“You weren’t his property.”
“Please go back in time and tell that to my ass that was always sore from the day I turned seventeen. Legal enough to fuck. Not legal enough to marry. But from that day onward, I was his property.”
So maybe he was. Doesn’t really matter anymore, though. The piece of shit is dead, but I’m not about to say those words to Noah. Not right now.
I arch my head backwards and catch the sight of a stone pedestal hiding in the shadows. Atop it, a true-to-scale wooden crucifix with nails hammered into each side, but the body of Christ is missing.
“When you heal, when you get better, I’m going to beat your fucking ass for dragging me into this mess.” He rises to his feet and pulls his tee over his head.
The muscles in his body look the same way a bodybuilder looks after a good pump. It’s like the adrenaline in his body is firing on all cylinders. His chest is slicked with sweat and rainwater, making the trimmed hair on his body look darker than it is. He kicks off his shoes, one at a time. Unbuckles his belt and pops the button of his jeans. Hooks his thumbs into the waistband and pushes them down the length of his legs.
The sight of his naked body used to make my cock jump. What little common sense I had always went straight out the window. Now, the blood rushes elsewhere. Not down, but up. A surging sea of butterflies fluttering through my insides, through twisted arteries that feel more like wayward vines that clamp tighterover my heart with every careful step he takes towards me.
Like I can’t fucking breathe.
Like I don’t need to breathe.
Because with him, I’m safe.
Because if I stop breathing, he’ll breathe life right back into me.
The light through the window paints the visage of a cross over the lower half of his naked body. Try as I might, I can’t recall ever seeing his cock soft before. It’s still big and hangs lower than his balls.
He closes the distance between us and crawls to the floor to meet me at my side.
“And then I’ll stay and nurse you until you’re better again,” he whispers, a thumb passing underneath my eye.
Soft.
Gentle.
I’m lost for words and so I say nothing. Whatever vomit that’d come out of my mouth would ruin whatever the fuck this is.
He nuzzles his lips to my ear. “Are you in pain, punk?”
I swallow nervously. “A little, yeah.”
He drops his hand flat against my chest and runs a path from my nipple to underneath my black briefs. His fingers brush through barely-there hair.
I choke on a gasp when he cups my balls and gives them a gentle squeeze.And then he’s massaging both my cock and balls in a circular motion, grinding them against each other. Rock hard. Running out of room in my briefs fast.
Addicts don’t know when to call it quits.
We’re both sleep-deprived, running on empty. Instead of resting as we should, we’ll fuck, because that’s what we do. Fuck when we’re awake. Fuck when we’re tired. Fuck when we’re happy. Fuck when we’re sad. Fuck when we’re scared. Fuck when there are no words. Fuck when the words are too hard.
Just fuck, fuck, fuck.
Fuck until there’s nothing left.
He paws at my underwear as I arch my ass just enough to give him the leverage to pull them free from my body. My hard cock slaps against my stomach, leaking a pool of precum onto my abs. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he spits into his hand, reaches for my cock, and begins to stroke.
I shudder, my hips thrusting up into his grip, and then he stills in place. Makes me do the work as I fistfuck my way through his tight grip. The friction mixes the spit and pre-ejaculate into creamy lube.
He rolls over my body, landing with a knee on each side of my hips.
“Whaaa—” I choke, gravel in my throat. “What are you doing?”
His chest heaves as he apparently asks the same question of himself. He arches his ass forward, grabs my throbbing cock, and lines it up to his hole.
