Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Get out,” he said. The words were like nails in his mouth.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened to you. You look like you’ve been...” Connelly rested a hand on Z’s bare shoulder, his Adam’s apple bounced, and worry filled his eyes. “Were you... Did someone... Have you been...?”
Connelly couldn’t say it and Azariah wouldn’t.
So they were left staring at each other in silence, a million and one terrible thoughts passing between them. Connelly’s rough palm moved from Z’s shoulder to cup his cheek.
“Azariah,” he said again. This time like a prayer.
Z couldn’t take it. He shoved at Connelly’s chest with both hands as hard as he could.
“Get out,” he said. “I told you I didn’t want you here. I don’t need you.”
Connelly recovered. “Fuck you. Why can’t you just tell me?”
“It’s none of your fucking business. Why are you even here?”
“Because I like you, you asshole.” Connelly came forward again and gripped the back of Z’s neck, bringing their faces close. He growled. “Tell me what the fuck happened to you.”
This side of Connelly Reid was definitely not Good Cop.
And Bad Cop Connelly was fucking potent.
* * *
After the awful day he’d had, arguing with Azariah was the last thing Connelly needed, but a part of him enjoyed the rush. It was kind of like purging his anger and frustration.
He should have known it was coming, especially considering how Azariah had thrown him out earlier. He couldn’t believe this morning they’d been enjoying pancakes in his kitchen and talking about his grandmother’s chili recipe, and now he was faced with so much aggression that his body was pumped full of adrenaline.
Azariah swung a fist that landed on his shoulder hard enough to have it throbbing.
“Stop it. I don’t want to hurt you.” Connelly tried to grab Azariah’s arms and restrain him but apparently that was the exact wrong thing to do. Azariah dodged the attack, lifted his crutch and slammed it against Connelly’s thigh.
“Fuck you! How many times do I have to tell you to leave?” Azariah punched again and this time hit Connelly in his unprepared midsection.
Connelly grunted and doubled over. “Damn it. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing,” Azariah said, shoving at his shoulders. “Go away.”
Fine. If Azariah wanted to play, Connelly would play. “Make me.”
Azariah let out a frustrated growl and attacked. He lost both crutches and manhandled Connelly until he was pinned against the wall with a firm forearm pressed into his throat.
Holy fucking shit.
He really hadn’t seen this coming. Azariah was a beast, a fucking tiger or something just as fierce. His dark eyes swirled manically, glazed over like he wasn’t quite fully conscious of his actions.
“What do you want?” Azariah asked, so close to Connelly’s face their noses touched. “Do you want a confession? Huh? Want me to bare all my fucking sins so you can judge me? Is that what you want?” His growl was both frustration and denial.
Connelly couldn’t speak. Azariah’s arm was choking off his air supply. Then Azariah’s lips slammed down on his and they were kissing. A violent, severe kiss that was filled with confusion and anger, pain and lust. Connelly held Azariah’s hips, his bare skin burning Connelly’s palms. What had seemed cold and clammy moments before was now as alive and scalding as the desert sun.
His cock stirred even as his mind tried to tell him this was all wrong. They shouldn’t be doing this. But then Azariah bit his lower lip roughly and ground his pelvis into Connelly’s.
Connelly groaned, all thoughts fleeing in the wake of Azariah’s need.
They’d probably both regret whatever happened next, but they were too gone now to stop. Connelly let his palms slide from Azariah’s waist to his ass and squeezed.
Immediately, Azariah straightened. The brutality in his eyes was wild and dazed as he grasped Connelly’s shoulders and forcibly spun him until he faced the wall.
Connelly grunted, his cheek pressed so hard into plaster he could smell the old paint.
“Why did you have to come? Why do you have to be so goddamn good?” Azariah’s voice was mumbled, like he was talking to himself. He clawed at Connelly’s fly until his jeans were shoved down to his knees.
“Azariah, what—”
“Shut up!” Azariah barked. He punched the wall near Connelly’s face even as his other hand tore at Connelly’s boxers so his ass was bared.
Connelly tried to catch his breath but his lungs had seized, and each attempt brought only dust and that suffocating feeling of going under. He was so deep under he wasn’t even sure which way was up anymore. The only thing keeping him focused was the knowledge that if he really wanted to, he could move.
But if he fought to be released, he’d have to hurt Azariah. He’d endure any pain before he did that.
Which meant after over a year of not bottoming, this guy who was not fully in his right mind and clearly working through some traumatic shit, was going to fuck him.