the ladder only for him to take two, and it keeps on going that way. It's an endless cycle where neither of us is ever winning for very long. I dragged him here, yet he's in control now. Literally walking me like a dog to an empty spot amidst all the hedonism in the room.

The realization instantly pisses me off in a way that only Cade can manage. I trade places with him until his back hits the wall with a muted thud, and he's facing me. He doesn't fight me at all. It takes so little effort that it has my cock stirring.

I love this compliance—something I rarely see from him. From Cade, the stepbrother who has looked at me with contempt since the day I met him. His willingness to cede to my every whim in these moments turns me the fuck on. It's a heady thing. Undeserving in a way.

But that drugged feeling continues swirling, has everything awful inside me slipping away, making me feel almost weightless. It feels better than anything I've ever been prescribed. My heart is beating slower, and the air I'm breathing is thicker, but it's cozy and nice, and I fucking need it.

I'm not all that delicate with it as I push at his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. He lets out a quiet, frustrated-sounding grunt as he grabs at my hips to steady himself before I can feel him simply waiting—looking up at me in the dark as I undo my jeans on autopilot. And then it's like he can't wait anymore. It has bone-deep contentment settling into me, the way he fumbles eagerly with my briefs, taking the time to tuck the hemline under my balls.

I fight a chill as he wraps his sweaty palm around me, ready for whatever he's willing to give me in this moment. He takes me into his mouth, his velvety tongue flattening along the underside of my dick as he sinks his lips almost down to the base, and I have to place a palm on the wall above him just so I don't keel over. Of course he's good at sucking cock—he's good at fucking everything, better than me at every little thing he does.

Only this time, as I hit the opening of his throat, I can't find it in me to be all that upset about it. I let my head fall forward with a soft groan as my fingers slide through his hair—pure bliss and warmth spreading throughout my groin.

I wish I could see him, watch as Cade's mouth is stretched wide around me, his eyes watering and spit dripping down his chin as he takes every inch I give him greedily. He's quietly moaning for it, trying to swallow me down, and I'd give anything to see his face right now.

Fuck . He runs his tongue over the tip, coaxing out more precum before his lips push at my foreskin, sliding it back until he can suck on the fully exposed glans. He's tasting and savoring, so fucking hungry for it that I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud. He pulls off with a slurp only to mouth at my balls while he strokes me, giving us both the chance to breathe. It's good, but not what I want, and my resolve doesn't last very long before I'm taking myself in hand so I can feed him my cock once again. My hips rock as I fuck myself deeper into his mouth, and it feels so good that I do it again. Then again.

God , I go mindless with it, the feel of his skilled mouth wrapped around me driving me almost mad. And he takes it all so well—happy to be used by me. So fucking good at it that it makes me think of all the times he's done this before, maybe even right here in this very room. I force my eyes shut, actively trying not to feed that train of thought anymore. But it can't be helped. I wonder how many guys Cade has been in this very position with, and I know I have no right to be jealous—I don't even understand why I am. But as deeply as he can take me, I feel like the number must be high. He's every bit the slut he likes to prove himself as, and it's equal parts sexy and infuriating.

His hand covering mine where it's tightened too much in his hair has me opening my eyes again, and suddenly, I'm peering down at his darkened silhouette—wishing again that I could see him clearly. I feel his eyes on me and think about easing up on him, but then I decide that's stupid. I don't know that this will ever happen again, that I'll ever get it exactly how I want it, so I'm definitely taking full advantage of it now. I move my hand from beneath his so I can cup his skull, pulling him against me as I sink in once again. I move slowly, make sure he has time to stop me and can't help but grin when he doesn't. He continues letting me use him to my liking and sits there patiently as I work my cock deep into his mouth, and it's only then, when my lips part to offer a filthy praise, that I remember everyone else in the room.

His hands grab at my ass, pulling me into him so roughly that I grunt in surprise. I can feel teeth almost at my base, his nose in my pubes, and the slick tunnel of his throat starting to panic around me as I cut off his breathing. And Cade, the boy I like to call my little brother, he fucking loves it. Choking himself on my dick brings out a moan from deep inside his chest, earning us some aggressive shhs from somewhere in the room.

My orgasm takes me by surprise, pulse after pulse climbing up my length with every rope of cum being spilled down his throat. I'm vaguely aware of his hands grabbing at my jeans, suffocation finally getting to be too much for him, but I'm too busy experiencing raw ecstasy to do anything but hold him in place. My very own little cock slut, so filthy and perfect.

" Fuck ," I mutter when I finally step back, listening to Cade noisily drag in a deep breath and fight a cough. My eyes are mostly adjusted to the dim lighting, but I can still hardly see him in the red glow. I almost feel bad, watching his solid frame kneeling on the ground as he struggles to drag in oxygen.

I reach for him, help him stand, and stay close as he wobbles. My hand covers his bulge, thinking it only fair to return the favor, but there's no need. He's wet. Soaked. He came in his jeans while he was choking on me.

I'm cozy and warm with all sorts of post-nut euphoria. And maybe a little bit of that shitty clarity one can expect after things like this. I just fucked Cadence Howard's face. My limp, tired dick is still wet with his saliva as it hangs there shamefully.

I tuck myself away as I take a step back. "We're not doing this again," I say, making sure to speak clearly so he—and who knows how many others—can hear me. And then I turn around and leave him there .