What was that? What happened? Whatever was said in that unspoken exchange led to an understanding and, though I can’t see Zion, I get the meaning.
This is for him only. He’s changed his mind, maybe. It’s a predator thing and, on that level, I think Blade knows exactly what his place is in this dynamic.
There’s play time and then there’s ownership and Zion’s just staked a claim.
And, fuck, fuck, it satisfies something deep inside me and now, as he fucks me so hard, all I can do is take it, watching, eyes wide open, soaking it all in, as if it’ll be the one and only time.
I shove that thought away and focus on how I’m his and he needs to be the one to mark me. He’s possessive and, damn it, so am I. I like that about us. It’s part of who we are.
Blade, who’s stared hard until now, turns to the side and jerks himself off two-handed. When he starts climaxing, it’s a volcanic eruption spewing all over the sheets. His shaft actually vibrates. He lets out a pained grunt with each fresh spurt of come.
Behind me, Zion slows down to watch, I think, which turns my crank just enough to send me over the edge and, as I do, he pumps harder, his grip tight enough to bruise, his voice raised in incomprehensible shouts of ecstasy. No words, just sounds, brutal and beautiful and terrifying.
I join him, my insides compressing and releasing with pure violence. My arms give, I drop.
Vaguely, from outside myself, I see my body convulse and go rigid as a bow, feel it work hard to split, fracture, change before coming back together again. It’s nuclear fission. Worlds bursting apart.
When my heart beat finally slows enough for my brain to kick in, I crane my neck to watch Zion finish. And, god, he looks good as he pulls out, rips off the condom—which I’m weirdly disappointed to see he’s worn—and strokes himself right over that butt plug. He grunts with each spurt, his balls high and tight, the electric shock of his relief palpable. All I can do is it let my head hang and live it, let this whole thing take me over, wishing I could see more of him, wishing there was more for him to give. For me to give.
With his last hot jet of come, his chest finally expands, and I let myself breathe, too, feeling oxygen deprived and brain-dead and alive. After a while, minutes, maybe, he gives my bruised hips one last squeeze, shifts back to tie up his condom and then, as if he can’t help himself moves in again to run his fingers through his semen on my ass.
I collapse fully onto my front and one of them removes the gag, which is suddenly unbearable, something’s spread over me—a blanket, maybe? Someone goes to the door, talks to Max, who sticks her head in, grins and waves, and disappears. Finally, two warm bodies slide into the bed, one on either side of me. With a happy groan, I curl into Zion’s side, put my hand over Blade’s on my hip, and pass out.
* * *
Zion
The room is still, but my insides are a roiling mess. Questions, wants, doubts I’ve never let myself have, all jumbled up, fighting for position.
I guess this is just the way now. I want things. Human things. Affection, attachments. Meaning.
Twyla shifts and I move my arm, bumping into Blade on her hip in the process. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he threads his fingers through mine, tightening until we’re palm to palm, and waits for my gaze to land on him.
“What you two have? This connection? Let it be special, man,” he whispers, over Twyla’s sleeping head. “I know you’ve got… Fuck, just let yourself love her.”
I want to pull away, but I can’t. Not with the way he’s watching me—so pure and open in a way other people rarely are. His honesty’s magnetic and a little repulsive. Too much, too real.
Blade’s gone through some shit of his own. He knows what it feels like to love and lose and that’s what opens my mouth and pushes the words out. “It’s so hard.”
“I know.” He squeezes my hand and lets go of the awkward hold. “Means it’s worth it.”
I pull back a couple inches and look down at Twyla’s slumbering face—smeared makeup, rosy cheeks, bruised lips—and something in my chest twists and cracks, flooding wide open. Tears rush my eyes, so suddenly it hurts. “How do you deal with the fear? The idea of losing her is… Fuck, how do you survive this shit?”
He presses his mouth into a tight smile and shakes his head, his eyes the most tragic thing I’ve ever seen. “It’s terrifying, man. But that’s just it. Life has meaning because it ends. Love has meaning because you could lose it. Impermanence makes shit more real, in the end.”
My gaze slides back down to Twyla, like a compass to true north, and I let the protectiveness I feel for her swell and swell until there’s literally nothing else. I can’t imagine having cared about anything, ever, but this. Her.
“Fuck,” I say, to which he gives a sad smile.
“Yeah.” He sinks back onto his pillow with a shuddery sigh.
I reach out again, grab his hand again, hold it, feeling his strength and giving him mine. He tightens his fist around mine and there’s something like comfort here and, with a start, I realize I’ve shut myself off to more than romantic love with the way I’ve lived my life. Friendships I could’ve deepened have stayed flat because I’ve never committed to either version of myself. To this. Him. Friendship.
I must fall asleep for a while, because at some point, one of us moves, a body twisting, another turning. My cock’s fully hard by the time I open my eyes and see Twyla on her back between us, stretching hard, like a happy kitten. I glance toward the door and see no light seeping under it.
It’s still night, which is a relief. It means more time here.
Our gazes meet. She smiles. A soft, dreamy expression that reaches her eyes, lights her up from within. Still waters run deep. That’s Twyla. Layers and layers and layers to uncover. I want that. Those layers. This smile. And every other kind of smile she’s got in her. I want them all.
