I withdraw and thrust back in, establishing a gentle rhythm that builds without the punishing forceof before. Gabriel’s breath catches on each thrust, his cock hardening between our bodies. I shift to free one hand, reaching between us to wrap my fingers around his length, stroking in time with my thrusts.
His back arches into my touch. “Yes, like that,” he encourages with renewed arousal. “So good, Saint.”
The praise washes over me, sinking into starved soil. I capture his mouth again, swallowing his moans as I speed my strokes, my thumb circling the head of his cock where pre-cum beads at the tip. His body tightens around me with each touch, inner muscles gripping around my dick and sending sparks up my spine.
“I want you to come,” I murmur against his jaw, surprising myself with the admission. “Want to feel you lose control because of me.”
Gabriel’s hands slide down my back, fingers digging into my ass to guide my movements deeper, harder, but still nothing like the bruising pace from before. “Keep touching me like that, and I will.”
I twist my wrist on the upstroke, thumb massaging the sensitive spot under the head. His breathing fractures, chest heaving beneath mine as pleasure builds between us, shared rather than taken.
When he comes, his entire body goes taut, back arching off the mattress as heat spills over my fingers.A cry tears from his throat as his ass clenches tight around my dick. The exquisite pressure and rippling muscles wring my own orgasm from me with unexpected force.
I bury my face in his neck, teeth scraping his skin as I spill inside him, hips jerking in uncontrolled thrusts. Stars burst behind my eyelids, pleasure crashing through my body in waves that leave me gasping and trembling above him.
For long moments, we lie tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin as our breathing steadies. I should move, should pull away and retreat to my usual safe distance.
Instead, I find myself relaxing into his embrace, allowing his arms to hold me without the panic of confinement setting in.
Gabriel’s fingers trace patterns on my back, his touch soothing as if I’m the one who was hurt.
When I shift to lie beside him, his arm stays around me, hand resting on my hip. The touch grounds me without restraining, and I find myself leaning into it rather than pulling away.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, already half asleep.
I turn my head to look at him, studying the trust written across his face, and all at once, I realize I don’twant to hurt Gabriel. Not with fists or words or indifference.
And that’s why wanting him is so dangerous. Because caring means vulnerability. Caring means having someone to lose. Caring means trusting another person not to leave scars on me.
From the first day he appeared in front of me, this was never about sex or convenience or release.
This was always about the terrifying possibility that someone might see all the violence, the scars, and the darkness, and want me anyway.
11
Warmth covers my back, out of place in my cold apartment. I blink awake, muscles tensing before memory of being inside Gabriel floods back, of his tears on my tongue, and of falling asleep with his arm around me.
The expected panic doesn’t come. Instead, a strange calm settles over me as his breath tickles the back of my neck.
His arm drapes over my waist, heavy but not confining, and his knee hooks over my thigh, tangling our legs beneath the thin blanket. The contact should trigger my flight response, should send me scrambling for distance.
It doesn’t.
I remain still, cataloging the sensations. Thesteady rise and fall of Gabriel’s chest against my back. The pleasant soreness in muscles I haven’t used this way in a long time. The settled heaviness in my bones, like gravity doubled overnight and now pins me to the mattress.
This isn’t the artificial calm that comes during a job, when my senses sharpen to predatory focus and the world narrows to target points. This is quieter. Gentler. It lingers in the aftermath rather than burning out in a flash of violence.
Behind me, Gabriel’s breathing changes, the rhythm shifting from sleep to wakefulness. His fingers twitch on my stomach, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t try to tighten his hold, either. He waits, letting me decide whether this closeness continues or ends.
I roll onto my back, and his arm lifts to accommodate the movement before settling across my chest.
“Morning,” he rasps, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a cautious half-curve.
The sunlight streaming through the blinds casts stripes across him, highlighting the stubble on his jaw and the small bruise forming where my teeth scraped his neck last night. The sight stirs heat low in my belly.
Gabriel rises onto his elbow, his attention dropping to the bruises on my ribs, dark purple marring my olive-hued skin. His focus shifts to my knuckles, still split and crusted with blood from punching the bar last night.
“May I?” His hand hovers over the bruising, waiting.
