Straight Guys Shouldn’t f**k Each Other (7)
7pm, The next day.
I thought today would be recovery. My thighs ached from riding Clarke into the sheets last night, and the smug satisfaction still clung to me like sweat.
I’d owned him, tied him down and fúcked the attitude out of him. He came moaning my name, twitching like a ruined toy.
I was still replaying that moment when someone knocked at the door.
Clarke was out running errands. He said he’d be gone all afternoon. I figured it was a delivery or maybe he forgot his keys again.
I opened the door in nothing but sweatpants. What I saw wasn’t Clarke.
It was a man I’d never seen before.
He had a broad chest, dark eyes and a shaved head. A crooked smile like he already knew everything about me. His voice was low, calm, and cold when he
