Page 53 of The Art of Drowning

Damien held my gaze as he moved in, parting his lips, he pressed a kiss against the shaft of my cock near the base, then higher up. And again. Each time he touched me, it felt like a million megawatts of energy zipped through me, and it took everything in me to stay still when he finally took me in his mouth. I wanted to fuck his face. I wanted to unleash a decade of anguish on him and choke him with it the way it had choked me.

But Damien was absurdly gentle with me. His mouth cradled me like I was fragile and not as solid as steel. He handled my balls gently, teasing me as his tongue did wicked things to my dick, it all made me crazy for him. It made me want to pull him apart when it was all I could do to hold myself together.

I moved my hands so I wouldn’t give in to the temptation to drive myself deep into his throat, but he grabbed them and put them back when he looked up at me imploringly.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my hands trembling with the gravity of what he was asking for.

Damien pulled back and I watched the string of saliva that connected us break suddenly. “I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Fuck. My. Life.

Neither had I.

TWENTY-SIX

damien

NOW

Being on my knees for Callum wasn’t something I thought I’d get to experience. It was a vision that haunted my dreams. All the things I wanted to do to him, with him, but couldn’t. Not all of them were dirty. Some were simple. Like the way I pretended to wake up next to him sometimes. I’d keep my eyes closed for as long as possible and pretend that he was just out of reach and that if I opened my eyes slowly enough, he might materialize.

Other dreams were of this. His hands gripping my hair. Fingers biting into my scalp as he thrust forward, gauging how deep he could go. How hard he could fuck my face without hurting me.

I didn’t care if he did because no physical pain could come close to the agony that had been living without him. Callum was careful at first. Tentative. And then I opened my eyes and caught his gaze. Something in my expression made his control fracture.

“Fuck, Damien,” he said, driving himself in deeper. He took a small step closer to me, and it was enough to change the angle of everything. My back was arched a little, and I had to hold onto his legs to steady myself as he pistoned in and out, fucking my throat.

“Fucking. Fuck. Shit,” Callum growled, his grip on my hair increasing, sending fire through my scalp. It was exquisite. I wanted him to hurt me. To make it so I’d feel him later. Feel him on my skin the way I felt him under it.

His cock was thick and the taste of salty precum made my own cock weep in my pants. My cock was rock fucking hard, to the point of pain almost, but I didn’t reach for it. Too afraid that one touch and it would all be over. Callum drove himself forward burying his cock down my throat. My nose pressed to his skin, and he held me there with a firm grip on the back of the head. His hips still moved, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting as I tumbled farther away from myself.

He pulled back and air came rushing into my lungs, cool and fresh and sweet. Above me, Callum’s chest heaved and he took another step backward, his dick stuck straight up now like a flagpole.

“Get on the bed,” Callum said, watching with interest as I pushed myself to my feet and undid my pants.

I undressed slowly, giving him a show and giving myself time to take a few breaths and think of math equations. Anything to take me further away from the edge or I was going to embarrass myself.

With trembling hands, I finished stripping and I climbed onto the bed. I stretched out face down, a pillow tucked under my hips. I folded my arms and buried my face in them. None of this seemed possible. It all felt like a dream that I didn’t want to wake up from. I’d had dreams like this before, but they were never this good. Never this detailed. And yet I expected to wake up, cold and alone and fucking sad, like usual.

Only, I didn’t.

The bed dipped and Callum crawled up the mattress. He was halfway on me, halfway off me. He touched me like I was a horse he didn’t want to spook, all soft and cautious now that he’d ruined my throat.

Gentle kisses brushed against my shoulder blade. My arm. His fingertips danced down my back, following the curve of my spine.

“Tell me what you want.”

Callum’s words were an echo of the past and my heart split in half in my chest. Emotion clawed at my throat, making it burn.

“You. Want you.”

He kissed my shoulder again, then rolled over. When he returned a moment later, he had lube and a condom. He put the latter aside and focused on drizzling lube down my crack.

“Fuck.” I flinched. “That’s cold.”

Callum just laughed. “Not for long,” he said as his fingers slid down my crease, smearing lube around. He traced my hole and a moan tore out of me from the depths of my soul. I still touched myself there. I had toys I used on occasion too, but I hadn’t been with anyone else like that. Not since him.

I spread my legs a little, making the invitation absolutely clear. He could do whatever he wanted to me. I was his. I’d always been his.