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His lips part. So do mine. When he leans in to kiss me again, I’m gripping at his back for dear life, running my fingers over the bunching and flexing of his back muscles.

The worst part is when his chest presses against mine. No, it’s not the ache in my ass or even the one in my hips from the way my legs are all pretzeled around him. It’s a warm feeling there behind my rib cage. That place that’s usually frozen and numb.

Tears prick at my eyes when it hits me. Mike makes the ice inside me melt. When he’s touching me, I’m never afraid of what comes next.

Fuck.

FUCK.

“Does it hurt?”

I try to cover my messy emotions with our usual snark. “Since when do you care about hurting me?”

“Since always, Dean. We both know you get hard when I treat you like the cheap toy you love to pretend you are. I’ve never actually wanted to harm you, though. Not even now.”

How am I supposed to take that?

A tear leaks from the corner of my eye. “Well, I’m fine,” I lie. “Overdid it on my run yesterday. Calf cramp.”

“Hmm.” He’s studying my face in that way he does, probably trying to decide whether I’m telling the truth. Trying to out-stare me to see if I cave and give him an actual answer.

Well, he’s going to be waiting a long time, because this is one thing I’m keeping to myself.

This time, he doesn’t call me out. Just wipes the tear from my face with his thumb and then pulls out, steady and slow, before pushing in deep.

“Oh hell.” The brush against my prostate makes my body hum, makes my muscles clench around him. So many men who fucked me didn’t care if I came, didn’t even care if I got hard, and yet as Mike fucks me he seems to make it his mission to light me up with every stroke.

He lowers his head, sucking up a mark in the center of my chest before kissing and biting at my nipple. Still gentle. Awful, maddening scrapes and sucks that give me a ghost of what I’m looking for.

He stokes the fire inside me one thrust at a time. I’m pushing against him, grinding my dick between our bodies while trying to pull away from each time he closes his teeth on my flesh, desperate for a little more pain. Something sharp. A spark that will make me explode.

I want it so much I don’t even care about the marks. I’ll have to be sure Ella doesn’t see me without a shirt for a few weeks, that’s all.

“Mike. Mike, I need more.”

“Do you?” Again, his thumb brushes my cheek. I’m not still crying, am I? He thrusts inside me again. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It feels good. Too good. It’s…it’s… I need more.”

“You need me to hurt you so you won’t hurt yourself. Is that it?”

Nodding, I bite my lip. I force myself to meet his gaze, even though it makes me shake. “It’s too gentle.”

“Mmm. Mm. That’s not the problem, is it, Dean?”

“What?” A breath forces its way out of me. I legitimately don’t know what he means.

“You know why you love it so much when I force you to gag on my cock and kiss my feet?”

God, no. More nights than I care to admit I’ve lain awake mulling it over, stomach twisting with anxiety because why in the hell would it make me hard to be treated this way?

“N-no. I don’t know anything.”

He bites my nipple hard enough to make me gasp. His thrusts get harder, taking on an insistent cadence.

His fluid movements stutter. I get a rare flash of vulnerability before he says, “Because, Dean. Submitting to me is the only thing you’ve ever done for yourself.”

He presses our bodies together again, taking my earlobe between his teeth before adding, “Right? You did what your parents wanted, what your coach wanted, always going along to get along. You read all those parenting books, and you do what Ella’s teachers tell you she needs because you’d rather die than let her down. But this? You and me? It’s bad and filthy and wrong. And it’s only for us.”