Page 8 of Twisted Little Game

In Russian or any other language, he is a fucking crazy fool.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he writhes in my grasp. My body fits around his smaller frame like a snug glove, and when he moves he shoves his ass backwards into my upper thighs, connecting with my cock. I keep him fully restrained, and when his ass moves again, my cock twitches from the friction against the area.

I jam my foot forward, locking against his leg.

“Quit that,” I tell him.

I glance down and see a small constellation of freckles along his neck, leading down toward his collarbone. He’s in a black tank top with its arm holes cut low, and I can see the defined ridges of his muscle.

Lord.

I glance to my side, checking to see if anyone else is still watching us.

The others have long since disappeared into the crowd, though, and beside us, people are too busy dancing to look our way.

It’s been too long since I’ve been physical with another human.

Fighting… or fucking.

I want a woman up against me like this, not a feral jock. But his eyes are too pretty when he glances up at me, with natural thick, dark lashes and a deep-set, fuck-me kind of look.

I despise seeing something that beautiful wasted on him.

And he’s still clutching that glass. Bleeding, yet he won’t relax and let me win. He has to be screaming with pain, but he tolerates it like it’s nothing.

So distracting.

Everything I want, just not on the right person.

I feel my cock growing harder, smashed up against my denim and pushed against the spot where his back dips into the cleft of his ass.

And in a burst of raw instinct, I shove my hips forward, making sure he feels the length of me, hard against him.

“Damn. Does it turn you on to hurt guys who are smaller than you?” he utters.

“You don’t fucking turn me on,” I breathe near his ear. “You feel my cock? Every fucking inch of this was supposed to be inside someone beautiful right now, and instead it’s here. You are wasting my night.”

I push harder against him, and I swear I feel the vibration of him moaning against me, lost in the music.

A wave of pure, aching need rolls through my body.

The need to punish.

The need to come.

I glance around the room, as the strobing lights go from deep purple to dark red, then flash with occasional bright white. Everything in the room looks like it’s moving through snapshots of light as the bass drops on a loud electronic song, and it’s as if our bodies is just two in the sea of bodies, dancing and grinding and lost in intoxication.

I dig my fingers into his arm, and he leans his head back against me.

“Barely hurts. Do it harder,” he tells me, defiant.

“Is that what you want?” I finally reply to him. “To get hurt?”

He glares at me. “If you’re going to put your nose in my business, then at least make it fun for me.”

My cock aches, and it makes my blood run even hotter with anger.

Does he like pain?