But that’s when he seems to remember that he’s in public. He freezes. I don’t—because there are some things I understand about my Elias that maybe he doesn’t. He needs to be seen. Coveted.
He doesn’t notice when people look at him. It’s like his brain rewrites it, dismisses it as nothing before he can even see it. But there’s no way for his brain to rewrite the possessive grip of my hand on his stiff dick as I shove his pants down. There’s no dismissing my public claim of him, even if he can’t see it—especiallybecausehe can’t see it. He has to feel it instead.
He moans and presses his shoulders against me as I stroke his bare cock. I’m simultaneously satisfied and enraged that others can see him, his beauty, his need. But one thing is certainly clear: all of it, all of him, belongs to me.
That’s when I stop thinking. I didn’t actually plan to fuck him here, but that’s what’s going to happen. When I push more demandingly at his pants, he starts to help. He twists and contorts his body to get them off. It’s not easy for him because I won’t let go, not even as I struggle onehandedly to get my own pants open.
I dig a packet of lube from my pocket, rip it open with my teeth, and slick my cock. Elias has managed to get free of his pants and shoes by then. I reach for his hole, intending to stretch him, but he grabs my cock and holds it in place while he sinks down.
A strange, good-bad mix of feelings goes through me. I haven’t been grabbed in a long, long time. I start shaking because I don’t know how to react. My body is confused about it.
But it’s Elias, and I trust him, so I let it happen.
He sinks down slowly, letting my cock stretch and open him. He trusts me too. He must, to do this blindfolded, in public.
It’s strange to realize that we’ve built any kind of trust between us, given the nature of our relationship. But it’s there. I feel it. And I can’t mistake it because I have never, ever felt it before, not with anyone.
I trust him.
When he’s taken me all the way, he leans back against me, trembling like I am. I tighten my arms around him, cover his dick with my hand. I hold him against me and breathe.
He starts to rock on me. He leans forward by degrees, angling his body against mine, fucking himself on me. I drop my hands to his hips. I squeeze. I force him harder against me. It feels good, but it’s not what I want. It’s not what Elias wants either.
He draws himself off me. I growl, angry at first, but he turns and straddles me face to face. With his feet up on the couch on either side of me, he grips my cock again.
My teeth slam together because I just don’t fucking know about that, but it’s Elias. It’s Elias, so I let him do it. He sinks down on me again.
I gasp and choke at the stimulation and the unfamiliar closeness, then I just start shuddering as Elias curls into me. He starts … fuck, he starts petting my hair. He does it until I calm down, until I kiss him.
I don’t mean to. It just happens.
He opens for me, moans into my mouth. He grinds on me. I grab his hips and work him harder on my cock. The kiss breaks. He tucks his face against me. In this position, his head is above mine.
I don’t know if I can come like this, but he will. His cock is stiff, his balls swollen hard. He’s moaning. His abs are tense.
I tilt his hips so I can hit his prostate. I stroke his cock. I’m greedy and harsh, but he likes it.
“I need you,” he says. “Please—I need you.”
It’s a strange freedom to be unable to speak. I can’t reshape what he said, can’t reject it or speak over it.
He keeps curling toward me. That’s what he’s doing when he orgasms. He bites my neck. He clenches on my dick. He grabs my hair—and I fucking come.
It surprises me. It has me grunting and straining up into him as he curls into me. I press my face into his shoulder through the harsh waves of it. I feel powerless in it, which triggers a deep, familiar horror. But there’s no stopping it. I don’t have any choice but to let it happen.
The orgasm takes a long time to pass, and it leaves me shaking. I don’t know how to react.
Elias is relaxing against me. On a certain level, that feels good—hefeels good.
But there’s a scream somewhere in my head. I don’t like it. I don’t want to deal with it.
I try to dissociate, but I’m not very successful. The scream dulls, but I’m very aware of it under my skin. I’m very aware that I’m still trembling under Elias’s weight and warmth. I’m not entirely sure what the problem is. Maybe it’s the cum on my shirt. Maybe it’s Rafael in my peripheral vision.
Elias nuzzles at me, his face against my neck. I feel the sleek brush of silk binding his eyes. It helps me remember my role and what I’m supposed to be doing. It jolts me because, for a moment, I’d forgotten it.
This is why I needed until Monday. I haven’t gotten my shit sorted out. The walls that are supposed to be up in my mind, keeping everything clear and distinct, are still fragile.
But I know the actions that I’ve scripted for myself as Elias’s stalker. He can’t see me, can’t know me, but I can’t leave him, not here, not like this. Which means thathehas to leaveme. So I dig the tablet from my pocket.
