“Need to come,” he grunts, and I suck the head again, ready for him. My hands clutch him hard around his ass, pulling him deeper, hoping he feels it, hoping he knows this is my way of saying I want you. I need you. The hand on the back of head is joined by the other, both of them drifting down to my neck as Hunter curls himself around me. It’s intimate and sexy as fuck, and I can feel my cock leaking beads of cum into the condom sheathed around it. I’m desperate to touch myself, but I don’t want to let him go.
A moment later, he’s shuddering and crying out as the warm, salty drops hit the back of my tongue. Once he’s let it all out, I swallow, lapping up his dick again, not quite ready to let this moment end.
But it does end, like all good things. Because a moment later, Hunter is zipping up his pants and pulling away. I don’t see him leave. Well, I can’t see shit, but when I reach out for him, he’s already gone.
I kneel in the darkness for a while. I consider jacking off, but the devastation of being so impersonally used and discarded has my dick deflating.
And the entire time I sit there, I try to put myself in Hunter’s shoes. This was his first sexual encounter with someone of the same sex. That had to be pretty intense. Maybe a little scary. He obviously liked it, and I’m sure he’s off somewhere questioning everything about himself.
But that fucker left me on the floor. On the goddamn floor. And I can’t imagine a scenario in which I would do that to him.
I didn’t force his dick down my throat. If anything, it was the opposite.
After a while, I decide that my self-loathing pity party would be better spent somewhere with alcohol. So I pick my sad ass off the floor, find the exit, discard the unused condom, and text Hunter.
I’m going to a bar. I’ll order a ride back to the apartment later.
I’m marching through the main room, staring down at my phone, when I hear him call my name.
“Drake,” he barks, putting himself in my path. “Where are you going?”
“Did you get my text?” My eyes skim over his suit, remembering the way it felt in my hands, the lapels, the shirt, the tie…the belt. I could argue with him right now, but I don’t want to. I’m mad, but I’m more in the mood to stew about it than fight.
“I’ll come with you,” he replies, and I look at his face for the first time. His expression is chaotic and unsure, but I hope he reads the emotion in mine. You left me on the fucking floor.
“I’ll meet you at the apartment,” I reply, and without another word, I leave.
He doesn’t follow me or call me or argue. He just lets me go.
There’s a dive bar down the street from the club and it’s perfect for what I need. I’m on a mission to get drunk fast, so I don’t talk to anyone, flirt, or converse. I just drink. It takes roughly three hours before I’m good and wasted. I still feel sad, but my inebriated brain can no longer form self-deprecating thoughts to accompany all the gloom.
Rule #23: Fuck the rules.
Isabel
I’m half asleep on the couch when I hear what sounds like a grizzly bear entering the apartment. A drunk grizzly bear.
“Drake?” I whisper, just as he loses his footing and stumbles into the doorframe of his room. He lets out a groan as he melts onto the floor.
“Go to bed,” he mutters.
“Come on. Get up.” My tiny frame is nothing against his giant drunk one. But he finally manages to get back on his feet and shuffle to his bed, where he lands against the mattress. I watch him struggle to pull off his shoes, but he’s clearly a lost cause, so I swat his hand away to help him.
“Stop. Don’t be nice to me,” he says with a harsh expression on his face.
“I’ll be as nice to you as I want.” I pull one of his shoes off and drop it onto the hardwood. Then I work on the other. I think for a moment that he’s fallen asleep, but as I pull the second shoe off and gaze up at his face, I see him staring back at me.
“Where have you been?”
“I had to get drunk.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because…your husband is an asshole.”
Well, shit. Despair gnaws away at my gut as I move to unbuckle Drake’s pants. When Hunter came home, he didn’t say much, but I could tell something was up. He’s usually so open with me and after the talk we had this morning, I was anxious for him to report back. Clearly, whatever went down at the club between him and Drake didn’t end well.
“Lift,” I tell him as I shimmy his jeans down his hips. Tugging them off each leg, I discard his jeans on the floor and climb over his body to help him pull off his shirt. His hands slide up my thighs as I do, but I glare at him. “No funny ideas, mister. You know the rules. Plus…I’m on my period and no living thing is allowed near this.” I gesture toward my cramping, aching belly.