Page 94 of Kill Feed

“You’re even cuter in person,” Dante’s replacement, Gideon, chimes from across a tiled kitchen island. “Damn, I’ll admit, I didn’t think you’d come over so soon.”

His words wash over me, meaningless grouping together, creating sentences I couldn’t care less about. Regardless, I respond accordingly.

Gideon was an easy pick. Almost as easy as getting a hookup from any dating platform out there.

After making a few more quips about my looks, he jumbles on about himself and his achievements, filling the silence between us with utter nonsense. He’s trying to impress me, flexing a bicep as he pulls a hand over his cropped caramel blonde hair.

I’d be lying if I said the hair and eyes weren’t intentional. But the comparison ends there. Everything else feels warped—from the shape of his face to the slope of his nose, to the broadness of his shoulders and the way he stands—all disappointingly ordinary and nothing like Dante.

But I’m not here for him. I’m here to get rid of the thought of him.

“You’re quiet; are you shy?” Gideon states, interrupting my thoughts, pulling an exasperated grin as he moves towards the living room where I sit, statue-still, on his couch with my gaze on photo frames of the man with his wife and kids on vacation.

“Don’t worry,” he states, noticing my gaze on the family photos. “They’re out of town at my mother-in-law’s. I said I had work.”

“That’s convenient,” I reply placidly, eyes back on him.

I know his type. Knew it within the first thirty minutes into our conversation over the phone. Gideon is older than me—thirty-three, which puts a twelve-year age gap between us. He’s the type of man that scopes out inexperienced boys, promising to “take it slow” and “be gentle,” then proceeds to fuck your brains out.

And that’s exactly the reason why I picked him.

He eases onto the couch, leaning closer as his arm drapes along the back. “First time doing this?” he asks.

“Yes, it is,” I lie, and the smile on his face widens. He reaches for my leg, and I fight the urge to not pull away. He’s on the verge of another word when I close the distance, lips crushing into his, tongue invading his mouth whilst lifting his hand from my leg. He barely registers the movement as he fully kisses me now, lips moving slightly off rhythm to mine.

I didn’t come here to waste my time with small talk. I came here to erase Dante’s fingerprints from my skin and poison his touch with another’s. This hold I’ve developed needs to fucking die. And the best way to get him out of my system is to get fucked by this guy.

Gideon seizes my hips, dragging me closer as his mouth presses harder onto mine. My skin floods with sensation, each one wrong and off-key. This is usually the part where I rush into sex. The part where I lead the man’s hands to where exactly I want them to go, guide every bit of their being to mold the experience to my exact liking.

But right now all I want to do is pull away—out of his mouth, out of his grip, and out of his fucking house. A knot ties in my stomach as Gideon lets out a moan against my lips, “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

I recoil at that, my body shutting down completely as the hairs at the back of my neck start to rise because how the fuck am I hating this so much?

I hate how his mouth tastes of cigarettes. I hate how he holds my waist and digs his fingers into my skin. I hate how the faint stubble along his jaw scratches my cheek. I even hate how he fucking smells. But most of all… I hate how he isn’t Dante. But this is his own doing. I told him not to ignore me, so the audacity to ghost me is all on him.

So yes, fuck him. Yet that’s exactly all I can think about.

I want Dante’s hands on my waist, with his fingers digging into my sides. I want his tongue in my mouth and his dick inside me.

“Hmm,” Gideon groans, “You hard for me, baby?”

The fuck did he just call me?

Seems the mere thought of Dante was all it took for blood to rush down to my dick, tenting my jeans. Gideon takes this as an invitation, laying a firm hand over the bulge, thumb on the zipper.

My body betrays me, recoiling in the sickening aftermath of his words and touch. I pull away, startled by my own reaction.

This was a fucking mistake.

Gideon seems to miss all the signs of rejection as he whips out his own dick, gripping his shaft with expectation. He slowly starts to jerk it up and down, dark eyes falling back onto me. “Get on your knees.”

Like fuck I am.

I scoff as I rise, already reaching for my keys to leave.

“Hey, don’t get shy now,” he mutters, panic threading his voice. His hand clamps my arm, dragging me back with such force my steps tangle, sending me down nearly across his lap with my face inches away from his hardened cock. Close enough he could slap my cheek with it if he wanted to.

“Don’t bitch out now, pretty boy,” he continues in a completely changed tone, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I grit my teeth in response, working my jaw. Does he have a fucking death wish?