Getting It Twisted (Unforgivable Needs #1)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Nathan

I’ve had sex with men who hated me. Or rather, men who hated their attraction to me.

I’ve had sex with men who craved more from me than I could give them.

This one falls somewhere in between: a six-foot-tall “straight” guy I picked up outside a bar, jacked up like a quarterback, who speaks in grunts and kisses me with a desperate fervor as he pushes me up against the motel room wall.

He’s a good kisser, and he takes my hand and presses it to the bulge in his jeans. Fine. This is easy. He’ll give me what I want, and then I’ll be on my way.

Before long, I have him on the bed with his thighs spread wide. I kneel in front of him and unbuckle his jeans, and my mouth is inches from his cock when my phone rings.

“Hold on.” I slick my palm with spit and stroke him while I fetch my phone with my free hand. I’m not sure why I answer the call; I suppose part of me wants to fuck with the dude in more ways than one.

I’m silent during most of the conversation, replying yes and no and “I understand” where appropriate while I keep stroking the dude’s cock.

His gaze is fiery on mine, brows knitted, jaw worked tight. He looks furious, but I’ve seen that look before; he’s just impatient and horny.

When the call’s done, I feel cold, and my vision blurs. I figure it’s the booze, or the lack of a proper dinner. Whatever.

“What was that about?” the dude asks.

I chuck the phone away and take him into my mouth to shut him up. Big-cocked motherfucker as he is, I have to fight to do it: stretch my jaw real wide and relax my throat to take him all the way inside. He groans and grabs onto my hair. I start sucking him proper, but it’s like something’s itching at the back of my skull, and it’s not his hand. It’s different, it’s—

I pull back. The grip on my hair tightens.

“Hey,” says the dude. His fingers tangle into my locks and stroke my scalp, almost gently. “What was that call about?”

“None of your business.”

“It is my business, if it’s got you all upset.”

“Who’s upset?” I snap. “Look, you want your dick sucked or not?”

He raises an eyebrow at me, likely more for my tone than my words. “You’re not so sweet now, are you?”

“Never said I was sweet.” I try to get off the bed, but the dude grabs my arm.

“Is sex off the table now?” He looks disappointed, though it’s not a puppy-eyed disappointment; he’s . . . annoyed. I can work with that.

“No. Take off your shirt.”

The dude smiles. “Bossy. I like it.”

He wrestles out of his tight shirt and helps me with my own, then my belt. I feel his gaze on me as I fish a packet of lube and a condom out of my pocket.

“Damn.” His hand runs up my waist, thumb sliding over a nipple. “You’re beautiful.” His other hand unzips my fly, and now I’m at least halfway hard again—good.

I lie on my back and yank my jeans off. I hand him the condom while I tear open the lube packet with my teeth and get my fingers to my hole. All the while, he watches me. His enraptured gaze slides across my face, my body, down to where I’m hard and wanting and working myself open with lube-slick fingers.

I muster up a smirk. “Enjoying the view?”

His rough hands stroke my thighs, pushing them apart to spread me wide. “You never told me your name.”

“Will knowing my name help you fuck me better?”

He scoffs, the spell broken, and positions himself between my legs. “You ready?”

I grit my teeth. Why ask? “Just do it.”

The truth sinks in at the same time as his cock. Once it does, the meaning erupts and whirls in my mind alongside the initial burn, and his hands on me, his cock in me, his thumb digging into my hip bone . . .

“My mother is dead.”

“What?” he grunts, red-faced and heavy on top of me. The shitty motel bed creaks with the thrusts of his hips.

“It’s what you wanted to know, right? What the phone call was about.” I hike my knees up high, urging him to go deeper and to reach a spot that sharpens the softness in me. “They called to break the news—she’s dead.”

“Shit.” He slows down his thrusts. “Was she sick or somethin’?”

“You could say that.” A flash of memories hits me—a screeching voice and a door slamming shut—but I push them away as quick as they came. “Did I tell you to stop?”

The dude snorts and slams into me hard, smirking as a moan escapes me. “You’re real mouthy for someone whose mom just died.”

“Shut me up, then.” I grab his wrist and put his hand to my throat.

A hiss between clenched teeth. “You’re so fucked up.”

I glare at him through my bangs. As if I didn’t know that already. Guys usually don’t care about my crossed wires when they’re coming down my throat or stuffing my ass with their cocks. Not that I give a shit about what they think. As long as they give me what I want, it’s all good. And as long as they don’t try to cuddle me afterward. Hate it when guys who look like they could choke me out in a headlock want to treat me like some princess after they’ve shot their load.

The guy finally gets the memo. He flips me over, and his rough, callused hand hooks around my throat as he starts plowing into me like he’s trying to prove a point.

Yeah, that’s right. This is what I need, this is what I need...

Let the pleasure wash through me, together with the pain. Let it take me away from this dank motel room to a place where reality doesn’t hit quite as hard.

“You like this big dick, bitch?”

I give a muffled groan in reply.

“Twinks like you usually squeal like pigs when I fuck ’em.” He lets go of my throat and twists his fingers into my hair, shoving my face into the mattress. The new angle makes him hit my prostate, and I can no longer hold in my moans.

“I’m gonna make you fucking come.” He pushes me down until I lie prone, my cock leaking and rubbing onto the sheets.

Oh god, he’s right. I feel it building, winding into a knot of tension in my groin. He bites the shell of my ear. Twists my nipple so hard I cry out. My ass clenches around him as my mind blanks, my toes curl, my vision blurs.

He grunts like an animal when he comes too, right after me. The weight of his body lands on the bed. Then he snaps off the condom, and his huge, heavy arm wraps around me, pulling me close.

My head spins. Nausea rises up my throat. The usual postorgasmic bliss turns to dread as reality comes crashing back down.

My mother is gone, but that’s not the issue.

The issue is I now have a reason to return to Springvale, and knowing myself, I won’t be able to resist seeking out Daniel once I’m there.