Like he needs to be beaten and broken, and perhaps he does.
Giving up and giving in is never easy for him. I think, in some ways, he feels like he doesn’t deserve to have anything easy.
I only wish I knew the true reasons why.
We fight, and it doesn’t take me long to pin him several times. Each time I do, I bite him somewhere, the fifth time right along the sit line between his right thigh and ass cheek.
That one does break skin but tonight I still don’t stop.
Because he doesn’t want me to.
He’ll damn sure be thinking of me tomorrow morning, every time he sits down.
After what has to be at least the fifteenth pin, I’ve got him bent over the edge of the bed with his left arm wrenched high along his back. I use my knees to pry his thighs apart and, yeah, I’m hard. I know he is, too, because his cock’s slapped against me a few times already.
I wet my right middle finger and spear him between his asscheeks, making him gasp and whine. It’s not lube, and it’s probably not comfortable. It also takes the fight out of him. A whispered plea crosses his lips.
“Please, Master!”
I don’t release him.
Because that’s not what he’s asking for.
One-handed, I grab the lube, roughly do what I need to do to prep him with two fingers, wipe my hand on the sheet, and then use my teeth to rip one of the condom pouches open.
After I sheath myself, he grunts and shoves back against me when he feels the head of my cock pressing for entrance. Now I can release his arm and hold on to his hips and pound him hard and fast.
This is part of our intricate dance.
What do I wish would happen?
That I could have come here earlier tonight, made love to him, held him, and fallen asleep next to him.
Instead, he’ll wake up alone and sore and hopefully smiling as he examines every mark in the mirror and presses on them with his fingers to feel the echoes of pain.
This is my pet, my boy.
Mine.
I grab a fistful of hair and wrench his head back so I can kiss him again. Thank god we don’t have to go anywhere right now, because we’ll both have swollen lips and red cheeks from kissing and our stubble rasping against each other like sandpaper.
Tonight, I don’t wait for him. Tonight I use him, because it’s what he wants and needs. Even though he’s squirming under me, fucking back against me with every thrust, meeting me stroke for stroke.
Just before my pleasure crests and burst, it’s Jordan’s face that floats into my mind, his sleepy yawn, his sweet eyes, his innocence.
I hate myself a little.
More than a little.
I hate that Elliot can’t simply ownus.
I hate feeling like I’m an afterthought in his life until he needs me to be his strength.
I hate that I’m hating all of that, this messy, rumpled, imperfect storm that constantly swirls around us like the Great Red Spot on Jupiter.
Perpetual.
With one last, deep thrust, a grunt escapes me and I fall still inside him and fill the condom. We’re both catching our breath now.
