Chapter 2 #2
I might hate myself for it, it might invite chaos and terror into our lives, but I’m not about to tell him to stop.
His palms are warm and my skin leaps against his touch and my cock is even harder than before, so much so that when his fingers find the buttons on my trousers and undo the first one, my stiff length practically bursts from my pants.
With a quick tug he pulls down my trousers over my thighs until my cock springs fully free, heavy, dark and full, the tip gleaming in the candlelight.
I watch as his fingers curl around the base, and the sight of my cock in his hand makes the blood thrum violently in my skull, intensifying all the pain from my shoulder, my throat, my head into a crescendo until it all but disappears.
“Let me see you stripped down to the bone,” Crane whispers in my ear, giving my cock a sharp squeeze. “I want to know what you’re really made of on the inside.”
Then he brings his mouth to my neck and presses his lips there until I shiver. “I’m starting to think I never knew you, Abraham Van Brunt.”
Because you never knew I was the devil. The thought rakes across my heart.
It comes from that dark place, the one that hides the horseman and all the worst parts of me.
Crane pauses at that and frowns, as if he can hear that thought.
Then he steps back. Releases his grip on my cock so that he’s keeping it in place by a loose circle of his thumb and forefinger.
He bends down and I’m staring at his messy dark hair in awe of what I’m seeing, him beneath me. Then he runs the tip of his tongue over the slit in my crown and a helpless, ragged noise is torn from my throat, my knees threatening to buckle.
Crane throws up one arm, pressing it against my stomach to keep me from toppling over, and he lets the flat of his tongue lick all the arousal off of me with another hard pass.
“Fuck!” I cry out against the tie, jerking my hips forward.
He looks up at me, a lock of his hair falling across his forehead, and for one pitiful moment I consider begging for more. He just smiles at me and it’s not a kind smile.
“Did you like that, pretty boy?” he croons, placing the back of his hand against my cheek in a faux gentle gesture. “You might not be able to speak, but I can tell you’re aching for more.”
His hand grips my cock again, smearing the moisture down the throbbing length before giving it a hard stroke that makes me moan loudly.
I thrust up into his fist, desperation clawing through me.
It’s as if my body has finally clued in to this, to him, to what I’ve gone without for a year.
It felt the same way when I was pounding into Kat and it feels the same way now in Crane’s strong fist, an urge to catch up with what I’ve been missing, an urge to make things mine again.
But then he takes his hand away just as my balls were lifting up, an orgasm building at the thick base of me with no release, and he grabs me by the leather strap at my neck.
“I don’t think you understand what your punishment is,” he says, and practically drags me across his room.
If my feet weren’t already bound together with straps, I’d struggle from the pants gathered around my ankles, and I can barely keep my body upright.
By the time he pushes me over his desk, the corner of it biting into my hips, I’m completely off-balance and at his mercy.
“I’m taking from you and not giving you a single thing in return,” he goes on, and the candles that are lit along the windowsill in front of me nearly go out when I let out a strained huff of air.
He leaves me for a moment, going to his shelf stocked with jars of herbs and tinctures, and grabs a small vial of golden oil.
He pours it into his hands, his eyes locked to mine in the way a hunter watches their prey, and my entire body feels alive and electric, like there is nothing else except this moment, no one else aside from the two of us here.
Even Kat seems like a dream, and the horseman merely a nightmare.
Lust sullies my thoughts while faint panic courses over my body as I watch him undo his trousers, the knowing, the anticipation in every movement of his swift and skilled fingers.
His lips curl into another smile, his gray gaze still cold and calculating.
I expect him to pull his cock out of his pants—I need him to—but instead he comes around the back of me and presses an oiled hand between my shoulder blades, flattening me against the desk.
His hands go to my ass, giving each cheek a hard smack that makes my blood sing.
“Am I the last one to defile you here or have there been others?” he asks in a tight voice as his oiled finger runs slowly between my cheeks.
“Countless others,” I try to say through the gag.
But that’s a lie. There’s only been him. I ran away from him and spent the last year trying to find him again in every man and woman I met, but it was never him and never the same.
“Mmm,” he murmurs. “I’m not sure you were aware of my jealous heart.”
His finger swirls in slick, smooth circles around my entrance, delicate in a way that makes me hold my breath and brace myself because I know what comes next. My erection kicks at nothing, my hands tied behind my back and unable to do anything to ease it. I can only wait.
“My very jealous, very hungry heart,” he adds.
At that his finger enters me roughly, no romance, no trepidation, and I clench around him as he pushes in to the knuckle.
“Fuck!” I groan, the noise muffled through the tie.
I hear him hiss from behind me. “Jesus, Abe, I’d forgotten how damn tight you are.”
He slipped up, called me by my other name, but right now it feels right, I feel like Abe to him, and he feels like the mysterious Manhattan stranger who I let use me for weeks.
Then he grabs the oil again and I hear the slick sound of it, skin slapping together as he spreads it on himself, and then feel the heat of his thick crown working through my cheeks and pressing against me.
He slides his tip in and I gasp for air as the muscles at my entrance protest in shock. Pain jettisons up my spine at the invasion, followed by a bolt of pleasure that shoots right to my core. I’d forgotten how large he is.
“Oh, fuck me,” I moan, my words blurred, wishing I could reach for my cock, which aches to be touched, jerking beneath me like a wild horse.
“That’s what I’m doing, pretty boy,” Crane chides me. “I suppose I’m not trying hard enough.”
And at that he pushes all the way inside and grunts, this guttural, animal sound that ties my center in knots.
He’s so big and hot and slippery that I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but cry out, submitting to the mix of pain and pleasure as the fullness of him inside me seems to take up my entire world.
“God, you feel good.” His words are a groan and a whisper, and despite the fact that I don’t feel anything but him right now, I still revel in how good I’m making him feel. “So damn good. That’s what I’ve missed.”
And I’ve missed it too and I’m desperate, feral for more. I wish I could spread my legs wider but I can’t. Wish I could touch my cock but I can’t. Wish I could come from just his fucking alone but…
He shoves up to the hilt until I see stars and I feel the mass of his clothed body behind me, his chest pressed against my back. “The minute I think you’re going to come, I’m pulling out,” he grunts into my ear. “None of this is for you, Brom. You don’t deserve a fucking thing.”
I growl in anger, a threat of the darkness at my disposal.
“Call to your horseman,” he rasps, biting the back of my wounded shoulder. “Let him come out while I’m buried inside you. I have a lesson I’d like to teach him.”
I’m tempted. My hips are bruised from where he’s driving me into the desk, my cock is so painfully stiff, twitching with my rapid heartbeat, electric and throbbing with pure raw need.
If I called to the horseman, perhaps he’d take me away from this pain.
He might end up killing Crane in the process, but at least I wouldn’t be driven insane from his brutal thrusts with no release.
But before I can even think of letting the devil take over, I hear a sound from behind me, coming from the other side of the room, and a light breathy inhale.
Kat.