Chapter 7 Eden #4
Part of him wonders if he should tell Charlie, not about the sex work—that’s none of his fucking business.
Even with a nonactive sex life, he gets tested regularly and is on PrEP.
His past is his. It’s the having never actually topped a man before that feels like maybe something he should share, but the second he fills Charlie up with a third finger, watching him try to fuck himself back on Eden’s fingers, he changes his mind.
They’re going to use protection, and Charlie is going to get dicked down like he clearly wants. He doesn’t need to know anything else.
“You’re practically gagging for it,” Eden taunts.
“What can I say, you’re hot as fuck,” Charlie groans.
Eden bites his thigh. “No praise.”
“Biting me isn’t exactly a punishment,” Charlie huffs.
“You like when I bite you, Charlie?”
“I like everything you’re doing,” Charlie admits, as if all his secrets are fair game.
“Turn around and stop talking,” Eden tells him, unsure why he feels mildly sick to his stomach at the idea of someone taking advantage of Charlie.
He’s clearly too trusting. Case in point—giving Eden his address.
He doesn’t know jack shit about Eden. What kind of moron gives random men their address for a hookup?
“Can you—” but Charlie stops, cutting himself off with a grunt when Eden manhandles him down onto the art desk, his chest flat and his ass exposed. Perfect.
“Can I, what?” Eden asks, hands on his waistband.
“Keep the skirt on.” Somehow the way he says it makes it both a demand and a plea. The tone of his request goes right to Eden’s dick.
Eden moves closer, dragging himself over Charlie’s naked back so his skirt brushes up against his ass. “You like my skirt, Charlie?”
“If I say yes, are you going to bite me again?”
“Maybe.”
“Yes.”
Eden rubs his skirt-covered erection against Charlie’s ass, the pressure as sinful as the sounds of pleasure that erupt from Charlie.
He does it again before attaching his mouth to the curve of Charlie’s bony shoulder and biting, this time hard enough to leave a mark.
When he pulls back, the shape of his teeth lingers, offering a kind of twisted satisfaction.
Charlie looks good like that, and would look even better with another one.
“What are you—” Charlie starts to ask when Eden abruptly pulls away, but the rest of his question turns into a strangled kind of panting when Eden once again drops to his knees and gives into his own desires and bites Charlie’s ass. “Fucking fuck.”
Eden hums, mouthing at the skin then plunging his fingers back into Charlie’s ass. He doesn’t need the prep, but Eden’s not done playing yet.
“I thought you were gonna fuck me,” Charlie manages to get out.
“I am going to do whatever I want with you,” Eden tells him, pulling his fingers out in favor of spreading Charlie’s ass wide. His puckered hole shines with lube. “Remember the deal. My slut, tonight. Mine.”
“Yes, yours. Now fucking do something with me.”
“You’ve only been empty for a few seconds.”
“Feels like longer,” Charlie grits out, sounding very much like he’s whining.
“You want to be full, Charlie? You want me to shove my cock into you, you wanna feel the fabric of my skirt as I fuck you like the cock slut you are?”
“Fuck yes.” Charlie spreads his legs wider, flattening himself to the table and arching his back. He’s tall enough Eden’s gonna have to be on his tip toes to fuck him, but it’ll be worth it.
“I suppose if it’s only this one night, I better give you what you want.”
“Please.”
Men have begged for Eden, but never like this, and the feeling is heady.
Not bothering to disrobe more than absolutely necessary, he shoves his boxers off, then grabs a condom, slipping it on his rock hard dick that’s already leaking at the tip.
The temptation to stroke himself nice and slow the way he likes, to paint Charlie’s back and thighs and perfect ass with his come is strong.
If they were ever going to do this again, that’s what he’d want—to cover Charlie in his own release.
They won’t have a second time though, so Eden contents himself with the satisfaction that comes with pressing into another man for the first time.
Charlie moans like the whore he is, clawing at the table to keep from thrusting back as Eden sinks in deeper, going probably too slow for Charlie but unable to make himself speed up.
It feels so fucking good, and Eden wants to see, grabbing at the front of his skirt and lifting it so he can watch his cock slip inside.
“You look so good being fucked,” Eden tells him. It’s true, too. He doesn’t have to like Charlie to be honest about that. Eden is no artist, but Charlie is a goddamn work of art. His long body is spread out for Eden, his ass willing and his sounds erotic.
If Eden didn’t feel so fucking good, he’d be really pissed off about Charlie being the best fuck of his life.
“More,” Charlie demands.
“You didn’t say the magic word.”
“Please.”
A smile threatens Eden’s face, and he lets it free since Charlie can’t see him. He’s safe to enjoy this, to feel good and have what he wants. He’s the one in control here. He’s safe.
“Wrong.”
“Uh,” Charlie starts, “now.”
“Nu-uh.” Eden presses in another inch until he’s buried to the hilt, his hips against Charlie’s ass and his skirt fanned out of Charlie’s lower back.
He can’t see himself in Charlie’s body, but he can sure as hell feel it.
He wants to move so bad his legs are almost trembling, but he’s enjoying this far too much.
“Fuck if I know,” Charlie answers. “Fucking fuck me right now.”
“Close,” Eden tells him, the arch of his feet burning with the angle he’s maintaining. It’s worth it.
“Just tell me what to say. I’ll say anything you want.”
His words slice through the last of Eden’s defenses, sending them crumbling. It’s a good fucking thing Charlie can’t see him right now because if he could, Eden’s not sure if he’d run or hit him. He can’t school his features, can’t keep his own desperation from his voice when he speaks.
“You’ll say anything because you’re a slut, aren’t you? A cock slut. A whore. You like to be filled.”
“Fuck yes,” Charlie curses, dropping his forehead against the table with a thud. “Just—oh. I’m a slut. I’m a whore. I’m a slutty whore who wants your cock. I’m your slut.”
Pleasure courses through Eden. Charlie might be a slut, might do this with anyone willing but tonight he’s Eden’s.
Tonight, just for this one night, Eden is the one who is wanted.
That knowledge is like a drug for someone like Eden, filling all the gnarled cracks and holes everyone else has left behind.
He’s under no illusions about what this all means, but just for tonight Charlie’s submission and reverence can fill in those cracks.
It won’t last, it never does, but it feels good to pretend.
Charlie’s back arches, his legs widening until he’s all but hanging off the table, affording Eden a better position to grab his hips and fuck into him with unrelenting strokes.
Giving in to his own desires, to the pleasure, Eden pulls back then slams back in, pleasure making his spine tingle. Stupid fucking Charlie and his perfect fucking ass.
“That’s right, Charlie,” he says, desperately trying to regain the control he feels like he’s losing. “Tonight you’re my slut.”
Charlie moans, loud and deep, falling apart on Eden’s cock with a slurry of curses and pleas. His words blend together with the sounds of sex—skin slapping and heavy breathing. It feels so fucking good.
It’s Charlie who comes first, his shouts echo, the sound of wood dragging on hardwood as he sends the desk beneath him skittering.
Eden comes not long after, the crescent shape of his nails marking Charlie’s hips as he buries himself in the welcoming heat of his body, hiding his face in Charlie’s back as he shudders through his orgasm.
“Fuck that felt great,” Charlie says.
Somehow the word doesn’t hold the satisfaction it should. Eden’s buzzing with his own post-orgasm release, but unlike Charlie he doesn’t feel relaxed or content. He feels like something crawled under his skin, and he needs to claw it out, even if that requires ripping his own skin off.
Fuck. Eden is so fucking stupid.
Being with someone adamant they didn’t want more than one night was supposed to make this easier, not act as a reminder that no one has ever wanted more than a one-and-done with Eden. All he’s ever been good for was to fulfill someone’s fantasies.
“Was it as good for you?” Charlie asks, languidly stretching himself across the desk “Because it was really fucking good for me.”
His self-satisfaction should make Eden feel smug or proud, but all he feels is empty. He desperately wants to hide in the shower until the hot water runs cold. He’s going to look like he just had a good fuck. He hopes Addy went to sleep, hopes there’s no one there to watch him come home.
“Yeah,” Eden lies, pretending his carefully protected cracks haven’t fissured irrevocably.
One time was enough.
Maybe if he keeps repeating it, it’ll feel true.