Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
DARWIN
Istand off to the side and watch Zephyr meal prep. So far, the entire counter is covered in chopped vegetables. Based on the selection, I think we’re having a salad. A very, very large salad.
He’s been kind of quiet and reserved since his call with Jude. We haven’t spoken about it since. I don’t ask because I don’t want to push. I don’t want to be that guy who tries to pry their way into something that doesn’t concern them. That’s not the kind of relationship I want with him.
However, it’s clear that it’s still bothering him. That doesn’t stop his laughter most of the time. It certainly doesn’t get in the way of fucking, either.
I’m feeling almost triumphant when he pulls out heads of butter lettuce to chop. “I can’t believe you’re making a salad,” I muse.
He glances at me. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always taken you as a meat-and-potatoes guy.”
He huffs, amused. “I’ve eaten my fair share of salads. Mom used to make salads weekly. At least twice a week.”
“Huh.”
Zephyr laughs. “Want to know a funny story?”
“Yes.”
“My brother Lanzo hated salad. I remember when he was eight, and my Dadis made him sit at the table until he ate his salad. Lan refused. He slept at the table because he refused to eat it. He maintained for the next ten years that he hated salad. We still had salads every week, and my dads refused to let Mom cook him a separate meal. They said that this was what was for dinner, and if he didn’t want it, he could make himself something else.
“For the next several years, he ate soup or a sandwich.
When he was fifteen or so, he started cooking for himself.
Usually something simple, but he did exactly as our fathers wanted.
When he was seventeen, he prepared this gourmet meal for himself that smelled fucking divine.
He moved out shortly after high school and showed up one day with seven takeout boxes for dinner—each one a salad. Including one for himself.
“We all watched him eat his salad for a while in silence, stunned. Eventually, Dadwa says, ‘I thought you hate salad.’ You know what Lan answered?”
I shake my head, but I’m already grinning in anticipation because of the way Zephyr is grinning, on the verge of laughter.
“He says, ‘I lied. I really enjoy salad. Mom made great salads’.” He laughs loudly. “Dadwa and Dadis were fucking pissed but Dadaz thought it was hilarious.”
“Wow. That’s some dedication to keep up the charade,” I note.
“Right? I can still see our dads’ faces.
Dadis especially was furious, and Lan just sat there, eating his salad, while Dadis yelled at him for the bullshit he pulled for an entire decade.
Lan says, ‘I’d have missed out on this if I’d given up.
It’s worth the wait.’ I think about it every single time I have a salad and laugh. ”
“That’s incredible. I can’t imagine keeping a ruse that long.”
“Lan is a psycho, so time seems to move differently for him. I realize that’s not a symptom of psychopathy, but to me, it makes the most sense since Dadaz tends to view time differently, too.
Almost as if they dissociate from time. To me, almost more than anything else, that one event truly emphasized Lanzo as a psycho, which is crazy because it’s kind of nothing more than a harmless prank.
When you say, ‘my brother is a psychopath,’ no one is thinking that they’re pulling pranks, right?
They think serial killer. Lan pulls pranks, but does so for the long haul. ”
There’s something adorable about him talking about his brothers and family. I don’t know why, but I move behind him and rest my head against his back, my forehead between his shoulders, and wrap my arms around his waist.
His hands pause in his chopping. Waiting to see what I’m doing, maybe. Not wanting either of us to end up with a knife in an uncomfortable place.
I splay my hands across his stomach, feeling his muscles tense and move under my touch.
“You feeling horny there, boy?” he asks, teasing.
“Maybe,” I admit and roll my hips against his ass. My cock isn’t exactly hard. I’m not entirely sure why I felt like I needed to touch him after he shared that story with me.
It’s a personal story. Maybe I feel like he’s sharing something deep because it’s personal. I’m not sure it’s deep at all. There’s nothing exactly secretive about that story, right?
Zephyr pulls me around, and in the next breath, he has me against the island. His hand presses into the back of my neck, and he bends me over so my chest rests on the cold stone surface. The island is just barely too high; I’m on my toes as I lean over.
Reaching over my head, I grip the end of the island to brace myself as Zephyr reaches around and undoes my jeans with deft fingers and yanks them down so they’re just beyond my ass cheeks.
I whimper before he even touches me because, fuck, he likes it when my legs are forced together. He likes my ass remaining tightly closed for him. It makes his harsh abuse of my hole so fucking intense.
His fingers dip into my ass, and I think he’s skipping just one and two fingers, moving straight to three.
I grunt and try to get a better purchase on the ground.
I’m not short, but this isn’t the first time I’ve struggled to keep a firm footing on the floor when he’s bent me over.
I’m beginning to think I have short legs.
“This what you want?” Zephyr asks.
There’s a tone that his voice shifts to when we’re getting sexy. It’s rough, husky, and deep. It grates on my spine in the most delicious way. It grips my balls and strokes my cockhead. I swallow, nodding.
We skip a lot of foreplay most of the time, but two nights ago, I think all that skipping caught up with us, and there was no penetrative sex, though we fooled around all night long.
Just foreplay. All night. It was weirdly romantic, even though we painted the media room with cum so fucking thoroughly that it took us hours to clean it the next morning.
Today isn’t about foreplay. He gets lube in me, stretches me the bare minimum—which isn’t a big deal since I was just on his dick three or four hours ago—and then I’m feeling the blunt crown of his cockhead.
“This what you want?” he repeats.
I don’t get a chance to answer as he slams inside me.
I cry out, my hand reaching back to grip him, but his hand catches my wrist, and it’s now pinned to the counter as he fucks me hard.
The edge of the hard stone digs into my pelvis, against the base of my dick.
I’m not sure if it’s this that brings tears to my eyes or the way he’s absolutely brutal with my hole.
There’s no complaint here. I love it hard. I’ve never met anyone in my entire life who can fuck me like this. With abandon. With purpose and drive and intensity. My orgasms are so fucking epic that I silently scream my way through them as my entire body shakes.
Not that we’re there yet. Our first time was relatively short. I imagine it’d been a while for both of us. But every time following gets longer and longer. Our stamina lengthens. Our endurance strengthens. And since we were just fucking a few hours ago, I know I’m in for a very long ride.
“You’re such a slut for my dick, aren’t you?” Zephyr grunts. “Like the way I fuck you, do you? You like being bruised on the inside by my dick?”
I try to reply, but the only answers coming from my mouth are high-pitched grunts and cries as he does exactly what he said he was doing—bruising my fucking colon.
I try not to reach my other hand back because I know I’ll lose volition of it if I do, and then I will have no purchase on the countertop, but my hand suddenly flies back at a particularly rough thrust, and sure enough, my wrist ends up locked in his grip.
Which means he has all the leverage with me he needs.
With my arms used as anchors, he fucks me brutally.
Tears and snot and saliva cover the counter where my face is smashed.
It feels gross. Not that I can concentrate on it as he brings me closer and closer to shattering. I’m nearly there. Nearly. There.
My brain bursts with white lights that feel like something is popping inside me as I come. I choke on a scream, my body spasming as it releases my overflow of pleasure. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Zephyr curse.
As if it were possible, his thrusts become more punishing. More forceful. He fucks me through my orgasm and then continues long after it’s over. I’m whimpering, shaking, twitching as he continues to fuck me.
Finally, he gives in to his own orgasm, and I’m allowed to catch my breath. Moments pass, and my heart feels like it’s beating so hard I could have a heart attack. He hasn’t let go of my wrists. Not that I think I could move my arms if he did.
When he eventually releases one of my wrists, I feel his body blanket mine. Then his hand is around my neck, and I inhale sharply. Zephyr pulls me up to my feet with his hand around my neck, and my weight is back on my feet.
Except that I’m still on my toes because his cock is still lodged inside me. He’s still hard. How is he still hard?
“You drive me fucking insane with how tight your ass gets when you come,” he grunts, lips at my ear.
I struggle to remain upright with his dick still inside me. Holding me up like a skewer. “How are you still hard?” I whimper.
The hand not around my neck drops to my balls, and I jerk at his touch. He’s not rough, but his hand is firm around them, rolling them in his hold. I whine, and my body begins vibrating as it tenses.
“I’m still hard because you’re so fucking hot. I could stay inside you for hours.”
The whimper that escapes sounds far more excited than it has any right to be. “Best sex,” I grunt, though I wince at how high my voice is.
Something that Zephyr doesn’t miss. He chuckles, the sound dropping straight down to my balls. I struggle to keep myself on my toes or be completely impaled on his hard dick. Which I already am.
“Sounds like you’re struggling a little, sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking my earlobe between his teeth. “Need a break?”
I’m pretty sure I mean to say yes, but I’m shaking my head without conscious choice. His fingers adjust around my neck, and a thrill rushes down my spine. Fucking hell, what’s wrong with me?
“How about we finish prepping this salad? I’ll fuck you again once it’s complete. We’ll eat with you sitting on my dick. We’ll bring some to Matty. And then we’ll finish with dessert—want to guess what that is?”
“You’re going to fuck me?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Yes. I’m going to fuck you. All. Night. Long. You’re going to ride my dick until neither of us can move. How’s that sound, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “I want that.” I’m going to be more than bruised. There’s a chance I’m going to hurt, and maybe not in a good way.
Zephyr doesn’t let me go, though. He continues to hold me exactly as I am, with my jeans pinning my legs together as he plays with my balls. I’m not sure if it’s meant to be sensual or if he’s truly just playing.
No more conversation passes between us as he uses me like I’m a toy. My hands grip his wrists. I’m not sure if I’m keeping him in place or trying to brace myself for whatever he does next. Either way, I’m hanging on for the ride. I don’t care which I get.
That’s a lie. I don’t want him to stop touching me. Maybe we can skip dinner. Go straight to fucking.
He sighs after several minutes have gone by, and he hasn’t let me go. “You know,” he says quietly, his voice losing some of that deep, husky tone, though it’s still really fucking sexy. “I think I’ve really needed this.”
“Sex?” I ask.
He laughs quietly. “No, but yeah, kinda. You’re good company, Darwin. I like that we can talk or not. I like that we can laugh or sit silently. I like that we can go our separate ways for a while, and it’s not a big deal. I like that you take whatever I want to do to you without complaint.”
“No complaints,” I assure him. “At all.”
“You’ll tell me if I go too far, though.”
I chew the inside of my lip.
“Darwin,” he prompts. “You can’t let me seriously hurt you.”
I shake my head. “No. No, no, it’s not that.”
“Then why didn’t you answer me?”
“I had no idea how much I’d like something like this. I always thought I was… vanilla, I guess.”
Zephyr snorts. “You enjoy being broken far more than any vanilla person I’ve ever met.”
My toes are getting so fucking tired of holding myself up so my entire weight isn’t sitting on his cock. Fuck. Tears sting my eyes. My face feels gross from sliding around through my facial juices on the countertop.
“I didn’t know that about myself,” I say.
His hand on my balls tightens, and he somehow lifts me so my feet no longer touch the ground. I gasp, my body jerking as he slides down the counter. Zephyr releases my neck, and I struggle to keep myself upright. I feel entirely unbalanced, like I’m going to fall on my face.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Put your hand on the back of my head. There you go.”
I exhale and close my eyes. The next thing I know, a warm washcloth is gently moving over my face. I didn’t hear the water turn on, but fuck; it feels good. I let my head fall back on his shoulder, and he gently washes my face and along my neck.
“Did I say something out loud?” I ask.
Zephyr chuckles. “No.”
“How did you know my face felt gross?”
“Because you hate mess. I imagine this was bothering you.”
My heart gives a leap, even as I try not to read too much into it. I truly try to curb my obsession with cleanliness and order when there are other people around. Especially when it’s just me and another person. It’s not so hard to hide when a group of people are around.
“I—”
He kisses my jaw and then removes the cloth from me. His hand takes my neck again, and I shiver. This warmth is new. Unfamiliar. Uncomfortable.
“Fuck me,” I whisper. “Dinner can wait.”
I need him to fuck this warmth out of me. That’s not what this is about. That’s not what’s between us. That’s not the arrangement. Not at all.