Chapter 11 #2
I kiss him because I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear his apology or his declaration that he didn’t mean it, that she meant nothing to him, because I know it’s a lie. Even if he believes it, I know the truth because I can see it with my own two eyes.
And maybe I want to prolong the inevitable. I want to just be here, with him in this moment, because it might be my last and I need him to know how much I fucking love him, even if I can’t say the words.
Wesley loosens as I slide my hand between his boxers, finding his cock hard and ready for me.
There is no bloodheat scenting the air, only sweat and cum.
I look between us, noting his boxers are still quite damp.
My hand slides around his cock and I feel the faint stickiness of his precum coating his shaft.
His bloodheat episode is likely over, but yet here he is— allowing me to kiss him, to touch him.
Here he is, hard in my hand, his tongue in my mouth, and there is no bloodheat to blame.
And maybe that’s what hurts the most. Knowing what lies between Wesley and I is not something that is just circumstantial. Knowing that he wants me, even when he is not in the throes of his bloodheat.
But soon he will want her. Soon she will become what he craves, and I will be left alone, with only the memory of him to sate me.
He thrusts his cock in my hand, grasping my hip as he shoves my sweatpants down haphazardly.
“Wesley—”
I motion to stop him, and he lets out a deep cry.
A sob.
“I’m so sorry, Adrien, I didn’t mean, I just—”
“No,” I tell him. “Do not apologize to me,” I say, sternly.
His hands move harshly as he tries to fight me, tries to reach my aching cock.
He looks up at me with watery eyes. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”
The ache in his voice breaks my own heart. He lets out a choked sob and I think I am well and truly broken.
Because what man in his right mind would cause someone they love so much pain?
“Because I need you to listen to me,” I say, imploring his gaze. His hand shakes in mine, and I can see the turmoil in his gaze.
But he doesn’t speak. He listens. He always listens when I use that voice. The one he likes to submit to.
“I am not mad at you,” I tell him, trying to make him understand. “I can not be mad that you are doing what you are supposed to do.”
I tug his cock lightly, my rhythm slow. His smooth velveteen shaft in my hand feels perfect. He fills my hand like he was made for it.
Like he was made for me.
“Do not be ashamed of what you feel,” I tell him. I implore him with my gaze and he tries to look away from me. With my free hand I grab his chin, pulling him closer by his cock. He lets out a sigh that goes straight to my own erection.
“Never apologize or be ashamed for what you feel.”
He grabs my chin, holding me still.
“I love you,” he says, the words so shaky and afraid I barely make them out. My entire body stills at those three words. I close my eyes, trying to push back the tears that want to erupt at those three perfect words.
“You can’t love me, Wesley,” I say, even though I long to scream from the top of my lungs, “I fucking love you, too!”
“But I do, Adrien. I love you. I love you so much it’s tearing me apart, and I—”
I crush my lips to his, silencing his claims because I know they will do neither of us any good.
I can not let him do this. Can not let him drag me under again. I can’t—
I roll on top of him as I kiss him, my hands moving deftly to remove his underwear. He lifts his hips, letting me take them off in haste as his hands make deft work of shoving my sweatpants down to my ankles.
With one hand I motion to grasp my nightstand with my fingers, but his hand stops mine in mid air. My hand shakes as he tears his mouth from mine and shakes his head.
“I want to feel it,” he murmurs, his lips finding my neck, fangs grazing my flesh.
“Wesley—” My voice shakes. “I don’t want to hurt you, I—”
“Make me feel it, Adrien,” he whispers. “Please.”
I bite my lip, torn between what I know he’s asking, and what I should do.
“I want to feel what you can’t say,” he says, his breath warm on my skin. And at that moment, I know. He knows.
He’s always known, and that makes it hurt all the more.
He grasps my chin, forcing me to look in his cerulean gaze. For a moment, we stay like that, frozen in time, lost in the sea of one another’s rip tides.
And then I feel his hand wrap around my cock, I feel him shift underneath me, but he never takes his gaze off of me.
I should tell him I don’t love him. That would be the smart thing. A sacrifice for the greater good, his greater good.
Maybe then he would listen.
But I am not a smart man when it comes to Wesley Castor. Far from it. So when he guides the tip of my cock against his entrance, gazing up at me with those perfect irises and those exquisitely soft lips parted just so, I give in. I push inside him and he winces, and I stop, his body tensing.
“Keep going,” he says, grasping my neck.
“Baby—” The endearment slips out too easily and I curse myself.
“Keep. Going,” he bites, pulling me in for another harsh kiss.
When our lips touch this time, he lifts his hips to meet me and I push in further.
I still as he bites at my lip, but he doesn’t stop.
He keeps moving, slowly thrusting himself against me until he takes a little more and I give in. I always give in, that’s the problem.
I hold onto him tight as I breach his resistance, bottoming out within seconds and for a moment we just lay there, entangled like ivy, growing together from separate corners of the world.
And all at once, as he kisses me, that vicious memory poisons me. Of his lips on hers. Of the heated, passionate way in which he kissed her.
I kiss him harder, one hand grasping his throat as I try to fight them. I pull back and thrust into him harder than I should. He gasps against my mouth, but he doesn’t tell me to stop. Instead, he pushes against me, wrapping his legs around my waist as I continue to pour myself into him.
Choose me, Wesley. Please…
I shove the thought aside, knowing it’s moot. He’s already slipping from my grasp and it’s best I let him go.
The memory of her lips returns to my psyche, of how close she’d been to my lips. It juxtaposes with his, and his heated kiss. His hands rove over my sides, but all I can see in my brain is his hands sliding over her. Over her hips, her ass. I thrust into him once more, hard enough the bed squeaks.
His cock slides against my stomach, eliciting trails of precum along my skin, and I take his cock in my hand without thinking and stroke him slowly.
He leans his head back, opens his mouth, and exposes his fangs.
“Oh fuck, Adrien, I’m—”
I cover his mouth once more, swallowing his scream of pleasure as he erupts all over my stomach, the truth painted across my skin. But it’s not enough. Because I can see him rubbing his hard cock against her as he kisses her, coming in his fucking pants because of her.
And that thought is the one that drives me over the edge as I come undone inside him with a deep growl. I grip the pillow beside his head, balling it into my fist as I bare my fangs. I close my eyes, trying to combat the thoughts, feeling equal parts ashamed, relieved, and heartbroken.
“Adrien—” he whispers my name, but I can’t speak.
Tears pool in my eyes and my throat is tight.
And then I feel his arms wrap around me, feel him pull my head against his chest and I collapse.
His heartbeat sounds in my ears, and I unravel like thread as I empty myself inside of him in every way possible.
I give Wesley everything I have to give.
The sob that racks me is unavoidable. I don’t fight it, because there’s no point. Nothing and no one will ever feel like this.
His hands run up and down my back slowly. His touch is warm.
This is the part where it hurts the most. The knowing.
The calm before the storm.
“I love you, too,” he whispers, and I let the tears fall. When I remove myself, I hate how empty I feel. How cold my skin feels when it’s not pressed against his body.
I say nothing, because I can’t. There’s nothing left to say, nothing left to do but let the darkness take us both under.