I can’t help but place one hand over his belly as I pull his back to my chest. As if I could feel the head of my cock and the swell of all that cum distending him from the inside.
Tadhg is just crying now. Sobbing. It’s good, though. This is what I wanted. I needed him to let go of whatever he was holding on to. I even manage to wrap my arms around his chest and then gently lower us both to the mattress on our sides without slipping out of him.
We lie like that for a very long time. I go soft eventually, but I stay inside him as long as I can, plugging my own cum in there. I keep him close, but don’t say anything. I let him cry. I want itall out, and I don’t want to do anything to interfere. We can talk when he’s done.
He goes straight from crying to falling asleep, but that’s okay. We’re both disgusting and normally I’d make us clean up first, but this seems like a ‘fuck it’ kind of day.
So, I fall back asleep as well with him still in my arms. Both of us sticky and on filthy sheets, but with nothing left to lose.
Savage
I’m grateful that Micah still doesn’t push me to talk once we wake up for the second time. I can barely get my limbs to cooperate, let alone string a sentence together, after the fucking I received.
I’ve seen a lot of sides to my former stepbrother. Frightened, confident, sexy as fuck, even the dominant side that surprised me so much when I first realized that was a part of him. But the kind of raw, animalistic frenzy is nothing I expected from him.
When he’s broken me down before, it’s been methodical. He’s edged me until I cried. He never physically tried to destroy me. I’m so fucking thankful that he did, though.
I don’t know how he always has this sixth sense for what I need, even when I have no clue. But that was it. That was fucking it. He nailed it.
I feel liquid now. Still exhausted at my core, and just… sad. I’m so sad about everything that’s happened and everything I know is about to happen. I know that sounds childish. Adults should have more complex emotions or something.
Nope. I got nothing. Just tired and sad. I’m sad because of how much I’ve wasted my shitty life. I’m sad because I don’t actually think I’ll ever convince Father to let me leave the Banna alive, after yesterday, and I’m sad because through all of this, I couldn’t even manage to do the one thing Micah asked me to and not kill Eamon.
The satisfaction of sliding my knife into his skull offset that sadness a fraction, obviously. Motherfucker deserved so much worse. But it pales in the face of how weak I feel for letting Micah down.
I should just tell him and get this over with. If he leaves me, at least it’ll be done, and I can stop hovering in the in-between. Maybe he should push me.
He broke me down so systematically that I’ll tell him anything he wants to know right now. All he needs to do is open his mouth and ask.
There’s fuck-all food in the apartment, so Micah orders us some deli sandwiches from town. He reminds me to shower, because I’m absolutely vile, and joins me in there even though he keeps the whole thing PG. The only words we exchange are practical ones, but the whole time we move around this small space together, Micah watches me.
He watches, and watches, and watches.
I feel like a bomb is ticking somewhere. It’s probably the only thing that gets my sluggish, cum-drunk body to eventually switch back on.
“Bambi, can you please say it. Whatever you’re trying not to say, just say it. I can’t take the suspense anymore.”
Ok, so it looks like I was the one to snap.
My hands are shaking a little, and I’m staring at him from across the open living space where he’s putting the sandwiches onto plates in the kitchen. At first, he gives me a wide-eyed look. Then he sighs, and his shoulder slump.
“I was trying not to pressure you, because I know how bossy I can be. Apparently, I was unsuccessful.”
He wanders over to me, one plate in each hand, and places them on the little coffee table. When he gestures toward the couch, I walk over and sit. It’s unnatural, though. I feel stiff and like I’m taking up too much space. Like my legs are wrong and my hands are in a weird place on my body.
This could be the last moment in my life before Micah decides he’s finally done with my shit.
This could be the last moment in my life.
The thought fills me with even more exhaustion, but also a certain sense of peace. It’s all out of my control, now. I can only take whatever happens and then drift away from the consequences if I can’t deal with them. It makes me weak, sure, but what else is new?
“Tadhg, breathe!”
Micah’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I pull in a breath. He moves toward me on the couch, running one hand up the back of my neck and threading the other through the fingers of my right hand.
“See, this is fucking concerning me, Tadhg. This. What is happening? Obviously giving you space isn’t working, and neither is fucking some serenity into you. I’m out of ideas so I’m going back to being bossy. Tell me what’s happening before I go down there and ask Patrick myself.”
“No,” I growl, even though I know he’s bluffing.
