“What was it that you told me that night?” I ask, stroking my thumb against his shaft. “That you were going to ‘use me like a toy’?”
I settle myself over his lap, guiding him toward my pussy. I lower myself onto him as slowly as I can possibly stand, taking every inch of him, and his head falls backward with a muffled sound that I’m fairly certain is him trying to say ‘fuck.’
I brace my hands on either side of his chest, using my thumbs to play with his piercings while I roll my hips with a moan. He struggles a little bit beneath me, as if trying to get back the control and power that he’s so used to having. Another muffled sound comes out of him; I think he’s trying to talk to me. To negotiate some more. Chuckling, I bend down to kiss and bite at the skin of his neck, the way that he always does to mine, and the contact pulls a long moan out of him.
I ride his dick until lava flows through my veins instead of blood, and my nails dig into the skin of Eric’s chest. My head falls backward while I chase my orgasm, and he jerks his left hip up, bringing my attention back to him. He nods in approval, his eyes roaming from my face to my pussy and back again while he watches me.
My eyes glue themselves to him, too; watching while his stomach tightens, listening as his breaths come out rough and fast through his nose. My nails drag down the length of his body, leaving angry red scratches in their wake, while I let a second orgasm take me.
“Oh mygod,” I cry out, forcing a hand forward to pull my panties from Eric’s mouth.
He breathes hard, looking more than a little relieved to have use of his mouth again.
“Let me hear you come, lover boy,” I order him, my voice strained while my pussy tightens around him.
“Fuck,” he groans. His cock pulses inside of me, his breath coming in ragged, shaky exhales while he pumps me full of a comforting warmth. “Ohh,fuck, Sugar.”
I keep him inside of me while the two of us come down, reaching forward to unbuckle the belt keeping his hands bound together. He slips them free as I loosen it, letting one of them fly up to wrap firmly around my throat. Pulling my face toward his, he drags his tongue from my chin up to my nose, then nibbles at my jaw.
“That was killing you, wasn’t it?” I laugh.
“You have no fucking idea.”
•
Eric lays on his stomach, his arms crossed under his head as a makeshift pillow – as if I don’t have enough pillows on my bed for him to use. My bare chest presses against the skin of his back while my fingers trace over the smaller scars littered on his skin, eventually finding their way to the darker scar that mars his shoulder blade.
I think about the story that he told me, how many houses he must have gone through before he found his home and what this scar could have possibly come from. I think about all of the possible cruelties that he could have faced and what asking him about it might bring to the surface for him. Itell myself, just for a moment, that it isn’t my place to ask; but then I think about the way that he let me in, and my heart warms.
“What’s this one from?” I finally ask him.
I expect a pause, to feel his body tense under mine; I wait for him to dive behind a wall to protect himself, but instead, I feel his body vibrate underneath mine with a laugh that pours out of him.
“Being a stupid kid and having my shoulder blade rebuilt,” he tells me. “If you feel around enough, you can feel the plates in there.”
“Let me guess – you were on some sort of crazy drug and dove off of a building like Superman or something,” I chuckle, pressing my fingertips into his skin to try to find the titanium plates underneath.
“Nah, I wasn’t that cool until I hit twenty,” he laughs. “I was fifteen? I think? And Bill wouldn’t let me drive his car because I didn’t have my license yet. So I stole it. And I crashed it, because I didn’t know how to drive yet.” He moves his right arm, just a little bit. “There used to be a scar somewhere over here, too, ‘cause I popped a lung. Didn’t get grounded for stealing the car until after I was done with physical therapy.”
I lean down to get a better look at it, and sure enough, there’s a pair of small blemishes there. They’re smooth, and faded enough that they wouldn’t be visible if you weren’t actively looking for them.
“And this one,” he says, reaching behind himself to point in the general area of one of the smaller scars, “is from losing a game of pencil sword fight with one of my foster brothers.”
“Hestabbedyou?”
“Well, yeah,” he laughs. “That was how you won. I got him on the next round.”
I reach for the bottle of lotion on my nightstand and squeeze a dollop of it into my hand, rubbing my palmstogether to warm it up a little bit before I smooth the lotion onto Eric’s skin. His beautiful, flawed skin that tells the story of his life.
He tenses for just a second under the contact, relaxing into it just a breath later. I add pressure, massaging the lotion into his skin, and he sighs as if he’s never actually taken a breath in his life. “What are you doing back there?” He asks me with closed eyes.
Digging my thumbs into the firm muscle of his back, I bend down and press a kiss to his temple. “I’m marking you with my scent,” I joke, and he lets out a laugh that makes my heart swell. “Mystic Gardens, to be specific.”
I work my hands into his skin, massaging away knots and tension that I’m not sure he knows that he holds onto, until I feel all of him relax beneath me, and his breaths come in long, even beats. This might be as close to asleep as I’ve ever seen him; in all of the time that we’ve spent together, I always seem to fall asleep first. Or he doesn’t sleep. I’m not sure which of the two is more likely.
Eric’s hand reaches back to find my thigh, and his voice is quiet and thick with exhaustion when he tells me, “Get back down here.”
I do as I’m told, climbing down from my perch on top of him, and I settle into place with my back pressed against his chest. His arm snakes around me until his hand settles on my breast, and he tucks his face in against the back of my head while he kneads my flesh.
