Chapter 15 Wesley
Wesley
I’d called him half a dozen times. No answer. My texts went unread. There had been nothing but silence after that three-word plea.
“I need you.”
The way he’d said it had lodged deep under my ribs, painful and unshakable. So I’d driven faster than I should have, red lights blurring past, my gut twisting tighter with every unanswered ring.
By the time I reached his apartment building, my pulse was a drumbeat in my ears.
I wasn’t a praying man, but fuck did I pray that Ronan was in there.
I took the stairs two at a time, racing to his floor.
When I finally got to his door, I knocked, hard, then softer, then harder again. “Ro? It’s me. It’s Wes.”
No answer.
When I tried the handle, it turned too easily. The door was unlocked, swinging inward, and my chest went cold.
“Ro?” My voice carried into the quiet apartment.
Nothing.
“It’s Wes. I’m coming in,” I called out.
I stepped inside, senses sharpening, every muscle coiled tight. The place was small enough that I could sweep it with a glance—the living room empty, the kitchen dark, the bedroom untouched, which left only one place.
The faint hiss of water carried down the hall. I followed it, heat pressing against me before I even reached the bathroom. Steam seeped under the door, damp and heavy.
I pushed it open.
And froze.
Ro was sitting on the floor of the shower, still dressed, knees to his chest, just rocking. Water pounded down on him, plastering his pale hair to his skull and soaking the glittering dress clinging to his body.
For a second, all I could do was stare, heartbroken at the sight of him so small, so fragile, when he always carried himself like nothing in the world could touch him.
Then I moved, not caring that my jeans immediately soaked through as the scalding spray hit my shoulders. I slid into the shower with him, lowering myself into the tub, my arms slipping around his trembling frame, pulling him against me.
He didn’t fight—he didn’t even seem to notice at first, rocking against my chest, silent.
My hands smoothed over his back, his arms, wherever I could reach.
“I’m here,” I murmured, voice rough. “You’re not alone.
I’ve got you.” I noticed his soaked heels and gently pulled them off his feet, discarding them onto the bathroom floor.
Minutes passed—or maybe seconds. I couldn’t tell. Then, gradually, something shifted.
His body stilled and his head lifted, just enough for his red-rimmed eyes to meet mine. The silence finally cracked, and he broke apart.
A choked sob tore free, followed by another. Then he clutched at me, fingers fisting in my shirt, clinging like he was drowning and I was the only thing keeping him afloat.
I held him tighter, letting the water wash over us both.
Whatever had happened, whatever ghosts had crawled out of his past tonight, I wasn’t letting him face them alone.
The water hammered down on us, hot enough to burn, but neither of us moved. I held him in my arms, trembling and wet, my shirt plastered to my skin, jeans heavy as stone.
“Ro,” I whispered into his hair, tightening my hold, “what happened? Talk to me. Please. Are you hurt? Did someone—” My voice cracked. “Just tell me what’s wrong so I can help. Please, babydoll.”
He didn’t answer—not at first. He just shook against me, his breath shallow and erratic. My palm smoothed over his back in slow circles, desperate to soothe him.
Then his head tipped back, pale lashes clumped with water, his gaze locking onto mine. “Wes,” he rasped, voice shredded raw. “Please… just—please fuck me.”
The words hit me like a jolt. I blinked at him, my chest tightening. “Ro…”
His nails dug into my shoulders; the plea was desperate and unsteady. “I need it,” he gasped. “Hard. Rough. Please, Wes. Right here. Now.”
I shook my head, disbelief and worry tangling. “You told me yesterday we weren’t doing this again. And look at you—you’re not in the right state. You’re—”
“I think I’m going to do something I can’t take back if you don’t—” His voice broke on the confession, trembling with the kind of truth that made my stomach drop. “I can’t stop thinking—I need—something. Please.”
I swallowed hard, torn in two. Every instinct screamed not to take advantage of him like this, not when he was wrecked, soaked through, and shaking in my arms. But the way he clung to me—like I was his last hope—made it impossible to turn away.
“Ro…” I murmured again, forehead pressing against his, trying to steady both of us. “Let me get you out of here, get you dry, and then maybe—”
He shook his head violently, water droplets scattering. “No! Now. If you leave me with my head, I’ll—” He cut himself off, but the wild panic in his eyes said everything. A shattered whisper slipped from his lips, “I’m scared.”
My chest heaved, a war raging inside me. I gave him a short nod, then rucked his ruined dress over his hips. “Okay, doll. But only if you promise to let me take care of you after, got it?”
“Yes, yes, whatever you want,” Ro said before placing his hands on my chest and pushing me down to lie against the shower floor. He shoved his underwear down to his knees, kicking them off as he crawled on top of me.
His fingers scrambled to undo the button and unzip my jeans. It took a bit of effort, but once he got it, his soft hand dove into my underwear and wrapped around my hardening cock, massaging it for a second or two before pulling it out of its confines.
He then reached behind himself, his lip caught between his teeth, fingering his hole once, twice before positioning himself over my cock.
He was already lining up to take it in when I said, “Babydoll, we don’t have any lube. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
I groaned as he began to sink onto my length. He peered down at me. “I want it to hurt, Wes. I want it to hurt so bad that it whites out my head. I don’t want to think, I just want to feel this.”
He cried out sharply as he sat down, taking me to the root.
“Fuck, Ro,” I growled, gritting my teeth at the sudden tightness.
“S-so full,” he panted, his nails sinking into my abdomen. “Oh God…”
Barely giving himself any time to adjust to my size, he started to ride me, shifting his hips back and forth, up and down.
My hands clawed at the wet floor, getting no purchase. I moaned, watching Ro’s eyes go hazy with lust. His hole was a vise around my cock, tight and convulsing.
“God, I love how thick you are,” he moaned. “It burns so fucking much, but it’s so good. Fuck, I love your cock.”
I smirked and began thrusting, matching his pace. Ro threw his head back, nails raking my skin. “Yeah? You love my cock, doll?”
He whined, “So much.”
“Is it enough pain for you?” I asked, my voice rough and low.
Ro’s eyes slid shut. “No. Please, I want you to ruin me. Choke me, pull my hair, bite me, slap me—”
I surged up, my hand wrapping around his throat. His eyes shot open as I tightened my grip. “Greedy little slut.”
Gripping his hip with my other hand, I began pistoning my hips, hitting him even deeper than before.
“P-please,” he brokenly moaned, leaning into my hold around his neck.
“You like getting fucked by the man you’re meant to kill, doll? You like being his masochistic cockslut?”
“Hnnngh—y-yes—” Ro whined, eyes rolled back in pleasure.
“Yeah, you do. You wanted this the first time we met, didn’t you?”
His channel rippled around me. “Yes,” he breathed.
I released his throat, letting him suck in desperate gulps of air.
Letting go of his hip as well, I brought one hand behind his head to wrap his hair around my fist in a tight grip, drawing a long moan out of him.
I wrenched his face closer to mine, staring into his teary, needy eyes.
Without breaking eye contact, I held his head steady and slapped his cheek.
“Wes,” he cried, “I’m gonna come, gonna—” He must have lost his train of thought as I bit the side of his neck, right over his jugular.
“Fucking come for me, Ro,” I commanded, biting him again—this time on his shoulder.
Ro’s body went taut, thighs shaking, as his pretty dick began to shoot out his release. His cum painted my abdomen and chest, unfortunately getting washed away all too quickly from the spray of the water above us.
I took his lips in a searing kiss as my own orgasm rushed through me, flooding his insides. He whimpered into my mouth.
I gave him a couple of minutes to sit in his post-orgasmic daze before reaching over to his small shower shelf to grab the bottle of body wash sitting there.
Slowly, I slid out of him, my eyes locked on his hole.
A few droplets of my cum trickled out, stirring in me a need so primitive, so…
unlike me—a need to be the only one to fuck him, the only one to fill him to the brim with my seed and watch it drip out of his gaping hole.
I squeezed the body wash onto my palms after pulling his dress the rest of the way off, and worked it into a lather, running my hands over him as if I could scrub away more than just the water, sweat, and mess of us.
His head lolled against my shoulder, eyes half-shut, pliant under my touch.
For once, he wasn’t sharp edges and sarcasm—just soft and tired, letting me do the work.
“That’s it. Just let me take care of you,” I murmured, low enough that the spray almost swallowed it. My fingers slid down his arms, his chest, over his stomach, until he was clean and sighing faintly, the sound small but real.
When I was sure neither of us had anything left to wash away, I turned the water off and guided him carefully out of the shower. He swayed a little, blinking like the world had tilted. I caught him with a hand at his waist. “Easy,” I said, steadying him. “I’ve got you.”
The towels were rougher than I liked, but I wrapped one around him anyway, using another to blot at his pale hair. He shivered at the chill of the air. I rubbed him down, slow and thorough, until his skin warmed beneath the fabric.