11. Lucas
ELEVEN
Lucas
I scramble up from the bed when the steel door, well beyond my line of sight at the end of the long corridor, scrapes open. Boots thump along the concrete. I can’t hear his bare feet. I can’t be sure he’s coming back, that he’s survived, until—
Harsh light glares over his blood-splattered body and face. Blood coats his chin and runs down his throat to the shock collar. It’s splashed across his chest. His hands are red. His black tactical pants hide any stains, but his feet are splattered too.
Maybe I’m supposed to be horrified, but I’m not. I’m so fucking relieved to see him. Because no matter how strong and tough he is, these fights are dangerous, and he was already hurt.
The stitches in his side were bandaged and taped, but he was targeted there. There’s a bloody fist print across the white tape.
His eyes are unfocused as he walks to the cell gate flanked by two guards with guns in hand. One of them carries the shock collar remote as well.
He stands aside as one of the guards opens the gate. He walks in. The gate clangs shut behind him.
“Collar,” the guard orders, but the fighter just stands there with his back to them.
The collar is demanded again, but there’s still no response to the order. The two guards eye him warily. Then they eye me where I’m standing beside the mattress in my jeans and hoodie. They leave, vanishing into the guardroom.
A dark, predatory gaze swings my way.
If you break him when you return, that’s on you.
But he’s not going to. I don’t care how he’s looking at me. He’s not going to hurt me. I’m sure of that. But I don’t think he’s sure, and I think that’s why he turns his back to me and goes stalking away. To me, though, that only proves it.
I follow him as he stalks toward the bathroom wall. I’m right in his path when he turns.
He roars in my face. It’s animalist. Bestial. It has the hair rising all over my body. It has my heart racing even before he grabs me.
He spins, slamming me into the wall. He grabs my throat and squeezes. I don’t try to fight him and I don’t try to gentle him. Right now, what he needs is for me to accept him exactly like he is. Because this part of him is real. It’s deep. And I’m not afraid of it. I’m not horrified by it.
The truth that I’m forced to face as he chokes me against the wall is that some very base part of me loves this very base part of him. That’s why my dick starts stiffening. That’s why I prepped for this before he returned. I already knew what he would need.
What I didn’t realize until now was that I would need it too.
His hand releases my throat. I gasp for air as his hand drags down my chest to my sternum. He pins me to the wall. Light from outside the cell limns one side of his bloodied, snarling face. The shock collar’s green light blinks at his throat.
I don’t give him any words. We don’t need any right now. I unfasten my pants and slide them down. I step out of them.
He stares down at my hard cock jutting up in front of my sweatshirt. I know better than to reach for him, so instead I reach for myself. I wrap my hand around my own cock and start to stroke.
He moves so damn fast that I barely register what happens. I feel him grab my legs. I feel them parting as I’m lifted.
I feel his hand working under me, hear his zipper. Then I feel the firm nudge of his cockhead at my oiled hole. I bear down as he pushes inside. I want him inside me. I need him there.
He grunts as he thrusts deeper, forcing his way into my body. I can’t help crying out, but I embrace the pain. It binds me to him and him to me in this act of raw, primal coupling.
He grips me hard, pins me to the wall, holds me up against it—and fucks me. I cling to him, my arms and legs wrapping around him as he drives his cock deep inside me. I close my eyes and give myself to it.
His skin is hot and slick with sweat and blood. His muscles tense and flex against me. He grunts and growls. Then he bites me. I cry out at the flash of pain. I accept it, even revel in it. I let him claim my body in every way. I let him possess me.
I bury my face against his neck as I come. I cry out against the shock collar’s strap. I moan, mindless as his onslaught continues. He’s hitting my prostate, milking me, and my cock leaks where it’s trapped between our bodies.
It’s too much. I’m done.
But he’s not. He keeps fucking me. I’m boneless, mindless, barely hanging on, when my second orgasm hits me out of nowhere. I scream against him. I bite him.
When my teeth close on him, he roars and punches up into me. His cock kicks hard inside me, filling me with his cum. I’m so out of my head, so sensitized that I feel every pulse and spurt of him inside me. I feel the strain of his body. I feel the moment he breaks through all his rage, and I feel it fade from him as he starts to ease against me. I feel the moment when he comes out on the other side of it.
I put my hand on the back of his head and hold him against me. He starts to sink down. As we go all the way to the floor, I move with him to keep his cock inside me. I’m straddling him, still holding onto him.
Gently, I unbuckle the shock collar. He doesn’t make a sound, but the micromovements in his body tell me he’s distressed. He lets me do it though. I pull the collar away from his throat and toss it away. I rub lightly at his neck where the collar was. Then I duck under his chin and I kiss his bloody throat where the prongs rested. I feel him swallow. I feel him start shaking.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I tell him. “I was worried about you.”
He buries his face against my neck. Softly, roughly, he speaks against my skin. “I’m …” He trails off, breathing against me for a long time before he says roughly, “Roman.”
For half a second, I’m confused. I think he’s telling me that he’s from Rome. Then I realize what he’s given me.
He’s given me, finally, his name.