Ask me for money, Peter.” I grabbed his wrists and pushed him against the wall.
He looked everywhere but at me, no attempt to free himself. He was definitely stronger than I, but right that second I didn’t care if he was being patronizing. If it forced him to answer me, then patronizing I’d take.
“No,” he murmured.
“Ask me for money, goddamn you.” I punctuated it with a slam of his wrists, hard enough to jar, but not painful—I hoped. The next time my shirt wouldn’t be there to cushion it. I was
that pissed.
“I have!” He spat back, easily extricating his hands and pushing me away. I grabbed his arm, turning him around.
“For Cai. For sex. Not for you. You’d rather go fuck a bunch of strangers—”
“I don’t fuck anyone but Darryl anymore,” he denied. “It’s just a show for a bunch of voyeurs. No one gets hurt.”
“I get hurt!”
“I don’t have any other way, Austin.”
“You have me. Ask me,” I said, hating the pleading sound in my voice.
“No.”
“Jesus Christ, why the fuck not?”
“Because I don’t want you to be a fucking trick!” The shout was so loud I felt the vibrations along my spine.
