Mayfly

10. CHAPTER TEN #2

Turning to the sink, I splash cold water on my face, my chest, my dick, anywhere I can while resisting the urge to stare at Curren in the mirror.

I look at the face wash, hand cream, body lotion, coconut oil.

But his sultry little obedient mewls are counteracting the water’s effect.

“God, you’re making this really hard for me. ”

“I’m sorry,” he whines again.

“I don’t wanna hear your apologies. We can’t turn back time, can we?”

“N... No.”

“You should have been a better friend, shouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I bet you wanted me to fuck you back then, too.”

Silence.

I grab the small tub of coconut oil and step back to him. “Has Puppy forgotten how to talk?”

More silence.

“You did, didn’t you? You’ve been jerking off to thoughts of me fucking you for twenty years.”

Curren’s back hunches over the side of the bath in shame, and his hands slip down to cling to the back of his thighs.

Bullying my way between his legs, I push the top of my foot up against his balls and force his cock against his stomach. “Did I say you could move?”

With a disgraced shake of his head, he arches his back again but grips the tub instead.

“Are you embarrassed or ashamed? Or are you mad? Frustrated maybe, because now you know that you could have had me this whole time?” I drag my foot from between his legs and push my sole against his lower back. “Answer me!”

“All of it.”

I remove my foot, take my dick back in hand, squeeze near the tip, then shake it. “All of what?”

“Everything. All the things you said.” Still holding onto the edge of the bath for dear life, Curren turns his head to look up at me. “I’m ashamed of how I treated you. But most of all, I regret it meant we were both denied this for so long.”

“That’s exactly what you should be sorry for.”

Then it happens.

The first drop hits his skin, and Curren’s eyes roll back in his head.

Then it’s streaming down his back, over his ass and thighs, and dripping off the end of his dick.

He’s in another world.

His mind isn’t in his body anymore.

His mouth is open, his tongue is lolling out, his throat is making noises that my ears have never heard, and the power I’m feeling is like adrenaline.

I’m invincible.

A sadistic monster.

The facilitator of his greatest fantasy, but this still doesn’t compare to the wretched shit I wish of him.

“Fuck, you’re disgusting,” I spit on him when I’ve nothing left to give—swearing at myself, at my desires, at the fact I never tried to track him down, either. “Do you think I want to fuck you now?”

“Probably not. I’m sorr—”

“Shut the fuck up!” I yell, kicking him so hard that he topples to the side and onto the piss-soaked bath mat. Still using my foot, I force him onto his back and stand over him. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop apologizing?”

Curren’s mouth opens impulsively to repeat the words, but he stops himself and stares up at me with red, tear-stained eyes.

“There’s nothing that could stop me from fucking you right now.”

Slowly, his hands move from protectively guarding his chest, and reach out to me.

Dropping the coconut oil, I fall to my knees then take his hands and hold them above his head. “I’ve been waiting for you since the day you walked away from me. I just didn’t know it till now.”

Curren separates his legs beneath me, lifts his head, and whispers against my lips, “So please, don’t wait any longer.”

The force of my kiss sends his head back to the tiles.

I grab one of his legs and pull it up to the side; desperate to be inside him, but reluctant to pull away.

He tries to follow my lips, but I hold him down with a hand on the middle of his chest, then I slide it down his torso before grabbing the coconut oil. Twisting off the lid, I scoop some out then toss the jar away.

I coat my dick with the melting oil.

I grip the back of his other leg and bring it to his chest so his ass tilts up and I can spread the remainder on him.

He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth when a thick wad of spit falls from my lips to his rim. Then he watches as I rub the underside of my slick cock back and forth over his hole.

“Please stop teasing me. I need you, now.”

“Say it again.”

“I need you. I need you to fuck everything bad out of me until the only thing left is you.”

“You’re so perfect,” I tell him as I press against his hole.

Curren's hands reach for me again, but as my cock head slips inside him, his arms pull back to cover his face. I want to tell him to stop, but the grip his ass has on me, and the way it feels like it’s trying to draw me in deeper, has my back hunching and my hands falling to his sides so I don’t collapse on top of him.

It’s all-consuming.

Like home.

Like where I was always meant to be. Too far gone and lost in the depths of the man beneath me.

“P—please try to relax— ah —shit. You’re so fucking tight.”

It’s literal insanity, how good he feels. So warm. So suffocating. Like the kid who had yearned for Curren at the fence doesn’t exist anymore.

Milliseconds turn into an eternity as I remain halfway inside him, terrified that the clamp he has on me will make me come if he so much as breathes too deeply.

One hand falls from his face and he looks up at me. His eyes are begging me to keep going, but his body is shaking as he attempts to muffle the pain beneath his forearm.

“Stop!… Don’t stop.” There’s a fire in his voice as his hands fly to my hips to harshly pull me down until my balls are pressed hot against his ass. “Fuck!” he cries out, every muscle in his body seizing at the intrusion.

I hold still for as long as I can, for as long as my sanity will allow, before slowly drawing my hips back. But Curren has other ideas. Gripping my biceps, he wraps his legs around my waist and draws his lower body upwards, forcing me back inside him.

“Who’s fucking who?”

“You promised you'd make it hurt.”

I slam his body back to the tiles with a thrust that has the bath mat sliding beneath him.

Prying his legs from around me, I push them against his chest and watch his face contort through a million different expressions as I fuck him like my life depends on it. Because it does.

I can’t go back from this.

Curren Campbell is my endgame.

He writhes beneath me, his fingers digging into my forearms as he tries to keep eye contact.

The scent of him is everywhere, wrapping around me and sinking into my pores.

“More,” he cries.

I grip him tighter, my veins corded with the strain as I push his legs further so I can drive deeper.

Each thrust presses him harder into the unforgiving ceramic beneath him.

His harsh grunts drown in the humidity of the room, ricocheting off the damp tiles and echoing back to us.

The sight of him fucked out below me, eyes glazed over, biting his bottom lip so hard blood is blooming, has me drunk and unnervingly possessive.

“Is this what you want?”

“More.” His head jars with each of my thrusts. “Harder.”

I can’t deny him, not when he begs so well. So I increase my pace, my movements rough and unrelenting.

“Don’t stop!”

How could I when he feels this good? When the heat of him is like being wrapped in the sun. When every twitch of him drives me closer to a high I’ll be fighting to match for the rest of my life.

“Jude,” he gasps out; desperate.

“Say. It. Again.”

“Jude,” he repeats, louder this time—punctuating it with a strangled scream as I hit him just right, again and again.

Sweat drips from my forehead and onto his chest.

Leaning back on my heels, I pull him up onto my lap.

My hands span his back, my fingers pressing into scars and sinewy planes of muscle as I guide his back against the bath.

He can barely hold himself up.

He’s on another plane of existence.

With one hand on his waist, I reach between us and he lets out another choked cry when my fingers brush over the tip of his cock; shiny and pink, glossed in pre-cum.

I pump him hard.

His legs tremble.

He couldn’t hold eye contact if he wanted to.

But this is better.

So much better.

He’s allowing himself to be vulnerable, and that means he feels safe.

He trusts me.

And so I push him further.

My grip on him tightens.

My strokes are just as brutal as my thrusts.

My other arm holds him as his body tremors.

His brow creases.

He's close.

He moans my name.

“That’s it,” I say—raw-throated and so damn close myself.

The way his head falls back. The way his mouth hangs loosely open, releasing desperate gasps between begging for more. It’s...

“Curren,” I say. I need him to hear me.

His response is a broken moan as I brush my thumb over the slit of his cock. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough, not with him. I want to fuck him for the rest of my life. Until I can’t walk. Until I’m dead.

His body bucks against mine.

I circle my thumb over his tip again.

His back arches—his body begging for release.

“I want you to come.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “Not without you.”

That protest earns him a sharp thrust.

He moans and throws his head back.

I have to dart my hand behind him so he doesn’t smash his skull against the tub.

I pump once, twice, three times.

He tries to claw at my shoulders but collapses against me, panting harshly as his body convulses.

I wrap my other arm around him.

His ass strangles my cock.

His cum splatters between us.

I follow a second later, my own pleasure crashing down on me as I unload inside him; my name choked from his lips.

I find his chin and kiss him.

His taste floods my mouth as I remain deep inside him, not ready to part.

Curren’s eyes flutter open, more like a princess than a tattooed man who’s done time behind bars. So I tighten my hold on him protectively, keeping him flushed against me—our sweat and his cum sticking us together.

Our breathing syncs for a long silent moment, his heartbeat thumping against my chest.

It’s too intimate, this closeness. Too real. I hate it as much as I crave it, because I’m still mad as fuck that I might never have felt it if I didn’t walk into that pub.

If I wasn’t forced into this mission.

If I didn’t come home.