Chapter 16 ~ Minho #3
I obey, my mouth falling open, and he brings his other hand up, slick with his own spit and precum. He guides his fingers into my mouth, and I moan at the taste of him, at how intimate this feels, and then he is pushing his cock back into my mouth, just the head, and I feel him tense.
Bellamy pulls out; his hand moves to his shaft, and he strokes leisurely, and I watch as he comes into his palm. He lifts his hand to my mouth, and I open without being told. He smears the cum on my tongue, then leans forward and spits into my mouth, an act that makes my eyes widen.
“Swallow.”
I do as he says; the taste is salty and bitter, and I feel a strange pride in it, a sense of utter belonging. I swallow again, meeting his eyes, and I see something there that I can’t or am too afraid to name—satisfaction, yes, but something softer—something that looks almost like love.
“Good boy,” he muses before pulling me to him and kissing me, tasting himself on my tongue and moaning in time with my own,
I am so fucked. And yet lines are crossed all the time in war, right? But what kind of war is this if I am giving him what he wants and secretly taking what I want?
Who wins?
Who loses?
Is this even a game of war anymore, or have I blurred the lines completely?
Before I can ask him what we are doing, he flips me, my chest presses to the carpet, ass up in the air. His hands are on my hips, spreading me, and I feel the moment he rips my black sweatpants.
“Holy shit.” I try to peer behind me to see how bad the rip is, but Bells pushes my head back down onto the carpet.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he purrs, and I feel his breath hot on my skin, no doubt from seeing me wearing a jockstrap, before his mouth finds my entrance, and I become putty to his touch.
His tongue teases the pucker, and I gasp; my fingers curl into the carpet as he feasts on me.
“Fuck, I have wanted this ass for so long.” He nips and sucks and licks, slowly turning my muscles into jelly from his probing.
“And now your ass literally says I can fuck you. Do you think it begs for my cum to fill it too, baby?”
“Bells—”
He doesn’t answer, just pulls on the jockstrap and works me open with his tongue, deeper and deeper until I am a trembling mess, my own cock leaking onto the carpet beneath me when he slides my underwear off.
Bellamy pulls back, and I feel his fingers replace his tongue, slick with his own spit as he presses inside me.
“Fucking hell,” he says, amusement evident in his voice. “You take everything I give you so well and look how greedy you are for it; I bet you’d beg me for my cock right now.”
If he keeps going like this, I might, and that should scare me, but it doesn’t. I want this, I want him—all of him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck his delusional brain truly has infected me.
Shit.
“Oh f-fcuck,” I scream from the sting of a second finger being added before it turns into uncontrollable moans as I fuck myself onto his fingers.
“Ready?” His voice is rough, and I can only nod, my throat tight with so many overwhelming emotions that might drown me.
He shifts behind me, and then I feel his cock slide between my ass cheeks, and I cry out from the delicious friction.
“Bells, please,” I beg. “Fuck, please fuck me.”
He chuckles. “How badly do you want it?”
I groan when he thrusts against me; the length of him, the utterly huge size of him might break me in half, but I want it—need it like I need my next breath.
“I—”
Fear seizes my next words, and Bellamy must sense it because he moves again, and then his tongue is inside me again, relentlessly fucking me, and I am gone.
The orgasm hits me wave after wave, my body shaking as a raw cry tears from my throat.
I come across the carpet, and I feel Bell's mouth on me even as I shudder through the aftershocks.
He pulls back, and I flip myself over slowly to see his chin wet before I collapse onto my side, breathlessly spent. I take in the spell of the room, sex and sweat, and I feel his hand on my hip like a grounding, reassuring presence I didn't realise I needed.
I’m not sure how long we lay there, TV still playing in the background, before he speaks. “Minho.” He says my name so quietly that it almost sounds hesitant. “I—”
I turn to face him, and I see the words lingering in his eyes, the ones I made him too scared to say out loud to me and fuck me. I want him to say it, but instead of letting him because I am a coward, I say, “I know.”
I decide there, and then, I won't use what Armani gave me. I’ll destroy the hard drive. It would have taken things too far, and after this, I can’t bring myself to do such a thing. And it should feel like forfeiting, like losing to him again, but it doesn’t.
“I hope you know,” he starts, pulling me from my thoughts. “I am turning your room into a gaming room when you least expect it.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Where would I sleep, you idiot?”
His eyes are closed even as he grins, a dimple appearing.
“With me, where you’ll always belong.” The words come out so sleepily before he yawns; he must have fallen, as he doesn’t respond to the next words I swear I never would have uttered to him, a question I don't think I would have the guts to have said two years ago.
“Do you promise?” I reach out, fingers finding his, and we lie there tangled together on the carpet; the chess pieces remain scattered around us as if they are fallen soldiers from both sides of a war neither of us will win. “Promise me, and I’m yours, Bells, always.”