Chapter 10 Nine #2
I obeyed. His pupils were blown wide, and his cock was free of his trousers, thick and flushed, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. My mouth watered at the sight.
"On your knees."
I dropped without a pillow, and the hard floor bit into my kneecaps. He stepped closer, fisting his hand tighter in my hair, and the head of his cock brushed my lips, leaving a slick trail.
"You've wanted this for how long?"
"Thirty-two years. Since the day we met."
"And Singapore, twenty years ago, when you told me the empire was more important?"
That night remained vivid: a hotel room overlooking the harbor, too much whiskey, his hand on my thigh, and the words I'd forced out because I'd believed them. You need to focus on the empire, not this. Not me.
"I was wrong."
"Yes, you were." He guided his cock past my lips. "Show me how sorry you are."
I took him into my mouth, and the taste of him spread across my tongue, salt and musk and skin.
I'd imagined this countless times over three decades, but imagination hadn't prepared me for the reality: the weight of him filling my mouth, the stretch of my lips around his girth, the groan that escaped him when I hollowed my cheeks and sucked. I almost didn’t care that he might deprive me of the right to finish him again, as he had before. Almost.
His hand controlled the pace, pushing me down until he hit the back of my throat. I gagged, eyes watering, but forced myself to relax as he held me there, cutting off my air. When he finally let me pull back, I gasped around him, spit connecting my lips to his shaft in obscene strands.
"All those years you arranged my companions," he said, feeding his cock back into my mouth. "Did you watch through the security feeds?"
Shame burned through me because I had.
He read the answer on my face. "You watched me fuck them while wishing it was you." He thrust deeper, and I choked again. "Did you come while you watched?"
I moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. My own cock hung heavy and neglected between my legs, dripping onto the cabin floor.
"They meant nothing," he said, and something in his voice shifted. "Substitutes, all of them. Pale imitations of what I actually wanted." His grip tightened in my hair. "What I thought I couldn't have because you'd decided we were better off apart."
He'd wanted me too. All those years, all those arranged encounters, and he'd been thinking of me the same way I'd been thinking of him. God, so many decades wasted.
He pulled out suddenly, leaving me gasping, chin wet with spit. For a moment, I worried he wasn’t going to continue. Then he demanded, "Get up. The bedroom. Now."
I walked ahead of him through the narrow corridor, hyperaware of my nakedness, of his gaze on my back, of my cock bobbing stiff against my stomach with every step.
The private suite at the rear of the aircraft was small but elegant, boasting a queen bed with white linens, and a window revealing the storm still raging outside.
Lightning illuminated our reflections in the glass, showing me exposed and undone while he remained armored in his suit.
"On the bed, face down."
I positioned myself as instructed, hands gripping the headboard, face turned to the side so I could breathe. The mattress dipped as he joined me, and the crinkle of a wrapper reached my ears, followed by the click of a bottle cap.
"You're trembling," he observed.
I was shaking from arousal and anticipation and something closer to fear. Not fear of pain, but fear that this was all I'd ever have of him, this one encounter, this taking, and then nothing but the memory to sustain me.
His slick finger pressed against my entrance without warning, pushing inside in one firm stroke. My body clenched around the intrusion, and a broken sound escaped my throat.
“Who else have you been with?” he demanded.
I gripped the headboard tighter as he worked his finger deeper. "There's been no one since you were shot."
His finger stilled. "Why?"
"I couldn't." The honesty scraped out of me like broken glass. "I tried once, early on. Found someone willing. But when he touched me, all I could think about was you in that hospital bed, and I couldn't go through with it."
Another finger joined the first, scissoring, stretching me open. The burn mixed with pleasure as he brushed against my prostate, and my hips bucked against the mattress, seeking friction for my aching cock.
His fingers crooked inside me, rubbing that spot until my vision blurred and I was grinding back against his hand, desperate and shameless. My cock leaked steadily onto the white sheets beneath me.
"Please," I gasped. "Please, I need—"
His fingers withdrew, and before I could mourn the emptiness, the blunt head of his cock pressed against me. He pushed inside in one long, relentless thrust that drove the air from my lungs. The stretch burned even with the preparation, his cock thicker than his fingers, filling me completely.
"This is what you wanted for thirty-two years."
Yes and no. I'd wanted tenderness, gentleness, words of love whispered in the dark. What I was getting was claiming, punishment, and use. His cock buried inside me not as a gift but as a taking.
I wanted it anyway.
He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving me forward on the bed.
One hand gripped my hip while the other pressed between my shoulder blades, keeping me pinned.
The angle meant he hit my prostate with every stroke, pleasure building at the base of my spine until I was sobbing into the pillow, my cock throbbing untouched, my whole body wound tight around his.
"You're mine," he said, the words punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. "Say it."
"Yours." The word came out broken. "I've always been yours."
"Even when you were lying to me. Even when you were deciding you knew better than me what I needed. Mine."
"Yes, always, please—"
His hand left my hip to wrap around my cock, and the relief of finally being touched nearly undid me. He stroked in counterpoint to his thrusts, grip tight and slick with my own pre-cum. My balls drew up, my muscles clenching.
"Don't mistake this for forgiveness," he said against my ear, his rhythm growing erratic. "This doesn't absolve you of anything. You're just convenient."
The word landed like a knife between my ribs, even as my body tightened around him, even as I shattered with a hoarse cry, spilling over his fist and onto the sheets.
He followed moments later, slamming deep and holding there, his cock pulsing inside me as he came with a groan that sounded almost pained.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. His weight pressed me into the mattress, his breath hot against the back of my neck, his softening cock still inside me.
I closed my eyes and let myself pretend that this meant something more than convenience, that his body against mine was tenderness rather than territory.
Then he pulled out and moved away.
Water ran in the small bathroom, followed by the rustle of him straightening his clothes. By the time I gathered the strength to turn over, he was already dressed, armor back in place, not a thread out of order.
"Clean yourself up," he said, not meeting my eyes. "We'll be landing in a few hours."
"Algerone—"
"This changes nothing." He paused at the door. "We'll return to Lucky Losers. You'll continue as COO. Whatever this was, it stays in this room. Understood?"
"Understood," I managed.
The door clicked shut behind him.
I lay there in the tangled sheets, his marks throbbing on my skin, his words echoing in my skull.
Convenient. Changes nothing. I'd given him everything, every shred of dignity, every carefully maintained boundary.
And in return, he'd taken what he wanted and walked away, just as I'd taught him to do through all those years of arranged companions and managed relationships.
The worst part was that I'd do it again tomorrow if he asked, and every day for the rest of my life if he allowed me close enough. Because even his contempt was preferable to his absence, and even being convenient was better than being nothing at all.