Chapter 9 Weston #2
Doing everything I probably shouldn’t be doing, tensing up and tightening and anticipating him shoving inside me.
I glance up at the wall and see the things I have hanging on my wall: a framed illustration of a retro pin-up girl, mocking me.
More framed pictures of me and Rayne at parties in freshman year, probably drunk off of two beers on nights where I was constantly trying to find satisfaction and never getting it.
“Not touching you again ‘til you breathe.” Sev’s voice is low.
I pull in a long breath and wait for his cock to push inside me.
But instead, his free hand moves up and he pulls me upward, hitching my body up higher off the bed. I’m no longer folded over at a ninety-degree angle, but instead being pulled backward, and for a second I’m confused.
But then his palm lands on my throat.
He cups me there, pushing firmly, hovering right along the edge of choking me.
He was moving me so I’d be in a position where he could grip my throat.
“Swallow. Then breathe.”
His hand is there on my neck and my Adam’s apple moves under his touch as I swallow.
And then breathe deeply again.
“There you go.”
I want to scream at him. Let out a string of curses and turn around and deck him in the face. Ask him how he has the fucking nerve to treat me like I’m his plaything to command.
But I’m too focused on the warm weight of his hand around my throat.
Is it possible to want something so badly you don’t care anymore how you get it?
The moment his tip presses up against my hole I moan deeply, with no hope of hiding it. He’s holding me around my neck and I keep breathing, evenly and slowly, through the stretch as he starts to push inside.
My cock throbs in front of me. It hurts like a bitch, but I’m hard from it, anyway.
“Give it to me,” I utter, and it’s strange talking while his hand is right there picking up every reverberation of my voice.
“Baby, you don’t even have my tip, yet.”
I groan and push back a little, impatient, and I’m met with more pain.
“Fuck.”
His hand tightens on my throat.
He’s choking me in earnest, just for a couple of beats, restricting my air before he loosens his grip again.
“Breathe, Weston.” His voice is more of a command than it’s ever been.
I wouldn’t be able to deny him if I tried. I pull in a long, slow, even breath and his other hand squeezes tight on my ass cheek as a little reward.
As I take another deep breath he takes the opportunity to push in a little further, and if I thought I felt full from his fingers it’s so much more from his cock. The cock I stared at like a fucking addict when he sent me that picture, until it became too much to bear and I deleted it.
So thick.
Impossible that I can take every inch of him inside me.
I groan as he pushes even deeper, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, letting the weight of my head lean down, my neck cradled in his palm.
And I breathe.
Evenly. Over and over.
“You can take more of me than you think. Understand?”
I don’t believe that.
I couldn’t believe that when I’m bent over my bed like this practically vibrating with anticipation while being certain that there’s no way I can handle his size inside me.
“Sure,” I breathe.
“That’s not good enough.”
“Yes,” I say louder. “Just… just give it to me—”
My words are cut off as he suddenly obliges and gives another firm push, and a flare of pain is followed by a warm, radiant fullness.
“Good. Now you have my tip.”
“Fuck,” I whisper.
It’s still just his cock head.
He moves his hand along my neck, pausing again for a beat while I adjust to his new position.
His fingertips trail upward until they’re brushing over my lips.
So much sensation.
Control, and almost brutality, followed by this soft, feathery touch.
Every nerve ending in my body is firing at once as he moves his fingers on my lips, then pushes two of them into my mouth.
He moans softly as I pull them in, sliding my tongue along his fingertips.
“Missed that mouth.”
Something about the gravelly sound of his voice is making me so hard my cock aches in front of me.
I suck his fingers as if they were his cock, and he lets me continue for another minute before sliding them out and gripping my neck again.
“Need you to fuck me,” I utter. I wish my voice sounded slightly less like a plea.
His other hand slides down my lower back, then grips my ass again.
“I know.”
When he gives me another inch, the pain is still there, but it’s not like it was before.
My body is heating up. Finally relaxing, like he asked. The sensation of fullness still feels intrusive but in a better way now.
Like I need more.
I swallow beneath his hand. “Please, Sevan.”
He lets out a groan that sounds like a growl. “Like it when you say my name.”
I push my hips back a little and buck back onto him, giving myself the pain, this time.
Asking for it.
Begging.
“Fuck,” he says, and he pushes deeper into me all at once, as if he’s not even in control anymore.
I call out in a moan of pain, or pleasure, or absolute frustrated need as he finally slides all the way inside me, right to the hilt.
It’s too much, like I thought it would be.
And I love everything about it.
“You feel so fucking good,” I utter.
There’s no point in hiding it anymore.
His hand grips tighter on my neck. He chokes me again and I hate how good that feels, too. When he gives me air again I shove my ass back into him, grinding into him.
It’s like I’ve surrendered into a different version of myself.
A version of me that’s willing to give him what he needs, because it’s exactly what I need, too.
The constant, silent war between us that’s been built up since the moment I arrived on campus two years ago, and I knew Sevan was everything I could hate about a person wrapped up into one big package.
“You always wanted this, didn’t you?” I manage to say as he slides out just a couple of inches, then slowly pushes back into me.
“Is that what you’re telling yourself?”
“You wanted to get under my skin. Screw with my head, every chance you could get.”
“Maybe I like doing that, Knox.”
His hand comes down hard on my ass, smacking it with a fresh type of sharp pain.
“Always had such a goddamn problem with me. And you’re finally doing something about it.”
As soon as I provoke him, he pulls nearly all the way out of me, then slams back in harder. Another new type of pain, even better than the last.
He’s fucking me like he owns me now, but I know I own some sliver of him, too.
Because I got to him.
Pushed him over the edge. I hear him mutter under his breath behind me, something about my perfect tight ass, and I’m glad he can’t see me right now because he’d see the sick, satisfied smile on my face as he pounds into me.
I’ve won, too.
His cock is undoubtedly the best cock I’ve ever seen, maybe even the best one in the goddamn world, and he gave it to me when he wouldn’t give it to any other man. Not like this.
“Touch yourself,” he tells me.
When I don’t do it fast enough, he squeezes hard around my neck, thrusting hard into my ass.
While he restricts my air, I focus on every beat of my heart.
The heavy, warm weight of his body above mine.
The way he’s breathing behind me.
Then I realize that he’s not going to stop choking me until I give in. Until I bring one hand up to my cock and inevitably fucking lose it, because I’m not going to be able to stop myself from coming.
Oh, God.
I reach forward and wrap my fist around my dick, trailing my fingers through the precum at the tip.
My whole body reacts to the sensation and I shake.
Sev lets his grip go gentle again. “Breathe. Weston, I need you to come for me while I’m inside you.”
“Yes,” I whisper, because I’m already too close and hearing him say it is only taking me closer.
I groan as he changes his angle. Something about it gives him deeper access. He fucks me again and this time his tip is hitting my prostate.
It’s too good.
“Sev.”
“I know, baby. But I’m about to come inside you, and I need you to come with me.”
Stop calling me that.
I want to say it out loud. Demand it.
But every time he says it my cock throbs and I’m pushed closer to the brink. My body is so hot now and I listen to his voice, and I grip my own cock, and I start to stroke it in a steady rhythm.
“Knew you’d beg for me,” he utters.
“Your cock is perfect—”
“And you are so goddamn tight. Come for me.”
His body tenses behind me and I stroke my cock faster, matching his thrusts. An ocean of sensation wells up inside me and all at once, I know I’m past the point of return.
I moan for him as his hand grips my neck tighter one final time.
And then he loses control. I stroke myself in tandem and the wave crashes over me a split second afterward, and I’m gone.
Lost.
In oblivion, with him.
I’ve never come like this before, so completely, and I don’t give a fuck about fighting it anymore. I call out his name as I come, then say it again lower, like a mantra I can’t stop repeating in between curses.
I belong to him in this moment.
Maybe never again, after this.
But I don’t care what that means.
My world is reduced to pure sensation as I begin to catch my breath, coming back down to reality as I slip into total physical calm. Relaxing, for what feels like the first time in far too long.
His hand releases and he drags his palm down my neck and onto my shoulder, then pulls it down the center of my back.
I can barely catch my breath.
He’s still inside me, and he slides out slowly, bit by bit, until he’s gone.
My limbs feel weak and I slide downward, sitting on the floor for a moment, my back leaned up against the edge of my mattress.
His body is on display for me as he walks across the room to discard the condom. I watch his muscles move beneath his tattoos, every inch of ink across his skin feeling forbidden.
I’m dimly aware that this is a stolen moment.
This shouldn’t be happening.
But I take it all in while I can, gazing at his sculpted ass, his broad shoulders, and the intricate, giant, multicolored fox tattoo that stretches across his back. He’s a work of art.
He glances at me for a moment, his gaze raking over my body, still resting here on the floor like I just finished a marathon.
And I’m waiting for the worst.
After the night at the Zenith house, Sev shut down and left as fast as he could after he fucked my mouth. I expect the same here. I sit patiently, waiting for him to go.
He doesn’t say anything.
We don’t talk at all for a few beats, just breathing, and I start to feel like I have to be going crazy.
“What… what are you thinking?” I manage to ask, my voice raspy and a little embarrassing.
He runs his fingers through his hair. “That I want a shower.”
I blink and then nod, suddenly feeling like a bad host.
Not that I ever thought I’d be scrambling to host Sevan Berlant in the first place.
“Right. It’s just down the hall, on the left. The door with a big Crimson sticker in the center. There are clean towels in a stack near the corner.”
He’s already opening the door to leave before I finish my sentence. He doesn’t bother throwing on clothes, instead just heading out down the hall naked.
A minute later I hear the sound of the shower and I lie down flat on the floor, staring up at my ceiling.
The word crush spirals through my mind again like a falling snowflake, swirling around me. But I know now that it’s more than that.
I’m completely desperate for him, I realize, sitting there just-fucked and finally letting the thought into my own mind.
It’s bad, like all of this is.
But it’s the truth.
I want him in an ugly, reckless, completely unmanageable way. And if he ever discovers that I’m capable of even a shred of a feeling toward him, he’ll drop me like a lead weight in an instant.
Big fucking problem.
There’s no affection in him for you.
Remember that.
And know that this was nothing special to him at all.