Free Fall (Wilde Boys #2) - Sara Cate



“Choke me, Nash.”

Squeezing my fingers around her throat, I press firmly for a moment on the spot under her ears, and she moans in response. I’m glad she’s having fun, because I’m already bored. It’s like watching a porn I’ve seen a million times. It’s fine. Gets the job done, and if I could stop watching it I would, but I can’t—because I need this.

Her hand slams against the wall. It’s a little too fucking dramatic if you ask me. Lotte’s friends are always like this. Choke me, Nash. Punish me. I’ll be a good girl.

Over and over again, it’s always the fucking same. None of it is real. They want me to lose control on them, but I don’t give a shit about them enough to do it.

We’re in a dark back room of the party, and I guess this is what the rooms are for, but I can still hear the music and chatter from the crowd through the door. It’s not my first time at one of Lotte’s parties. I started coming to them a few weeks ago after a lot of persuasion on her part. Not that I was turned off by the idea of a party, but I knew through work gossip they were an easy way to get laid, and it felt too soon. I should have rushed my ass over the minute she told me about it the first time at work. I should have wanted to cleanse out any and all residual feelings for Zara, but I didn’t. I can’t explain why, but I wasn’t ready.

Until I was. And then I never looked back.

My mind is wandering too much, and my arousal is moving in the wrong fucking direction. I’m supposed to be moving toward coming, but it’s like a standstill.

“Harder,” she pants, her lithe British accent not sounding so proper now as she begs me to stick my dick so far inside her it feels like I’m rearranging her guts.

The problem is I know she wants it harder because my cock is slowly deflating. What is wrong with me? This girl is hot. I’ve had my eye on her for a few weeks now. I like how she looks almost innocent and normal, and she’s never with anyone except maybe a couple of girls. But maybe that’s the problem. There is no ring on her finger or man over her shoulder. There’s no fucking conflict. It was too easy to talk her into a private room and a quick fuck.

She’s not fucking your dad, the voice in my head reminds me, so I squeeze my eyes shut.

A quick memory flashes through my mind. A dark night, a warm body in my hands, a cock down her throat that wasn’t mine.

I don’t get off on Zara anymore. But sometimes that little flashback resurfaces, and it’s like a secret key in my pocket, and as fucked up as I know it is, it gets me off easily because within seconds, I’m filling up the condom around my dick and the girl almost seems relieved. She probably thought it was going to end sooner.

We’re both panting for a while before we start cleaning ourselves up and I discard the rubber in the trash in the corner by the door. It’s a simple guest bedroom and it’s bigger than the other room I’ve ended up in, which is a glorified broom closet.

“That was fun,” she says before handing me a card. Looking down at it, I see her name scribbled on the paper with a phone number. Britta—British Britta. That should be easy to remember, if I wanted to remember it.

“Yeah, thanks,” I reply.

Then, she steps closer to me, and I notice her eyes are two different colors. I know someone else with two different colored eyes, but I can’t seem to remember who. The thought distracts me for a moment as she leans up to kiss my cheek, the most contact our faces have made through this whole interaction.

“You lived up to your reputation, Nash,” she says with a mischievous smile. “I’d still like to see what you’re like when you really let go.”

She turns to leave the room, letting the door hang open after she passes through. The noise from the party is deafening now, but I’m not ready to rejoin it. I almost feel bad, like British Britta was probably worth more than a quickie in a dark room, and I shouldn’t have had to think about a fucked up threesome to get