CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Idiot
There was a sharp metallicclang, and one of Taylor’s arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me flat against his body. I let out a shocked noise as my face landed in his chest and glanced up to see one of the cuffs had come undone. The other hand was still pinned to the bed rail, and it must’ve been uncomfortable, but Taylor didn’t seem to care, because he let out a low growl, holding me tight as he jerked his hips up, and thrust into me hard, once, then over and over, until everything went hazy.
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air. My cock rubbed up against Taylor’s abs, leaking all over him. As he fucked up into me, I thought I might blackout, spots of colour exploding like fireworks behind my eyelids. Taylor was panting, his body slick with perspiration.
“I love you like this,” he murmured, voice ragged.
I managed a whimper before I came, shooting all over his belly with white hot pleasure. Taylor shoved into me a final time, his balls pressing up against my ass, then went still as he unloaded. After letting out a throaty moan, he slumped against the bed, and I blinked blearily into his chest.
After what felt like an eternity, I sat up — I was able to, now that his arm had slackened around me — and inspected the cuff that had snapped open.
“Shit quality,” Taylor said.
“They wouldn’t have broken if you didn’t rattle them like a crazy person.”
He didn’t look remorseful. I hadn’t expected him to.
“Archie.”
“Yes?” I looked into his eyes, which were soft and hazy around the edges. It was probably the result of a mind-breaking orgasm, but something about the way he held my gaze made my stomach flip.
“Can you free me now?” He punctuated the question by jangling his other hand.
“Oh. Yeah, sure.” I quickly unlatched his other hand, then got off him, feeling a tinge of discomfort as his softening length slid out of me, leaving me feeling stretched and tender. He massaged his wrists, which had deep red marks.
“People are going to think I was kidnapped over the weekend,” he said.
“Or really kinky.” I lay down beside him. He quickly disposed of the condom in a bundle of tissues, then settled beside me, chest rising up and down as his breathing returned to normal.
“You have me for” — he reached for his phone and checked the time — “three more hours.”
“Hmm.” I turned on my side so I was facing him. “What were you saying before?”
He cocked his head.
“About doing something on the regular.” I was playing dumb.
“Right. I meant this. Fucking.” I didn’t respond immediately, and he added, “I don’t think we need the pretence of a weird competition slave thing —”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted, “the weird competition slave thing was your idea.”
“Yeah, but now that you’re addicted to my dick, we don’t need to do that anymore.”
“I am notaddicted—”
“We could fuck. You clearly enjoy it. I enjoy it. It’s…” he shrugged. “Convenient.”
“Convenient,” I repeated. “Way to turn a boy’s head.”
“I’m just being practical,” he said. “Come on, you know that this was never —” he cut himself off.
“What?” I asked.
