Stars in Your Eyes(38)

“You’re more experienced than I thought you’d be.”

He leans down to kiss the inside of my thigh. My breath is hitchy. Usually I’m the one on my knees, making people gasp for me. “There was this one guy, a couple of years ago…”

He licks the tip of my dick. Fuck. I try to thrust up into his mouth, but he pushes me back down by my waist. Why is it always the innocent-looking ones who’re secretly power whores? He grins at me. “Be patient.”

“Come on, Matt. I hate teasing.”

“Maybe I should just stop, then.”

“Wait. Okay.”

“Say please, if you really want it.”

I snort.

He sits up, staring down at me with a playful grin, but his eyes—damn, his eyes are hooded. He’s serious. He’ll wait as long as it takes. I’m getting harder, breath rougher. I’m usually a total bottom for guys like Briggs. Didn’t think I’m such a sub that I’d even end up begging to be controlled by someone like Mattie Cole. God. That’s a new low.

“Fine.” I’m a little pissed that I give in so easily. “Please.”

He rubs a hand over my hair and kisses me again, before he gets back to work—head between my legs, taking his time with every lick, never taking me into his mouth the way I need it. It’s been too long since I’ve come with anything but my right hand, and the pressure is building. I’m desperate for more contact.

“Please, Matt.” I’ll beg if I have to. “Fuck. Please, I can’t—”

He takes mercy and starts to suck. I grab his head, but he yanks my hands away and pins them to my side. Shit. He and his friend must’ve had a fuck ton of practice. I’m just starting to think that I’m finally going to come when he stops. He wipes his mouth, smile gone but that same look in his eyes, as he unzips and pulls off his own pants and boxers. He sits on top of my chest, hand in my hair, guiding my head forward.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

Fuck, yes. I open my mouth. This is what I’m used to. Making other people feel good. I love this moment, messing around with someone new for the first time, figuring out their body and what they like. It doesn’t take much to figure out Matt, the softer pressure he wants and the spots that have him bucking over me. As much control as Matt had before, he’s lost it all now. He’s squirming, practically crying, even cursing. Never heard so many fucks fly out of golden boy’s mouth before. Unsurprising. I know that I’m good.

He grips my hair tightly, thrusting into me, then pulls back at the last second, right before I think he’s about to come. He repositions himself again, pressing our dicks together and gripping them with a hand. We fall into gasping, moaning, skin sticking together and kissing in between breaths. He comes first, all over my stomach and chest, but I’m close behind.

He collapses on top of me. “Oh, my God.” That’s all he’ll say. He kisses my neck, then rolls off to lie on his back. “Oh, my God. That was great.”

The sex wasn’t technically that special. We did the basics. Not a thousand and one different positions. No tying up and blindfolds and gags, no floggings and candle wax. And yet…It felt a lot more intense than the sex I’ve had in a while. I rub my eyebrow and turn away, lying on my side, my back to him.

Matt puts a hand on my shoulder. I almost shrug him off. “Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

I don’t know. I feel like I’m shutting down. There’re some memories I’d rather not think about. Briggs helps me forget them, the way he slaps me around. Tells me I’m a piece of shit. I want to hear it. Matt’s hand is too gentle, too tender, as he rubs my arm up and down, like he’s trying to comfort me.

“Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe you should go,” I tell him.

His hand stops. “Don’t do this again, Logan.”

“Do what?”

“Treat me like this.” He turns me over and forces me to look at him. “Talk it through, whatever’s bothering you. But I’m not going to be kicked out of your apartment after having sex with you.”

Matt frowns, watching me, waiting for my reaction. But I don’t know what to say.

“What’s going on?” he says. His voice is hoarse. He sounds more concerned now.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

He pauses for a while. He looks like he’s thinking hard. “I can give you space,” he eventually says, voice low, “if that’s what you need. But something tells me you don’t really want to be alone. Is that true? I’ll leave, if you want me to.”

I don’t even know what I want. I sit up and put my head in my hands, elbows on my knees. “I’m sorry. Yeah. I think I need space.”

A part of me is hoping he’ll act like he did in bed. Tell me that he isn’t leaving, not even if I beg. But he doesn’t speak as he gets up and gathers his clothes. He hesitates at the top of the stairs. “See you at work, Gray.” He turns away again. I hear the door slam shut below, and I fall into my sheets. Shit. Matt’s probably not going to trust me at all after this.





Notes of Amy Tanner (Confidential)

Patient: Logan Gray

Age: 25

Diagnosis: CPTSD



Logan cannot speak about what happened without dissociating. I’m worried I may have pushed him too far this afternoon in asking if there was a link between the way he treated his romantic and sexual partners and the trauma, and he began to dissociate for several minutes.