Before I change my mind, I storm out of the room on a hunt for him. I find him in the kitchen washing the few dishes we dirtied up. When he sees my manic expression, his features harden.
“When shit piles up so high in my head, the only way for me to make it go away is to burn it. Something about that flame against my skin, it leaves me blank and unfeeling inside. And when you…” I run my fingers through my messy hair, tugging to the point of pain. “You cause all these confusing feelings to worsen. I feel like my head is going to explode.”
“But…” he trails off, challenging me to fucking beg for what I need.
“But I need you to do it for me. You said you would, and I fucking need it. Right now.”
“You want me to hurt you, yes?”
I swallow and nod.
“Say the words, boy.” He stalks over to me, until we’re nose to nose. “Say them.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, my cock achingly hard between us.
He grips my hips and pushes me against the wall. I let out a hiss when he rocks his hips against mine, allowing me to feel how aroused he is too. His lips fuse to mine, and I let out a defeated groan as he dominates me with his kiss. He fists his hand in my shirt and pulls me even closer.
“Say it, Xa.” He kisses me so deep, it makes me dizzy. “I need to hear you say them. You need to hear you say them.”
My body aches and buzzes with the need to feel the burn he promised he’d deliver—a pain that will numb my thoughts and calm my tumultuous heart.
“Please, Blaine,” I mutter. “Hurt me.”
He smiles against my lips. “Good boy.”
Those words are a shot of heroin straight into my veins. I love the way they feel sliding through me, making me high.
Blaine’s good boy.
Fuck.
I want to do this…whatever this is.
Holy shit.
This is happening.
I’m in the middle of Blaine’s room, my hands raised above my head, and cuffed to a metal rack in the ceiling. He made me remove my T-shirt, but keep my pants on, which, for reasons I hate myself for, disappointed me.
I fucking love having his eyes on my junk. It makes me painfully hard. I love the ache he evokes within me—the burn.
Burn…burn…burn…
He takes my lighter from my pocket and lights a small red candle he pulled from a drawer. My eyes track his movements, anticipation thickening the air around us. The glow of the flame flickers its promise.
“When I first saw you, my dick throbbed with the images I conjured up in my mind of you strung up just like this,” he croons, his eyes darkening like a predator about to pounce. “When I came to your house the night you got into a fight, I had to battle all my instincts not to give you a whipping, then spread you out over the couch, rip those tight wet jeans from your body, and spread your ass cheeks before filling you up with my big, fat cock. Pushing past the muscle, skin on skin, until you cried out in pain, then pleasure.”
He moves closer, and the blood rushes through my veins, pounding my heart like a drum inside my chest. “That smirk you do so effortlessly should be a crime. It’s maddening not to be able to kiss it from your lips. I want to feel your lips around my cock, pump my release down your throat, taste myself on your tongue for days,” he taunts. I gulp and shift my feet, trying to hide my raging hard-on, but he knows—he fucking knows what I like more than I do.
Lifting the candle high over my shoulder, he allows the wax to pour from the top onto my skin and watches my face for a reaction.
A hiss leaves my lips as it makes contact, the sting like tiny needles poking into my flesh. The smile from his lips makes my insides dance. He enjoys this—me—hurting me. Pleased with my reaction, he lowers his arm, making the contact of wax to my skin swifter. The drips run a couple inches down my pectoral muscle before solidifying, the red stripes like art against my pale flesh.
I focus on the pain. It’s the only thing that’s real to me. The sweet release allows all the murky, dirty guilt inside me to leak free, pouring out the toxic hate I hold for myself. When his hand swipes away the wax and his wet tongue kisses over the sting, I groan. The pain and pleasure is mind-altering. I want to chase the high it gives me. No drugs can give me this.
The familiar burn ignites my flesh as the wax drips on my chest. My cock strains and my breathing quickens with every single drop. The fire ebbs, then a new fire begins inside me as his lips stroke over my nipples, teasing, tempting, promising. I want to scream for him to touch my cock. Please fucking touch me everywhere and give me everything I’ve denied myself. But I’m too fucking cowardly to ask, to admit it’s what I want. It only makes me crave the pain.