Chapter Fourteen Razor #2
“I really need to forget everything for a bit. To be taken away….” He kissed me.
Spoke right into my mouth. My weak spot.
“But mostly, I want to know who you are. What you do. I know you’re dangerous.
I know you hurt people. I know you’re everything I shouldn’t want, but…
” His breath shuddered against my lips. “But fuck, I want you. Not the version the world sees. You. I want a chance to find out what this is, without the world crowding in. And maybe…” Tristan lowered his gaze.
“You’d let me have you if you take that.
” He nodded to the foil packet. “With me.”
He could talk circles around me sober. On Mandy? I didn’t stand a chance.
So I cupped the back of his neck. “I don’t need a chemical high to give you what you’re asking for.”
“I’m asking for you.”
“I know.”
Tristan inhaled sharply.
I leant in, smoothing my mouth over his, my pulse climbing sluggish and heavy in my throat. “You want me to make sure you forget everything but me? I’ll do it. Just ask me. But I won’t do it with drugs.”
“Is it a code of ethics you swear by?”
“Yes.”
He kissed me. “Then give me you.”
“Alright.” I kissed him back, leaning up into him. “You got me for a bit. To do what you want. Give you what you want. So you won’t go for…that.” I threw the packet away to the sofa.
Tristan smiled. And maybe all that had been a test of his.
To see if I would. See what kind of man I was when no one was watching.
So I showed him. I kissed him. And fuck…
he was supposed to be someone to pass the time with.
A distraction. An indulgence. That was the lie I’d been telling myself.
But his mouth… his mouth ruined that straight away.
Too soft. Too certain. Too fucking good.
Then he tugged my T-shirt up and over my head, let it fall wherever, and kissed me again.
Sweet. So unexpectedly sweet it knocked my chest loose.
And right there, with his mouth on mine and his hands warm against my skin, I knew it wasn’t, had never been, just about passing the time.
Tristan shifted on my lap, sliding his palms up my torso, and every nerve lit.
I sucked a breath through my teeth as he wriggled down my body, kissing every inch of me.
The world went thick and honeyed around the edges as I threaded my fingers through his hair.
And even that, even his fucking hair, had me in pieces.
Because he was so damn polished and preened and fucking perfect.
Especially on his knees, right between my legs, taking off my shoes, jeans, underwear.
And suddenly I was sitting back on my sofa, completely naked, hard as sin, while Tristan licked every fucking inch of my eager dick.
“Jesus, Tricky…”
He took me whole into his mouth, and heat detonated through me. Fast, bright, vicious. My whole body lit up as his tongue dragged me under.
I did not need to be high for this. Didn’t want to be hight for this.
“Fuck—” I grappled for purchase.
He sucked slowly at first, as if he wanted to feel every pulse of me against his tongue.
Then he went deeper, sliding his lips down my shaft.
I gripped his hair, not to guide him, just to hold on.
And he hummed around me, the vibration dragging a full-body shiver out of me.
Jesus. Every breath he took felt as if it pulled me further into him.
“Tricky…Slow down or I’m—”
He took more of me, as if he couldn’t get enough.
Eyes half-lidded, cheeks hollowing as he sucked me deeper, wetter, harder.
Spit smeared across his lips, down my shaft, dripping onto his chin.
Each drag of his mouth was unreal. The room glowed around the edges.
My pulse hammered through every part of me he touched, and pressure coiled low in my stomach, fast and brutal.
“Tris, fuck—”
And just the way he moaned around my cock, how I throbbed on his tongue, heat rising, building, I knew I was in the danger zone.
Then he looked up at me while he kept sucking, lips stretched around me, eyes saying, give it to me and I was gone.
I slapped my head on the back of the sofa arched into his throat, clutching this hair as heat snapped like a live wire, and fucking drained myself down his throat.
Tristan pulled off me with a wet drag of his mouth, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and looked up, face flushed and hungry. “Have I still got you?”
Fuck. Yes.
Too much, if anything.
I’d just emptied myself down his throat, yet my cock was already swelling again, thickening, twitching, the look he was giving me shoving heat back into my veins. He twisted want even deeper, softer, more dangerous than anything I’d ever let myself feel. And suddenly I couldn’t sit still.
I grabbed his chin, dragged him up, kissing him hard as I hauled him onto his feet. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, legs cinching around my waist without even being asked, and I carried him, stumbling, half-laughing, half-moaning, through the flat to my bed where I laid him down.
“Take off your clothes.”
He obliged, shoving out of his trousers and underwear while I yanked open the drawer, grabbing whatever I could get my hands on. Condoms. Lube.
Tristan breathed, fully naked, chest rising fast, “How long can I have you like this?”
I crawled over him, kissing him, slow and messy. “As long as you need.”
Then I cracked the lube open with my teeth and squeezed it onto my fingers.
There was too much. It slicked my hand, streaked my thigh, smeared his stomach, soaked straight into the sheets.
We were slippery instantly. And the heat…
Christ. The sun pressed through the glass, turning the whole room molten so when I climbed over him our bodies slid and caught and slid again. Skin on skin. Oil. Sweat. Everywhere.
Then we were kissing. Grabbing. Tugging each other closer as if afraid to lose contact.
Rolling, twisting, mouths and hands everywhere at once.
I couldn’t get enough of him. He couldn’t stop touching me.
The world throbbed at the edges, bright and unreal.
One second he was under me, the next I was on my back with him over me, and then I had him again.
A blur of bodies and breath, of friction and need, until I flipped him onto his back, found the lube, worked him open, worked myself slick, and pushed inside him.
And fuck…he was so gone. So open. So fucking perfect.
His hands were everywhere. In my hair, my face, my shoulders. As if he needed to feel me in every place at once. I drove into him and he came apart under me, his voice breaking, his back bowing, my name torn from his throat over and over.
“Richie… fuck…Richie…”
Jesus Christ.
Him screaming my name was the only drug I’d ever need.
So I threw one of his legs over my shoulder and sank deeper.
Rolled him onto his side. Turned him again.
Took him from behind with his hands fisted in the sheets and his breath ripping out of him in broken sounds.
I didn’t even know how many positions we burnt through, the whole fucking Kama Sutra and I couldn’t stop.
He couldn’t either. And every time I thought we’d hit the limit, he made a sound dragging me further.
By the time I had him on all fours, his body shook, head dropped, begging for me without even meaning to.
And that had me coming for a second time, as if lightning snapped clean through me.
But I got myself together to reach under him, wrap my hand around him and stroke him until he spilt across the sheets, trembling beneath me.
And when I finally pulled out and turned him onto his back, dragged my mouth over his stomach and hips, tasting him, kissing the mess off his skin.
He let me move him how I wanted, arms and legs loose, wrecked, trusting.
I stayed draped over him, our bodies sliding together in sweat and heat, rutting lazily against each other until our breaths tangled and the wanting came back sharp enough to choke on. Ten minutes in, I couldn’t take it anymore. Him. Us. The ache between my legs. The one in my chest.
“Come here.” I pushed up onto my knees. Still hard.
He was too, and he reached for me without thinking. I dragged him into my lap and kissed him deep, greedily. His tongue met mine with the same hunger, and I stroked us both until he was trembling again, thighs tightening around my hips.
He dropped his forehead to mine, letting me breathe in his sweet exhales. “We can’t go again, surely?”
“You bet we fucking can.” I slipped a hand to his waist, pulling him tighter. “Come here. Closer. Now. Need to be inside you. Fuck…”
“Yeah,” he whispered back, breath hitching. “Yeah… God, yeah…”
He wrapped his legs around my waist, chest pressed to mine, sliding into my lap as if he knew that was exactly where he belonged, and curled his arms around my shoulders. Then I guided him down onto me. Gradual. Deep. Careful. Letting him feel every part.
The frenzy was gone, sure.
But wasn’t about getting off anymore.
It was about him.
Tristan. Being close to him. Connected to him.
So I eased him fully down, bottoming out, and he shivered in my arms.
“Fuck… that’s beautiful.” The words fell out of me before I could think.
I kissed him to shut myself up. Mouth, jaw, throat.
Tasting sweat and heat and Tristan. But my mouth couldn’t seem to help it.
“God, you’re beautiful.” Then more kisses, languid.
“You taste so good.” Another. “You feel so good.”
He rocked his hips, grinding down onto me, kissing me before falling back to give me his throat.
I lapped up the sweat dripping off him, desperate, greedy, high on him more than anything I’d ever had in my bloodstream.
And he pressed his whole body to mine, arms around my shoulders, chest to chest, as if trying to merge the two of us into one.
He then framed my face with both hands, rested his forehead on mine, eyes searching as if trying to memorise what he’d never seen before.
“I don’t… I don’t want this to stop,” he whispered. “Any of it.”
“Then it won’t,” I said, voice breaking in a way that didn’t sound like me. “Keep going. Take what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”
And for that moment, it was true.
I’d give this man everything I had.
Everything he wanted.
His little gasps spilt into my mouth with every deep roll of his hips and the world shrank to heat and breath and the warm slide of his skin against mine. Our kisses shifted. Soft to hungry, hungry to soft. As if we couldn’t decide whether we were losing each other or finding each other.
He whispered my name as if it meant something.
I whispered his back as if I finally understood why.
We never needed drugs to drive us. I’d known that. Didn’t want to admit it. But it was us. Only us.
Then he whispered, small and raw right into my ear, so faint I almost thought I imagined it, “I feel like I’m falling.”
Yeah.
So did I.
We kept swaying, barely even moving apart, enough friction to draw pleasure through us both, enough closeness to keep me anchored to him and not the world spinning outside this room.
“S’okay.” I held his gaze, eyes wide open, no hiding left in me, and said, “I got you.” And for once it didn’t feel like a line or a promise I couldn’t keep.
It felt real.
He slid his fingers through the back of my hair, and the quiet sounds he made as I pulled him closer, those little breathless whimpers, absolutely wrecked me. Tore right through whatever armour I had left.
“You wanna fall with me?” I whispered against his mouth.
“Yeah…” Tristan breathed, kissing me with a trembling exhale. “Yeah, I do.”
Then we came. Slow. Deep. Together. Him shaking in my arms, face buried in my neck. And I spilt into him for a third time, holding him tight enough to keep the moment from slipping through my fingers. And for the first time in my entire fucking life, sex didn’t feel like escape.
It felt like closeness.
Actual, terrifying closeness.
And I wasn’t sure I’d survive wanting him this much.