Chapter 9 #2
“Oh God,” I mumble, and then something pops to mind. I look up into his eyes, my head tilted back against the couch again. “That the best you can do?”
Soren’s laughs in disbelief, and then pulls his hips back until the head of his cock almost leaves me.
“Oh, you’re a little brat alright,” he husks and suddenly slams back down into me.
I try to keep the whimper from escaping my throat, but as he starts to thrust hard and fast, I can’t control myself.
Soren slides his forearm behind my shoulder and head, and his other hand grabs the back of my thigh as he shifts his body upward, and somehow drives himself into me even deeper.
My entire body clenches, then relaxes, over and over again as pleasure shoots through my groin and ass up my back into my head. My dizzy head.
This is what I’ve needed. This is what I’ve wanted. I just didn’t realize it until this very moment.
This isn’t anything that could be called love-making; it’s far from it.
I grind my hips up against him in rapid succession, trying to meet his every thrust, but he’s too fast. My control of my own body feels lost, and it’s just Soren, pumping his cock in and out of my hole in rough snaps of his strong hips.
With each thrust, my own dick bobs against my stomach, dripping and aching. I want to touch myself so bad, I want him to stroke me, but neither happens.
It’s all so quick and aggressive.
Not soft and sweet. Not romantic.
I’m moaning and grunting in such a guttural fashion that I can’t imagine how it’s attractive, but hearing Soren mirror these erotic sounds only turns me on more.
“Yes, yes!” I say between panting for breath.
“Take it, take my fuckin’ cock…just like that, ahh,” Soren tells me, his forehead leaning against mine. Sweat drips down from his brow onto mine.
The pressure in my pulsing length is building. I can hardly take it. My balls squeeze and my stomach tightens. I want to tell him I’m going to come, but I can’t get the words out.
God, I want to kiss him. I want to lose myself in him entirely, and that’s what he’s trying to do for me.
I don’t know why, and I don’t care.
As if reading my mind, Soren suddenly captures my lips with his. The kiss is rough and messy, spit drips down my chin as he shoves his tongue in my mouth and I let him dominate it. Not an ounce of objection in my body or mind.
Every thrust rattles the wooden legs of the couch and the small table nearby; makes the springs creak and groan. Nothing is louder than the sound of Soren’s hips smacking against mine as he drives into me harder.
Everything becomes static. Nothing exists except us. Just his cock pulsing and dripping inside of me, and my body trembling around it.
Soren slides his arm out from under my shoulder and places his hand at the base of my neck and collarbones. He pushes down, holding me tightly against the couch. The feeling of his rough fingertips pressed down against the fragile skin of my throat drives me over the edge.
What might’ve taken even longer with someone else, takes mere minutes, without him even touching my length a single time.
I come onto my stomach in several hot spurts. My entire body clenching once, then twice, with my hips shuddering and cock bouncing.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Soren spits out a string of expletives in a frenzy as he pulls out of my ass.
My hole tightens almost painfully in his absence, and a whine sounds low in my throat.
My vision is blurry, eyes burning, face wet, but I try to lift my head just a little to watch him, the hazy image of Soren stroking himself until he releases in sticky bursts along my stomach.
We’re both painting for breath, moaning between every other one, and after another couple moments, Soren is draped over the other end of the couch, his legs tangled with mine.
It’s oddly comforting. I find myself trying to press our legs ever tighter together, rubbing one of my calves against his thigh. Enjoying the pressure of his foot against my side.
At some point we’d gotten our shoes off, but I can’t remember when. How did we manage to get completely naked? Everything feels unreal still, but I’m slowly starting to come down.
“That good?” Soren asks once he’s caught his breath.
I hum out. “Mhmmm.”
“You just need a proper fuck sometimes, don’t you?” he asks playfully, and I feel his fingers brush my knee. “You’re a good boy.” The praising tone of his sexy voice makes my thigh muscles ripple momentarily, and I feel a tingle at the base of my cock.
Those words though. They’re familiar in an uncomfortable fashion. I remember who said them to me for the first time.
How small and vulnerable I’d been. How he’d used them to keep me quiet.
There’s a lump forming in my throat. I swallow it down, trying to forget. Trying to ignore it all.
“You alright?” Soren asks all the sudden.
I realize the dampness on my face isn’t just sweat, but tears. Not the old ones from just before our entanglement, but new ones. Fresh tears drip from my eyes against my will.
I sit up and wipe aggressively at my face. “Fine,” I mumble.
The bliss in the aftermath is wearing off. What was once utter pleasure is now a looming sense of anxiety and guilt.
“You’re not,” he replies as he sits up as well. He scoots closer to me.
I sigh and grab my boxer briefs. “Doesn’t matter,” I insist.
“Didn’t we just go over this, Carm?” he asks me.
My stomach lurches. “Don’t call me that,” I snap at him.
Soren’s expression darkens. “Whatever your problem is, this ain’t gonna help.”
“Just figuring that out?” I ask him in return. “Just…this shouldn’t have happened.”
“Why not?” he waves a hand at my cum-covered stomach. “Clearly you liked it.”
I stand up from the couch and put my boxers on before stepping around the broken coffee mug and grabbing a coffee filter off the table. I use it to wipe my stomach off.
“I shouldn’t,” I reply. “I shouldn’t like…the way you talk to me. The way you manhandled me.”
I feel Soren’s eyes on my back. “The way you called me…” I shake my head. “It’s wrong. I shouldn’t want it. I shouldn’t like the way you treat me.”
“Why not? What’s the problem with it? You can’t handle being dominated? Don’t want the boys to find out… Is that it?” he stands up as well.
I shake my head. “You don’t know anything.” My eyes sting with tears still, and I try to keep them from falling.
“Tell me,” he says, as he stands naked in front of me. His body covered in scars and tattoos. Jagged edges of his skin glistening with sweat. His softened length just hanging there, drained by me.
“God…even now. Trying to get away from you, thinking about these things…those things,” I huff. “Looking at you… It’s making me feel these things. I don’t want to feel them. I don’t want to want this.”
“Why don’t you want it? Tell me, Carmine. What’s so bad about it?” Soren asks me, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breath.
My own breath hitches in my throat. “I can’t…Soren, I…” I clench my jaw, trying so hard to fight the emotions welling up in my ribcage, threatening to spill out. Up my throat and out of my mouth and eyes.
Soren’s own eyes are suddenly wet too, but he turns his gaze away from me.
“You’re not the only one who has a problem,” he admits.
I blink away my tears and take a deep breath. “What? Are you going to tell me you’re an alcoholic too now?” I sniff and toss the coffee filter.
“Nah,” Soren says slowly. “But if I’m not careful, my vice might be standin’ right in front of me, havin’ a nervous breakdown.”
My heart squeezes in my chest in a way I’m all too familiar with, and I hate it. I can’t. I can’t even begin to feel that way for Soren. It’s not safe. It’s not good for the family.
“I suppose I better not tempt you again,” I say slowly. I grab my clothing off the floor and start to get dressed. Ignoring the way my body aches and my brain begs me to just sit back down and let myself drift off to sleep.
It’s quiet for a long moment. Maybe several. I expect Soren to bring it up again, to try to get me to spill my guts, but he doesn’t.
Instead, we both get dressed on opposite sides of the couch, and I have to fight the urge to inhale the scent of both of us even deeper. The lingering smell of sex and masculine energy. Sweat and musk. Some perfect blend of both of us.
“What happened…can’t happen again,” I say quietly, not looking at him.
“Whatever you want.” Soren’s voice is further away.
I look up to see that he’s heading toward the door of the warehouse.
“Where are you going?” I ask, my voice far more concerned than I intend.
“I’ve got some Carvels to talk to, remember?” he says.
I start walking over to him. “We haven’t decided what you’re going to ask,” I remind him in return.
He scoffs. “I got this, don’t worry about it. Long as your little stunt tonight hasn’t gotten back to them, should be fine.”
I look Soren over, from his head to his feet back to his dark eyes, and I see something there I haven’t seen before. It’s wavering and off. I can’t tell what it is, but I know what it’s not.
Honesty.