Chapter 18 #2
He nods, then spreads his knees wider as he starts to fuck into my fist, grinding his ass on my dick as he rocks back and forth. Faster and faster.
I want out of these boxer briefs, want to feel him against me. Skin to skin. Want to feel my dick sliding between his crease. “That ass is making me so goddamn hard.”
He groans, leaning forward, free hand against the wall. His eyes are half-mast, back arching as he pulls back before thrusting harder.
“That’s it, baby.”
He does it again. And again. His grunts get louder as he ruts, his precum dripping onto my stomach.
A guttural groan slips out, my back arching, grip tightening on his dick. “You’re making a mess on me.”
His eyes lock onto my abs, and his hips punch forward harder. Faster. As if he likes what he sees.
Oh, fuck.
Ryan starts moving frantically. His eyes close, features scrunched, and his fingers curl into a fist against the wall.
“Eyes on me, baby.” I try to loosen my grip on him, but he doesn’t let me, his hand tightening on mine. “Ryan, look at me.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he opens his eyes.
“Do you need to stop?”
He shakes his head, hips bucking forward more and back arching when he rocks the opposite way, grinding down hard.
I grunt, my dick aching and needing to come. But I can’t read his expression, can’t tell if he’s pushing himself too much. And that’s what matters right now. “Ryan?”
He doesn’t answer. But when he grinds backward again, the tip of my dick presses against his clothed crease and his eyes slam shut as the filthiest moan from him fills the room.
I almost come from that sound.
“Is that what you want, baby? My dick inside you?” Every nerve in my groin lights up when he whines. “That why your eyes are closed? You picturing it? Me sliding into your tight hole?”
“Connor.” It comes out breathless.
Fucking hell.
“You want my dick, Ryan? Does that ass of yours want to swallow it, to take it deep? You want me to fill you, baby?” My balls draw tight, abs clenching as a bolt of electricity shooting up my spine. “Oh, fucking hell. Fuck. I’m coming. Ryan. Fuck. I’m coming.”
My eyes flutter closed as I fill my boxer briefs, all because I ran my fucking mouth and pushed myself over the edge.
Ryan keeps fucking my fist, keeps grinding his ass on my dick, grunting hard and loud as I writhe beneath him.
Then something hits my lips. My eyes open just as a rope of cum shoots out of Ryan, then lands on my chin.
He’s coming.
I look up and he’s staring at my face. No, my mouth.
My tongue swipes my upper lip. Fuck. It’s cum.
His cum.
His taste.
My hand works him as I take more into my mouth. No one has tasted him. Just me.
Only me.
“Oh, God.” His jaw drops, body tense and shaking as he continues to come. “Connor. Connor.”
“That’s it, baby. Give it all to me.”
After a few more seconds, he starts squirming and lets go of my hand. When I release him he tucks himself away before maneuvering off me and sitting on the edge of my bed.
“Ryan?”
No answer.
I sit up, adjusting myself as I scoot next to him, not caring my hand is covered in cum.
His hands are trembling, and he’s staring at the floor.
No.
Fuck. Please. No.
“Ryan, talk to me.” I move away a little, giving him some space. “Ry?”
His breaths saw in and out, knee bouncing. He grips the material of his navy-blue joggers.
I race to his bed, grab his bear, then come back and give it to him.
He takes it, clutching it close. He shakes his head, eyes closed. “I don’t want to be like this.”
“You pushed yourself.” I kneel in front of him, trying to get him to look at me. “You could have stopped, Ry. You didn’t have to—”
“I . . . I liked it. With you. Wanted it. And I was okay during.” He wipes his eyes. “But now I keep thinking about what they did.”
My pulse spikes and my ears start to ring. I fucking swear, I want to murder someone right now.
He sniffles, knee bouncing faster. “They . . . did that to me too. In the shower. Restrained me.” Tears fall down his cheeks. “But it wasn’t just—”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“They touched my leg. My scars. Scratched a recent graft.” His chest heaves, body shuddering as he cries. “They made fun of me, calling me gross and a freak as they did it.”
I want to hold him, to comfort him. But he can’t be touched. Not right now. So I sit there on the floor as he cries, wanting him to know I’m here.
After a few minutes, he looks up. Eyes rimmed red and swollen, with tear stains on his cheeks.
“What do you need?”
His gaze travels to my neck, and the tears start falling again. “I-I’m sorry.”
“What? Why the fuck are you apologizing?”
“Said I wouldn’t let him hurt you again. But he did. And I wasn’t there.”
“No. Don’t you fucking cry over that.” I shift onto my knees, reaching up and lifting his chin so he has to meet my eyes. “My father’s an asshole. That is not on you.”
He swallows and leans his forehead against mine. “I’m such a fucking mess.”
“It’s okay.” I kiss his forehead, my lips touching the faint scar there, then pull back a little. “Think I can try reading that rat-killing book?”
He snorts, shaking his head. But he gets up and walks to his desk. I follow. After he hands it to me, I jut my chin toward his bed. He gets in, lying on his side, but makes room for me.
I sit, leaning against the wall, and open the book. Not my kind of shit to read, just want him to know I’m here.
For him.
And I’m going to kill every last one of those fucks who touched him that day.
That’s a fucking promise.