Page 12 of My Craving

I should say no. Instead, the image of Nash walking into that church comes back to me.

“Yes. But no contact.”

Kenji nods. He helped organize the watches on Xavier, Colton, and Jaxon, so he doesn’t need further instructions. By the time Kenji drops me off at the estate, Ronan has everything he needs to look into Nash, and someone will be keeping an eye on him until I know what the hell I’m dealing with.

I head upstairs and start undressing. My shoulder still aches, but nowhere near as much as it did before Nash worked the knot out of it. The memory brings back more than the relief from the pain. His body close behind mine. The quiet amusement in his voice every time he slipped another double meaning into the conversation. The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

By the time I pull off my shirt, my cock is hard again.

“For fuck’s sake.”

I’ve spent the entire drive home trying to think about anything else, and somehow I’m still standing here with a hard cock because Nash Campbell touched my back for ten fucking minutes.

I step beneath the shower and turn the water cooler than usual, letting it run over the back of my neck. The colder water does nothing. I close my eyes and see Nash standing behind me in my office, smiling every time he realizes I’m letting him get away with another filthy comment.

I wrap my hand around my cock and start to stroke. There’s no point pretending anyone but Nash is responsible for this. His face fills my mind first, followed by that smart fucking mouth. Those fucking lips.

“Ifreann agus mallacht.”

Precum slicks my palm as I stroke faster, imagining Nash on his knees between my legs, his lips closing around the head of my cock before taking me deeper. The image sends a rush of pleasure through me. I lean back against the shower wall, spread my legs and cup my balls with my free hand, rolling them in my palm before giving them a gentle tug.

“Fuuuuuck, Nash!”

His name echoes off the tile as my balls draw tight and pleasure rips through me. My hips jerk into my fist, cum spilling over my knuckles while I keep stroking through every pulse. By the time it finally eases, my breathing is rough, and my forehead is pressed against the cool tile. I open my eyes and let the water wash over my hand.

The release hasn’t changed anything. Nash is still the man in my head, and the thought of someone else having his smart mouth, his hands, or his attention still pisses me off.

Whatever this is, keeping my distance stopped being enough the second he put his hands on me.

I crave him.

Chapter 7 Nash

Finding Justin without a last name is easier than I expected. I settle onto the couch with a cold drink, find Ben’s social media, and start digging through older posts, scrolling past birthday pictures, concerts, Pride events, random memes, and an unhealthy number of cat videos.

Ten minutes later, a tag on an old photo gives me what I need.

Justin Mills.

Ben may have deleted the pictures after their breakup, but the comments, tags, and mutual friends are still there. I follow them from one account to the next until I land on Justin’s profile. The first thing I notice is his cocky, confident smile, exactly what I expected after everything Ben said tonight.

“Let’s see who you really are.”

Unlike Ben, Justin never bothered deleting anything after the breakup, so I scroll back through years of photographs and posts. I start noticing the changes in Ben almost immediately.

In the older pictures, he’s laughing beside Justin, usually touching him somehow, a hand on his arm or their fingers intertwined. As the years pass, his smiles get smaller. He stops leaning into Justin and starts looking tired. By the final pictures, he barely looks at the camera. Most of the time, he’s watching Justin instead, like he’s checking his mood before deciding how relaxed he’s allowed to be. I’ve seen that look before.

Justin, on the other hand, never changes. Same cocky grin. Same arm slung around Ben’s shoulders. Even the same stupid fucking captions about being “blessed” and “living my best life.”

I enlarge one of the pictures. Justin’s hand is wrapped around Ben’s wrist, his fingers digging into the skin while Ben’s arm stays rigid between them. Anyone scrolling past would probably see a couple touching. That’s not what I see at all.

I log into one of the alternate profiles I’ve spent the last year building and send Justin a follow request. The profile has enough history behind it to survive a casual look, and nothing that leads back to Nash Campbell. I set my phone on the coffee table and lean back against the couch. If Justin accepts, great. If he ignores it, I’ll try again from another account in a few days. Rushing this shit is how people make mistakes.

By the time I finally call it a night, Justin’s name is stuck in my head, but there isn’t much else I can do until he accepts my follow request.

The next morning, I step through the employee entrance of Murphy Enterprises to the familiar smell of industrial cleaner and burnt coffee. Another day, another glance at Daddy. I grin as I badge in and head toward the lockers.

Fuck, I hope his shoulder is still hurting. Okay, that sounds terrible. I don’t actually want him in pain. I just wouldn’t mind another excuse to get my hands on him, especially if I get that raised eyebrow when I say something inappropriate.