Chapter 23
I watched from the doorway with a frown as Lorenzo moved through his ginga. He should’ve been resting. His wounds were still healing, still fresh.
I'd been standing here for ten minutes, watching him move through sequences that pulled at the stitches holding his back together. The bandages showed through his transparent shirt, still white. At least he hadn’t pulled those out.
But all I could think about was biting him. Not gently, but enough to make him gasp, enough to leave marks that would last longer than the ones already covering his body. I wanted to pin him face-down and make him take my cock until he couldn't remember his own name.
My cock was already half-hard just thinking about it, and I was going to hell for it.
Then his foot slipped in the mud.
He caught himself barely, but his left knee buckled. His hands were still shaking as he pushed back up into position like nothing had happened.
That did it.
Rain slapped my face as I stomped out after him.
Lorenzo's ginga stuttered when he saw me coming. "Rafael, I'm fine—"
I grabbed his shirt. "You're not fine. You're hurt, and you’re out here hurting yourself more, and I don’t like it."
"So what do you want from me?" He stepped closer. "You want me to quit?"
"No." My hands curled into fists. "I want—"
I couldn't say it.
"You want what, Rafael?" He moved closer still, close enough that I could feel heat radiating off his body despite the cold rain. "Say it."
"You." The word ripped out of me. "I want you so badly I can't think straight. I want to put you on your knees in the mud and fuck your mouth until you choke on my cock. I want—"
I stopped. I couldn't tell him about the fantasies that kept me awake at night, the ones where I made him cry, where I marked him so thoroughly that everyone would know he was mine.
A slow smile spread across Lorenzo's face.
I stared at him. "What?"
"You. When you're pissed off and trying not to fuck me." He tilted his head. "You get this look. Like you want to either kill me or wreck me, and you can't decide which."
"Lorenzo—"
"It's the priest thing, I think." He kept talking like I hadn't spoken. "All that repression. All that control. And underneath it, you're just desperate to make me cry on your cock."
I clenched my fists and tried to ignore the way my cock throbbed in my jeans.
"You want to know what I think about?" He stepped even closer. We were almost touching now. "I think about how you'll snap eventually. How you'll stop trying to be careful and just take what you want. How you'll—"
I grabbed him by the throat. Not hard enough to cut off air, just enough to stop the words spilling out of his mouth, enough to feel his pulse hammering under my palm.
"You talk too much," I growled.
His smile widened. "So make me stop."
The last thread of control I'd been clinging to snapped clean through.
I crushed my mouth to his and swallowed whatever smart remark he'd been about to make. I fisted his wet hair and yanked his head back so I could get the angle I needed.
He opened for me immediately and met my aggression with his own, hands coming up to grip my shirt and pull me closer. We stumbled through the mud, neither of us was willing to break apart long enough to find stable footing.
I bit his lower lip hard, and the taste of copper bloomed across my tongue. He was mine, and I was going to make sure he never forgot it.
Lorenzo made a sound that was part pain, part pleasure, all encouragement and dug his fingers into my shoulders.
"Harder," he choked out when I pulled back for air. Blood ran from his split lip and mixed with the downpour. "Come on, priest. I know you can hurt me better than that."
The taunt hit exactly where he meant it to. I bit him again and felt his lip tear further under my teeth. I licked the blood away while he moaned into my mouth.
"This what you wanted?" I growled, grinding against him through our soaked clothes. "You wanted to make me lose control?"
His smirk only widened. “What do you think?”
My hands fisted in his soaked shirt. The fabric was cold and heavy, clinging to the heat of his body underneath. I spun him and drove him back against the cabin wall. The impact shuddered through my arms, through my chest, wood groaning under the force.
Then I turned his head and kissed him like I could devour him whole.
There was some part of me that still worried I might.
My cock throbbed in my jeans, already aching.
I'd been half-hard watching him move through the storm, but now I was fully erect and straining against denim that felt too tight, too restrictive.
Every pulse of my heartbeat sent blood rushing south until all I could think about was pressure and heat and need.
I let my hand slide down his chest, over his stomach where muscles jumped and contracted under my touch. I stopped at his waistband and pressed there, enjoying the way he trembled a little too much.
Lorenzo let out a low groan as I squeezed his hard cock through his jeans.
"Fuck." The word burst out of him. "Rafael, yes, finally—"
I bit his lip again to shut him up and tasted fresh copper. He moaned into my mouth.
The button on his jeans fought me. My fingers were clumsy, but I was determined. It’d been too long since I’d had him. Too many days since New Orleans, too many near-death moments. I needed him now, needed him like this, raw and desperate and alive.
I finally got his cock free and wrapped my hand around him, stroking gently.
He fit perfectly in my hand, like God had made him exactly to my specifications.
I could wrap my fingers around him completely, control every sensation, own every response his body gave me.
I stroked him again, root to tip, and his hips bucked forward, chasing more friction.
My own cock throbbed in sympathy. I was so hard it bordered on painful, trapped behind denim and cotton, leaking steadily. I wanted to taste him, needed it like I needed air.
I released my grip on him and spun him around before dropping to my knees in the cold mud.
The impact jarred through my bones, but I barely noticed.
The storm beat down on my back and soaked through my shirt until the fabric clung to my shoulders, but all I could focus on was the heat radiating off Lorenzo's body.
I leaned forward and licked a long, slow stripe up his length.
"Oh, fuck." His hands flew to the wall and slapped against wood. "Oh, fuck, Rafael—"
I moaned at the taste of salt and musk. The storm mixed with the taste of him, and it felt like communion and baptism rolled into one. Pre-cum beaded at his tip, and I licked it away, chased the taste back to its source.
I wrapped my hand around him and looked up at him. His eyes were dark and wild, and he was breathing so hard, so fast, the little clouds of breath coming out of him looked like smoke. Our eyes locked together, I leaned forward and closed my lips around him and began to suck.
"Jesus Christ." His voice broke. "That's—fuck, that's so good—"
Heat flooded my tongue. The taste of him overwhelmed everything else—the storm and copper and salt and something uniquely Lorenzo. I had no idea what I was doing. I had no technique to fall back on, just a ravenous need to consume him, to take him so deep he'd feel it for days.
I moved too much too fast and gagged when he hit the back of my throat, but he seemed to like it, so I tried it again. The second time, I was more prepared and was able to take him deeper, wrap my tongue around him and stroke him with it.
"Oh God, look at you." Lorenzo's voice came out wrecked, barely coherent. "Do you have any idea how hot this is? You on your knees for me? You finally letting yourself—ah, fuck—"
Rain pounded down on us both, but all I could focus on was the weight of him in my mouth, the taste coating my tongue, the sounds he was making above me like prayer.
I hollowed my cheeks, and his whole body jerked.
"Yes, just like that, don't stop—" His hands pressed against the wall. "You're going to make me—easy, easy—"
But I didn't go easy. I couldn’t. I doubled down and used my tongue along the underside where the skin was softer, more sensitive, where I could feel his pulse.
I learned what made him gasp, what made his hands press against the wall until I could hear wood creaking, what made those frantic sounds climb higher and higher in his throat.
This was worship. This was me on my knees in the mud, offering up everything I had, everything I was, everything I'd ever be. The taste of him was more sacred than any wine I'd ever blessed.
"Rafael, slow down or I'm going to—Fuck, I'm trying to make this last, but you're—ah—"
I didn't slow down. I wanted him coming apart in my mouth. I wanted to taste him, to swallow him down like a sacrament.
His thighs trembled. His breathing fractured into ragged, starved sounds. "I can't—" His words shattered into pieces. "Rafael, I'm going to—I can't hold—"
He came with my name breaking on his lips like a prayer, like a curse, like both at once.
Heat flooded my mouth. The taste of him was salty and bitter and overwhelming, so much I almost choked on it. The instinct to swallow was strong, but I held off, letting him empty himself into my mouth until his hands finally left the wall, pushing weakly at my shoulders. "Too much, too much—"
Not enough, I thought as I pulled off of him and surged to my feet.
I caught him, pinning him to the wall, and pressed my lips to his.
His eyes widened as he realized I still had a mouthful of his cum, but he didn’t fight me.
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, letting me thrust my tongue into his mouth.
White stripes glistened down his chin where he couldn’t keep up. I sucked it back from him and shoved it deep inside again, rolling it onto his tongue, then taking it back when he tried to swallow.
He caught my wrist, holding me in place, letting the cum spill out and run down both our faces.