“I’m going to ruin you,” I mutter, mouth near his ear, one hand braced against the tile beside his head. “Then I’m going to kill my father.”
Oisín’s hands lift before I can catch them, the man gently cupping my face. His palms are damp and shaking against my jaw, thumbs brushing water and blood I haven’t finished washing away. His eyes are still too wide, but they are here now, fixed on mine with a steadiness that makes the room feel suddenly smaller than the rage. He looks frightened, bruised, and too soft for the world he keeps being dragged through, and somehow he still touches me like I’m the one bleeding out.
“Forget your father,” he says. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”
The words reach for a part of me I don’t have available, so I turn them into anger before they can land properly. I catch his wrists and pull his hands down, pinning them between us withenough control to keep from hurting him and enough pressure to remind myself I still can.
“I don’t fucking care about you.”
Oisín flinches and I try to brace how I feel about it. A week ago, I would have meant those words. Now, I’m saying them so I can survive in the only world I know. If I don’t care about the man in front of me, then it won’t hurt when I lose him. “This is business, and Sol is fucking it up. He’s handing me the club but still has to oversee me like a dog? Dragging you into a meet, making threats, testing whether I’ll jump when he snaps his fingers. That’s all this is.”
Oisín looks at me through the steam and falling water. The hurt stays on his face, but it doesn’t make him look away. If anything, it clears something. He studies me with an expression I don’t know how to take, as if he can hear the panic under the rage and has decided to answer that instead of the cruelty.
“Then focus on me,” he says.
My grip tightens around his wrists. “Don’t.”
“Focus on me.”
“Sín.”
“I’m right here,” he says again, quieter this time. “Not your father. Not the warehouse.Me.”
I stare at him while water runs down his face and over the bruise on his throat. “I want to bruise you,” I tell him, voice rough enough that it scrapes coming out. “I want to make you hurt. I want you to feel me for fucking days. You’re going to pass out on my fucking cock andlove it.”
“Then use me.”
He’s offering me the thing that has quieted me since the first night I found him, and some part of him knows the cost well enough to pay attention while he hands it over.
I kiss him hard enough to make his head hit the tile. He takes it with a broken sound that makes my control fray at the edges. Ipress him back with my whole body, wet skin and heat and fury, my mouth rough against his because I don’t know how to make any of this less ugly right now. He opens for me anyway. That just makes the need worse.
I drag my mouth from his and speak against his lips. “This isn’t going to be pleasant.”
His chest rises hard against mine. “I know.”
“It’s going to be rough.”
His eyes flicker, but he doesn’t look away. “It’s no different than everything else.”
The rage falters slightly around the thought that this is what he believes, that roughness is the baseline he knows how to receive because the world has never given him much reason to expect anything else. I just kiss him again because I don’t have a good answer.
I crush my mouth to his, all teeth and tongue and the metallic taste of blood still on both of us. I shove my tongue deep into his mouth, fucking it the way I’m about to fuck the rest of him, and Oisín moans into it like he’s been waiting for this exact violence since the warehouse. His hands come up, gripping my shoulders hard enough to leave marks of his own, and I let him. For once I let him hold on while I take.
I break the kiss only long enough to spin him, press his chest to the wet tile, and drop to my knees behind him. Water hammers down my back as I spread his ass with both hands and bury my face between his cheeks. I lick him open, tongue pushing inside the tight ring of muscle while he gasps and tries to push back against my face. I eat him like I’m starving, until he’s shaking and the only sounds coming out of him are broken little cries that echo off the tile.
When he’s stretched out and open for me, I stand, spinning him around again before lifting him. Oisín’s back hits the wall hard. His legs wrap around my waist on instinct, ankles lockingat the small of my back. I line my cock up and push two fingers into him first, scissoring roughly, stretching him further because I need inside him more than I need air. The shower water isn’t slick enough, but Oisín looks down at me through the steam, eyes glassy, and nods once.
That nod is all I need. I pull my fingers out and drive my cock into him in one brutal thrust, drawing a scream from him.
The sound is raw and perfect, ripped straight out of his throat as I bottom out inside him. He’s tight, clenching around every inch like his body is trying to keep me there forever. I don’t give him time to adjust. I fuck him hard against the wall, driving deep with every stroke while the water beats down over us. My teeth sink into the meat of his shoulder, biting down hard enough to taste copper again, and Oisín cries out louder, nails digging into my back.
“Fuck—Saint—”
I growl against his skin and thrust harder. “This is what you get when you lie to me. This is what you get when you make me watch someone else put their hands on what’s mine.”
He sobs my name, head falling back against the tile, cock trapped between our stomachs as it steadily leaks. I can feel how badly he needs this too, how the fear and the blood and the warehouse have left him as raw as I am. We’re both broken tonight, two jagged pieces slamming together looking for something that feels like control and safety at the same time. I don’t know what the fuck that makes us, but I know I’m not letting go.
I fuck him deeper, grinding up into him on every thrust as his moans turn into full screams that bounce off the walls. My hand slides between us and wraps around his cock, stroking him in time with my thrusts.
