I survive on avoidance. Physical pain
to avoid the mental. Disposable flesh to avoid relationships. Work to avoid
attachment. My club became my empire of avoidance. Inside the ring millions are
won and lost. The fight is confined to breaths, actions and reactions, fists
and pain. Rules don’t exist. Only my opponent exists.
I’d been avoiding my needs for far too
long when Remi stumbles into the Inferno and I’m hungry. The promise of a
submissive with no attachment is far too tempting. I can’t resist him. He was
only supposed to be a distraction, but I know I'll never get over him. There
isn't a chance in this clouded hell.
Teaser
If I hadn't seen the video of the
fight, I wouldn't have believed it. I clicked the button on my laptop to rewind
it, to see the way his body moved. I gripped myself through my shorts and
glanced over at Kai. He was busy inking a full back piece, and I doubted he'd
even take a break for another hour. He couldn't see me from where I sat. It
would be so easy.
I trailed my fingers over the places
Dante had left marks. I could almost taste them, even if the bruises had faded.
I'd looked at them in the mirror over my bed and fucked my hand every night
since I'd left. I groaned as I slipped my hand into my shorts.
I squeezed my shaft, digging my nails
into the sensitive skin. I had to bite back a hiss of pain. Kai could easily
walk out and see me. The rooms in the shop were three-quarter walls to divide
the space with wide open doorways. Maybe I wanted to be caught. I kicked my
feet out, watching a bead of sweat drip down Dante's neck. When he threw a
punch his muscles tightened, and it took me back to him swinging his belt. The
sound of his fist hitting flesh was close, so close, to the way the leather
sounded against mine.
I shouldn't be imagining him touching
me, but it was impossible not to. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted him to
mark me with them. I was hit with the sudden realization he'd been acting when
he was in the ring with me. He hadn't even gone at half speed. He was a monster
when he fought. It took every ounce of self-control I had to keep from getting
up and into my Jeep to drive to the airport.
I used my free hand to unbutton my
shorts and slide down my zipper, freeing my cock.
About J.R. Gray
When not staying up all night writing, J.R. Gray can be
found at the gym where it's half assumed he is a permanent resident to fulfill
his self-inflicted masochism. A dominant and a pilot, Gray finds it hard to be
in the passenger seat of any car. He frequently interrupts real life, including
normal sleep patterns and conversations, to jot down notes or plot bunnies.
Commas are the bane of his existence even though it's been fully acknowledged
they are necessary, they continue to baffle and bewilder. If Gray wasn't
writing…well, that's not possible. The buildup of untold stories would haunt
Gray into an early grave, insanity or both. The idea of haunting has always appealed
to him. J.R. Gray is genderqueer and prefers he/him pronouns.
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