Just a Bit Heartless (Straight Guys, #13)

by Alessandra Hazard

“I think I’m losing my mind. I’m not sure I’m even sleeping anymore or how much time has passed. I can’t—I can’t do this. I can’t breathe in here. I need you to wake up.” A shaky kiss pressed to the top of his head. Ragged breaths that sounded almost like sobs. “I need you to wake up. I need—I need you.”

“God, you’re such an asshole,” Jordan said, yanking at Damiano’s hair. “I don’t want you dead, you ass. I don’t want to be saved if that means you’re dead.” Frankly, the mere thought made his stomach knot up. It was fucking scary how badly he needed Damiano to be okay. How attached to him he’d gotten.

“I know this is weird,” the other man said, clearing his throat a little. “I know it probably isn’t real—just the circumstances, forced proximity, my phobia, and the stress—but… I care for you. I feel safe with you. I don’t want you to die or get hurt—ow, stop that!” Damiano bit him on the neck again, just to shut him up. Apparently words could cause a dopamine high, too. What an unpleasant discovery. “Ahh, you’re hurting me.” Good, Damiano thought, giving him another vicious bruise. He deserved to be hurt for saying inane shit like that. He wished the room weren’t so dark and he could see the bruises all over that pale neck.

“Don’t cry,” Damiano said tersely, a muscle jumping by his temple. “It’s not worth crying over.” I’m not worth crying over. “I’m not crying,” Jordan said, blinking the moisture away.

The problem was, his desire to fuck Jordan didn’t really stem from his cock. It was a twisted, insane desire to possess, a desire for closeness and ownership that happened to affect his cock too. He wanted to devour him, to tear into his heart and burrow his way inside. Even during his last visit, the rush he got from coming all over Jordan’s thighs had little to do with physical pleasure and everything to do with his desire to own him, to mark him up, to brand him as his. He felt like a dog that wanted to piss all over his territory. It was utterly disgusting—and utterly dangerous.

Damiano made an inhuman sound and kissed back, as forcefully, shoving his tongue down Jordan’s throat. They both moaned in relief—and hunger. So much hunger. Jordan couldn’t kiss him as deeply as he wanted to. He whined in frustration, sucking on Damiano’s tongue like it was the holy grail, his hands roaming all over the other man’s firm body, dragging his coat off. It fell to the ground and Jordan fumbled with Damiano’s belt and fly, pulling Damiano inside his apartment.

He’d had the ring for almost two days, but it was still extremely distracting, its heavy weight like a brand. Every time he looked at it, his chest filled with a sensation not unlike drowning but much more pleasant. Jordan had given it to him. Jordan was wearing a matching one. The thought was like a snake, coiling around all his thoughts, poisoning them with overwhelming possessiveness. For the first time, Damiano understood the appeal of wedding rings.

Christ, he wanted to devour him, bite his pink, beautiful lips, crawl under his skin and eat him from the inside, find out what he tasted like, what his warmth tasted like. Damiano could almost taste it on the back of his tongue, and he nearly choked on the saliva pooling in his mouth.

“Oh.” The light in Jordan’s eyes dimmed, and Damiano hated it. He wanted those blue eyes to be alight with affection, always. He was addicted to the way Jordan looked at him—as if he were worth loving. As if he were a better man than he was. He wasn’t. Frankly, people weren’t wrong when they called him unfeeling, selfish, and heartless. He didn’t care about people. Most people were just tools for him. He felt no remorse about hurting people. Except this one. This one was precious. This one was his. This one made him feel.