“Lance, this is Erin. She’s been dying to meet you,” Tash says. Like this is normal. Like it’s expected when we haven’t seen each other in weeks, or sometimes even months.

My response is gritty, like the pain is coming out through my mouth. “Hi, Erin.”

“Hi.” She bites her lip, eyes darting from me to Tash and back again. Her excitement is as apparent as her uncertainty.

I’m a legend. I’m the one people whisper about, even though half of the rumors aren’t true. I’m the man women with no inhibitions want. And I fucking hate it. But it’s become an expectation.

I tighten my grip on our twined fingers and step behind Tash. Skimming her arm with my free hand, I thread my fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, twisting it out of the way until I can lower my mouth to her ear. “You want me to fuck your friend?”

“You like her?” Tash’s enthusiasm makes me want to throw up.

“She’ll do.”

“I picked her just for you.”

This is how it is between us. Me always wanting just her, and Tash always offering something else.

I brush my lips along the column of her throat, enjoying the shiver that runs through her. “Does she know she’s being used?”

“We’re all being used, Lance. Some of us just choose to acknowledge it for what it is.”

I bite her, my teeth sinking into skin enough to make her cry out, but not enough to cause damage that will last—the opposite of what she’s done to me.

“Get her ready for me, if that’s what she’s here for.”

I release Tash, and her expression is so familiar: confusion mixed with expectation. She doesn’t know how to read my mood. Which is good. I want her on edge, because that’s always how she makes me feel—on the edge. She lifts the shirt over her head, revealing tight muscles I know every inch of.

I’ve had my mouth on every part of her; I’ve been inside her, but not in the way that counts. I’ve never gotten inside her head the way she’s gotten into mine. My biggest mistake was telling her my secrets, because she uses them against me.

She saunters over to the bed and crawls toward Erin. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this. I don’t seek it out. The last time was with Tash, too.

Four weeks ago she promised she would never do this to me again, but Tash is a liar.

I undress as they start making out. I don’t join them until Tash has made Erin come. And then I do what Tash wants me to: I fuck Erin. I make her come until she cries. I refuse to kiss Tash again, but I kiss Erin until she’s breathless and my name comes out on a tortured moan. And when I’m close to coming, I pull out and tell Tash to suck me off.

I cradle her face in my hands. I’m not rough with her, even though part of me wants to hurt her the way she hurts me. Instead I caress her cheek and hold her gaze as her lips move against the head of my erection.

“Who’s your cock slut?” she asks.

I close my eyes, teeth gritted against what she wants me to say. Words I hate. She knows I’ll never say them myself.

“Tell me, Lance.”

I can’t fucking stand that she wants this, that she makes me do this. Why does she want this? “You are.”

Her smile is triumphant as she wraps her lips around me and waits.

“That’s my girl. Suck like it’s the last time you’ll ever get to have my dick.” I loathe the words as I say them, partially because I can’t guarantee they’re true. And I hate that she loves it when I talk to her like she’s a whore.

I can see the moment she understands that I’m not going to fuck her too, that she’s pushed me as far as she can. She’s broken me in ways no one else ever has.

When I’m seconds away from coming, I lean over to kiss Erin again. She’s so warm and willing. And she’s just a pawn in this game Tash plays with me.

I’m so done with this. I’m so done with being used.

Tash is pissed when I meet her eyes after she takes a shot of jizz down the throat. I get dressed silently while she screams at me, calling me all kinds of names, telling me I’m useless, that I’m an asshole.

I don’t disagree, so I don’t know why she expects more from me. I might want more from her, but I work hard not to expect it.

She follows me to the door, getting between it and me. She’s still naked. “You can’t leave.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m doing.”

She slaps me across the face.

She’s said a lot of horrible things to me—things that made me wish I wasn’t me. Things that make me wonder if this is the kind of hatred I’ll always draw into my life. But the slap is a first.

She follows it up with a backhand to the other cheek.

For a moment I’m thirteen again, standing in the garage, apologizing for missing another shot on the goal, anticipating—with a kind of sick exhilaration—my mum’s first slap to my face.

I grab Tash’s wrists and pin them to the door, pressing my weight against her. Her eyes light up as if this is what she intended, as if she knew hitting me would make me give in. I hate what she does to me. I hate that she makes me weak, and I hate that she knows it.

“Don’t be mad at me for giving you what you want.” She arches, straining against my hold on her, rubbing her tits on my chest.

“I wanted you, Tash. That was it.”

“Come on, Lance. You knew what you were getting into with me.”