“Don’t laugh at me,” he says.
A small laugh escapes. “I’m not.”
He kisses me again. Slowly, pulling me closer by the chin. His hand runs into my hair and pulls my head back again so that he has access to bite my neck. I hiss, and he kisses me apologetically.
“I didn’t realize you were this aggressive.”
“I’m not aggressive.”
“Sure. If that’s what you want to think.”
He might still be trying to decide if he wants to go through with this or not. My hands are on his waist, fingers pressing into his skin beneath his shirt. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s go to your bedroom.”
I lead him up into the loft and we sit on the edge of the bed together, taking off our shoes and unbuttoning our shirts. Shyness is still there, but it’s easy to forget about that when you’re horny as fuck. We kiss slowly as we lean back onto the bed, pressing our bodies together. Just doing what feels good. What feels right. We’re freer without the stage directions and coordination. We don’t have to worry about whether we’re too loud for the camera or if we’re making the right expressions. Don’t have to worry about our characters. Our shirts are off and our hands are everywhere. I love losing myself like this. No more thinking necessary.
Matt’s more thoughtful. His gaze is always on me, watching for my reaction. He straddles me again—he must love that position—as he reaches for my zipper. “This okay?”
“You ask that a lot.”
“Yeah. I want to make sure you’re all right. Consent and all.”
“I’m fine.”
He yanks off my pants and boxers. He isn’t as shy as he’s been when he looks at me lying beneath him, naked. It doesn’t feel fair that he still has clothes on. He lets a hand trace over my chest and down my stomach and between my legs. He grips me—fingers tightening with just the right amount of pressure. He smiles when I gasp.
“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.