Page 24 of Deviant
I can’t breathe. I literally cannot pull in a full breath. My lungs have stopped cooperating, my hand is shaking around the phone, and my eyes are moving over the words on repeat, like they’re going to rearrange themselves into something that makes sense—something that isn’t what they clearly, obviously, undeniably are.
Someone was watching.
Or…or they weren’t. Maybe they couldn’t actually see anything from wherever they were. Maybe this is a guess. Maybe Colt just guessed, took a shot in the dark, and now I’m standing here, handing him the confirmation on a silver platter. There’s no other plausible answer. He’s doing this to fuck with me.
Well, I won’t play along.
Fuck this guy. I’m going to walk right in there and put my phone in his face, then I’m going to back him into a wall like he did me and smash his fucking skull against the brick.
I shove my phone back into my pocket so fast I almost drop it, my heart slamming against my ribs as I storm toward The Bar.
But then, the bar door bangs open, and Cash stumbles onto the gravel with Dawson following along, causing me to quickly turn my face back to neutral.
Cash stares at me. “There you are. You disappeared on us. You good?”
“Needed air.”
“You’ve been out here this whole time?”
“Yeah.”
Cash looks at me for exactly one second longer than comfortable, then lets it go, because Cash always lets things go.“Colt was asking where you went. Told him you probably got a call from Molly.”
Something tightens in my chest. “What’d he say?”
“Nothing. Just nodded.” Cash shrugs. “You two have a thing in there?”
“No. Nothing.”
Yes, a thing. A verybigthing.
COLTON
Stumbling into the bathroom, I slide my fingers into my hair, tugging at the roots to see if this is real or not.
Nope, that wasn’t a fucking daydream.
I brace both hands on the sink and just stand there for a second, letting the water run.
I’ve been with guys before. I know what wanting a man feels like. I know the difference between casual interest and the particular want that gets under your skin. I’ve been with guys who were curious, guys who were confident in their sexuality, and those who would rather keep me a secret. Guys who kissed me and I questioned, and those I knew what they wanted out of me.
Rhett Thornwood hasn’t even touched me, and I already know I’m in trouble.
That half of a second when his breath changed and I felt his hard cock is going to live in my head for a long time.
What would his face look like if I kissed him? Would he question and fight it, or grab me back. Would his controlled facade crack all at once or piece by piece?
The man is obviously questioning himself, but will he question me if I push him over the edge?
Palming my half-hard cock through my jeans, a quick scan of the bathroom confirms I’m alone—no feet under the stalls. A sigh of relief slips out of me as I adjust myself so you can’t see the outline of my cock in these jeans if someone walks in.
Turning the faucet on, I listen to the water run, thinking of Rhett’s lips.
If we kissed, would it be soft, or like everything else, would he make it hard?
Staring at myself in the mirror and trying to slow down my brain, I tell myself, “There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, man or woman.”
Is he ashamed that it’s me? Or?—
