He wanted Ever to come first. “Are you close?”
“So close. Fuck. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
Arsen didn’t point out that Ever was the one moving, Ever was the one fucking himself on Arsen’s cock, jerking himself with Arsen’s tightened fist.
“Come on…let me hear you,” Arsen murmured against his ear. “You sound so hot when you’re coming on my cock. Come for me and I’ll fill you up.”
Ever’s breath caught, and then he moaned long and low, his release spilling over Arsen’s fist. He continued to milk him until Ever flinched away, oversensitive.
“My turn,” Arsen said roughly.
He put Ever on his feet, bending him over the bed so he could grab his hips and slam into him again and again. He didn’t think about anything but the heat building in his spine and the pleasure just out of reach. Every thrust had Ever going up on tip-toe, driving these tiny little cries from his lips that drove Arsen crazy.
Ever was so hot, so perfect. All Arsen’s. “You’re mine,” he said. “Just mine.”
His orgasm slammed into him then. He gripped Ever’s hips tight enough to bruise, working into him in tiny, aborted thrusts as he came.
As the post-orgasm high wore off, he blanketed himself over Ever to kiss his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Ever wiggled his butt a little. “Can you just stay inside me?”
Arsen laughed, placing more kisses wherever he could reach. “I’m afraid not.” Ever shivered as Arsen pulled free. He dropped down to the mattress, dragging Ever with him, snuggling him close. “But give me an hour and we can do it again.”
Ever made a sad sound. “Half an hour.”
“Forty-five minutes,” Arsen countered.
Ever huffed out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Forty-five minutes.”
“I want to start by saying this is a safe space.”
Ever eyed Dr. Jeremiah Jones warily. Jeremiah Jones. It seemed like a fake name, an alias hiding a much cooler identity. If this was a web comic or graphic novel, Dr. Jones would be an undercover superhero. But this wasn’t a book. This was Ever’s reality. And in reality, Dr. Jones was Ever’s new therapist.
Ever had been there for about ten minutes now. He sat on an overstuffed but comfortable purple sofa, knees drawn to his chest. Dr. Jones sat in a tall high-back chair, legs crossed at the ankle. He had frogs on his socks. The thought stuck in Ever’s head, like a song on a loop. Why frogs?
He looked…kind, Ever supposed, but his size alone was imposing. He was tall, well over six feet, and the olive green, probably cashmere cardigan he wore clung to well-muscled arms and a trim waist. He had warm, dark skin and intelligent, whiskey-brown eyes framed by gold-rimmed glasses that would have looked nerdy or awkward on anyone else.
But Jeremiah Jones was a walking contradiction. His sweater and shoes were expensive, but his jeans seemed well-worn, threadbare at the knees, not because it was trendy but because they were well loved. And despite his high and tight hair cut, his put together outfit, and this almost militant feel about him, he had tattoos on the back of both hands and deep scarring on his knuckles.
When he caught Ever staring, he smiled. “I’m a boxer. Well, I was when I was in the Air Force. Now, I’m a therapist, obviously.”
“A boxer turned therapist?” Ever said. Another contradiction. How did one go from beating people half to death for sport to wanting to help them? “Okay.”
Could Ever really afford to judge? His boyfriend had killed two people just in the few weeks they’d been together and his friends had killed far more, but they all treated him like a pet. Like a baby. Something that should annoy Ever—he was an adult, after all—but it didn’t. He liked being babied. He liked getting presents and attention and getting away with pretty much anything. Did that make him a bad person?
Ever continued to study the doctor. He couldn’t gauge the man’s age. It could have been thirty, it could have been forty-five. It was hard to tell. His face was wrinkle-free, but there was a sadness to his eyes that made him seem like an old soul. Ever just wanted to know if he could trust this man. Not that age was a signifier of trustworthiness.
Jericho and Arsen said he could trust Dr. Jones. And he trusted them. So, there he was, sitting on a couch, heart in his throat, waiting to bare his soul to a stranger.
After a moment, he smiled at Ever, then offered him a bowl of candy. Ever took a black-labeled BlowPop, unwrapping it and popping in his mouth, grateful for something to do.
“What I mean to say is, you don’t have to be afraid to speak plainly here. I’m a good friend of the Mulvaneys. We share…similar interests. But that doesn’t mean anything you tell me will leave this room. I’m bound by law to keep your secrets.”
Ever blinked at him, twirling the lollipop over his tongue. “Okay.”
Dr. Jones shifted in his seat, taking a piece of chocolate and unwrapping it, chewing and swallowing before he said, “Jericho has given me a very brief description of your life up until now, but I’d like to hear it from you. Would you want to talk about it?”
“Does anybody?” Ever muttered, not really expecting an answer.
