Chapter Twenty-Two
Micah
I need this. But it’s more than that, I think he needs this, too. It’s irresponsible, and maybe I’m fooling myself. How well can I really know him when we’ve spent so much time apart?
But every inch of me is rooted in the belief that whenever Tadhg seems like he’s about to float away, out of my reach, the best way to bring him back to Earth is by overwhelming him with the intensity of how much I want him. He scared me when he offered to leave. I wouldn’t put it past him.
Even though he kept a calm, detached demeanor while he said the words, I could see his anxiety crawling just beneath the surface. He doesn’t want to run from me, but he’ll do it if he thinks I’m in danger. And I wouldn’t put it past that reactionary brain of his to get too worked up over something small and then steal away in the middle of the night.
I do not want to have to track him down. I’m not built for those specific kinds of shenanigans. And I would absolutely stick out in a biker bar.
This is a much better alternative. Maybe it’s too soon to crank the sex lever all the way up to eleven, but it feels right. I want to use any tool I have to burn away the threats of reality that are creeping in to haunt us. I want to devour him. To tear him apart, limb by limb, and then rebuild him so he’s marked with me, inside and out.
I’ll show him that he absolutely, incontrovertibly belongs to me, and anyone who wants to take him away will have to pry him out of my cold, dead hands.
Including his own self-sabotaging brain.
Savage
The floor is cold and unforgiving under my knees. My shoulders strain with my hands tied behind my back with some fancy silk rope that Bambi produced from somewhere, and it’s taking constant micro-adjustments of all my muscles to keep myself from falling over. It’s just uncomfortable enough to keep me in a state of constant red alert, and I can already feel the adrenaline flushing through me in a way that feels almost cleansing.
The edges of the world feel softer and at the center of everything is Micah in sharp, high-def focus. He’s towering over me, looking ten feet tall from this angle and making me feel impossibly small and weak.
He puts one foot on my shoulder and looks down at me with a dark expression. My body is threatening to rebel; every inch of me having been conditioned to escape this exact situation at all costs.
“I like you all trussed up and presented for me, doll, I can’t lie.” His voice seems deep and booming from overhead. “What do you say? Do you want me to fuck you?”
I do. I really do. Despite all the conflicting feelings this situation is giving me, I can already feel my hole clenching around nothing, wishing he would cut the theatrics and get inside me where he belongs. I only had a taste of it before, but I know I need more. I need him .
My cock is hard and straining, desperate to come from the way he’s been edging me off and on for god knows how long already, a steady stream of precum making my balls and thighs a slick, warm mess.
I nod, looking up at him with pleading eyes.
“Use your words, doll.”
“Fuck me, please, Micah.” I hate how desperate my voice sounds, but there’s no denying my desperation now. This should all feel difficult. This should feel anathema to everything I’ve ever been or pretended to be for the life I’ve lived until this point.
Instead, kneeling in front of Micah, begging to be used for the first time… it feels like slipping into the most comfortable skin I have.
It feels real.
We’ve spent maybe hours working up to this, as he slowly gave me more and more of himself with teasing, gentle touches. I was surprised to only feel a flicker of nervousness at the beginning before my body was all in. Something about surrounding myself with him makes all the bigger questions about what it means and who I’m supposed to be completely irrelevant, until it’s just “yes” and “more” and “please” and “yours” .
He tsks slowly at me, still looking like he has all the patience in the world despite the obvious bulge in his own pants, and reaches down to gently swipe the hair back from my sweaty forehead. I try not to lean into the touch like a needy creature, but I don’t think I succeed.
“That’s not what I want you to tell me, and you know it. I don’t fuck brats or boys who think they’re tough shit. I want to fuck that perfect, slutty hole of yours and remind you who you belong to.”
My stomach twists. He leans over me, his shadow falling across my face, and for a split-second the image intersects with a sense-memory of how Dad used to do the same thing, leaning over me whenever he came to drag me out of the closet that Micah and I would hide from him in.
The two conflicting images twist and warp inside me, making my pulse skyrocket and my body tremble like it can’t decide whether it wants to get fucked or flee. Neither can my brain, for that matter.
It feels like the world is suddenly underwater, and I have to drag my eyeballs up to look at Micah when his voice eventually penetrates the watery haze surrounding me.
His forehead is creased, and the hunger in his eyes has been replaced with that sharp analytical expression I always think of as his medicine face. Where I can tell he’s calculating something. The hand that was just touching my hair moves down, even more slowly and gently than before, and takes hold of my chin while his thumb sweeps oh-so-lightly over my cheekbone, making me shiver in its wake.
Please don’t ask me what’s wrong.
I know he can sense something shifted, because a fine tremor has taken over every part of my body apart from my dick, which is still hard and needy and desperate to finally be allowed to come.
Finally, he speaks, his words so soft they graze against the surface of my mind like feathers falling from overhead.
“Tell me what you are, doll.”
I tremble harder. The shame and confusion fight for dominance, but the desire to sink boneless into his arms is there as well.
“I’m—” My shaky voice cracks, and I have to clear my throat. “I’m a slutty hole.”
Tadhg Moynihan, the Savage of the Brotherhood, bound and naked and hard on his knees, admitting to being nothing more than his stepbrother’s slutty hole to use and discard.
Micah shakes his head, his frown deepening as his grip on my chin gets more firm.
“That’s not what I said, doll. I said you’re a perfect slutty hole. Not just that, you’re my perfect slutty hole, and I’m always going to take care of you.”
As he talks, he crouches in front of me so he isn’t looming so large, and something inside me unkinks, letting my breath come a little easier. Micah slips his thumb from my chin up to my bottom lip, pressing into it, then sinking past it into my mouth. The warm, firm pad of his thumb glides over my tongue, and I wrap my lips around him and suck on instinct.
My eyes fall closed on their own, and I sink into the sensation. I’m still trembling, but that flash of fear is retreating, being overtaken by my sheer need.
I’m his. I’m perfect . The thought is confusing, but if I allow myself not to question it, it fills me with an easy warmth.
The fingers of his other hand find my nipple, tugging and twisting hard enough to remind me how desperate I am for release. Fresh pre-cum slides down my shaft as he pulls hard on my nipple, stretching it out, then finally releases it so the blood floods back in like a slap.
He moves on to groping my pec, working and squeezing the muscle there while I continue to suckle on his thumb.
“Such perfect tits,” he murmurs, and I melt a little under the praise.
He pulls his thumb out of my mouth, and I chase it with a whine, but it’s quickly replaced by his two fingers. They aren’t gentle this time, immediately pushing far back into my mouth, making me gag and my mouth water. He watches me with unashamed desire as I choke and spit runs down my chin.
“That’s it, doll. Get them nice and wet for me,” he murmurs as he finger-fucks my throat.
Still abusing my tits with his other hand, Micah withdraws the fingers. I’m desperate for him to finally touch my aching cock, but he denies me my release. Instead, he shuffles closer until he’s straddling my thighs, his clothed body practically wrapped around my naked and bound one.
“I’ll always take care of you,” he whispers in my ear, his breath hot, as his fingers find my crease. Wet with my saliva, he drags them over it. My gut clenches, breath catching, and I feel like my spine is being twisted from inside. My body wants to pretzel itself in some way, it can’t figure out what to do with all the sensations I’m getting.
Pleasure-pain is still throbbing out from my nipple as he abuses it, while my cock waves proudly in the air, so close to his stomach I can practically picture him leaning forward enough to graze it. I feel like just a hint of friction is all I need. My balls are heavy and tight, close to my body, more desperate to unload than I’ve ever been in my life, even though I came just a few hours ago.
I don’t realize tears are running down my face until he shushes me.
His slick fingers rub over my hole again. Every inch of me feels like a live wire and I’m shaking worse than before, my body racked with shivers as he cages me in. My hole clenches, desperate for him to push in, but he keeps teasing me with fluttery touches.
I feel like I could choke on the desperation rising in my throat. Guttural, animal noises are being wrung from me, something between a moan and a sob.
“That’s it, doll. All you have to do is kneel. You’re already perfect for me, just as you are. You don’t need to do anything but let me take care of you like you deserve.”
Something about the honeyed voice he’s using seems to carry those words directly into my soul. Without warning, he pushes his fingers into me, with an aching stretch and a pressure building at the base of my spine. He keeps shushing me while he moves his hands—one fucking me while the other twists my nipple—and everything in my body finally locks up.
This time, I do sob—a single, full body sob that bends me over at the waist—and as my muscles clench and strain, the pleasure builds as well and my cock finally unleashes everything that it’s been holding back.
Cum spills out like someone opened a floodgate. My entire body is stiff and shaking as I soak my lap, my cock flexing in the air.
The feeling is such a profound release, that single sob trails off into a pathetic kind of wail.
Micah makes more gentle shushing sounds and holds me closer to him. When I feel him grab my throbbing cock I jump, overstimulated, but then he jerks me hard and fast and drags the trailing end of the orgasm out for even longer. Even when I’m spent and his rough hand hurts, he continues while I writhe in his grip, but something about it feels like another form of release.
After being so needy for so long, everything is overwhelming and I never want it to stop: both pleasure and pain.
When the feeling tips firmly into pain, my cock red raw and throbbing sensitively, I start to sob in earnest. I realize I’m saying the word “please” over and over, in between clumsily mouthing at his mouth, and Micah gradually slows his hand.
“No!” I wail. “Don’t stop.”
“Shh, that’s enough now, doll,” he says, holding me close. The fight goes out of me, a little at a time, and I sag into my restraints, letting Micah hold me up.
My mind drifts while he unties me. I don’t know how much time passes, only that my wrists throb a little while he rubs the sensation back into them. When I’m eventually free, he rolls me over onto my front. I feel untethered for a brief moment of panic until he drapes his body over mine. He took his clothes off at some point, and it’s all warm skin on skin.
I feel content as wet fingers slowly push into my hole, stretching me until I’m ready. He’s gentle at first, but once his cock sinks into me, he presses my face into the tile and snaps his hips hard enough to jolt my body forward an inch.
At some point through all this I got hard again. Or it’s possible I’m so desperate from the edging that it never really went down. Either way, my hard cock smears precum across the tile while Micah tries his best to fuck me through it.
“This pussy was made for my cock,” he whispers. “I want to keep you tied up all the time. Breed you so much you’re dripping with my cum twenty-four hours a day, sopping wet with it. I want people to smell me on you.”
He digs his fingers hard enough into my pecs—tits—to leave bruises and then twist my nipple again until he pulls a scream out of me, joining the slapping sound of flesh on flesh as he drills into me.
“You’re my little slut, right, doll?”
I sob out a sound close enough to a yes, desperate for him to fill me up.
“That’s right, baby. My beautiful, perfect breeding bitch.”
With that, he pulls out. Instead of me partially on my side, he pushes me so I’m completely prone, my face smashed into the tile, and spreads my legs as wide as they can go. My hard dick is trapped beneath my body, and I feel more exposed than ever before.
Kneeling between my spread thighs, Micah takes a minute to admire the view. His fingers drag over my slick crack first, spreading my cheeks, then both of his thumbs slip into my stretched and sloppy hole to tug it as wide as he can. I squirm, the sensation on the perfect knife-edge of that pleasure-pain that he gives me so well, and then I hear the sound of him spitting and feel wetness landing inside me.
Something about that feels like a more profound sense of ownership than anything that’s happened until this point. I shiver and go even more boneless in his hands than before.
“Perfect,” he whispers again, tugging one more time at my rim to see me gaping open for him.
There’s a sharp crack that splits the air, and a second later I feel the pain of where he brought the flat of his hand down on my exposed hole. Every muscle in my body clenches and I almost have a repeat of before and come from the sharp, harsh pain. But not quite.
Moaning and writhing on the floor like a lost, feckless creature, Micah doesn’t give me the chance to recover as he grabs my hips and thrusts his cock back into me. With one hand on the small of my back pushing me hard into the ground and the other digging more bruises into my hip, he pounds me brutally for a few minutes until he finally stiffens and cries out, pulsing his release deep, deep inside of me.
I clench around him, milking as much as I can. He doesn’t stop there, though. As soon as he pulls out, he braces my thighs where they are, and I can feel him bring his face close to my hole.
“Push it out.” His voice is dangerous.
I do as he says, and there’s a soft moan while he watches his own cum seep from my hole and trail down my taint, dripping to the floor.
My hips are rocking in the air as I do it, already desperate for another release. Micah doesn’t make me wait this time, though. He attacks my ass, licking and sucking his release out of me with an aggression that makes me cry out. My hips buck, but he hangs on and digs his tongue into my hole like he’s desperate to excavate me.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh — Oh!” is the most articulate noise I can make.
His face is still buried in the center of me when I come again this time, spilling myself onto the floor underneath me one more time, my hips bucking into nothingness before I eventually drain myself completely and collapse in the mess.
Everything hurts. Every inch of my body is screaming, but it’s a cleansing kind of pain. I’ve experienced so many different kinds of pain in my life, but nothing like this. I’ve never come this hard or this many times or even had the urge.
I’d let him do anything he wanted to me. He can rub raw any inch of my skin and tear open any hole, because the sheer, relieved bliss that’s sitting at the deep, dark center of all this pain is fucking indescribable, and it’s all because of him.
Micah
“How do you feel?”
Tadhg has been lying on the kitchen floor with me, covering my sticky, sweaty skin with his for a long time. We should probably get up and move, but I don’t want to. I think I can see the first tendrils of dawn light creeping around the curtains, but I don’t care about that either.
The only thing I care about is right in front of me. I’m scared I went too far. I’m scared about how far I wanted to go and how fucking desperate I was for it as soon as we started. Just as desperate as he seemed to be, bucking and writhing and begging for more.
Tadhg doesn’t answer. I feel him shrug, but no words come out of his mouth and his face stays pressed against my skin, where he’s been alternating between nosing and biting along my chest and armpit since we collapsed here. His body looks bruised and scratched, but his face is soft, at least. There’s none of the blankness he gets when he’s dissociating, or the maudlin weight of his depression that so often creeps in.
Just because he looks content though, doesn’t mean I’m not worried we just crossed a line. Or a thousand of them. Maybe all the lines.
“Words, doll. Use your words.” I know I’m repeating myself with this, but it’s become very obvious that my dearest stepbrother is a natural and seems to slip into subspace as soon as I let him.
“’M fine. Sleepy.”
Close enough.
“That was okay, though? I know I can get a little carried away sometimes.”
“Mmm.” There’s a pause, and then he finally does peek out enough to look at me. “I think I needed it. It felt… right. Good. Pure.”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting him to say that, but it is kind of a relief. He goes back to his work, while I trace nonsense patterns up and down all the swells of muscle on his ridiculously thick arm, and we both continue to drift back to a more normal version of reality.
Eventually, I can’t keep quiet anymore. There’s a question that’s been burning a hole in my brain for a long time, and it seems like this soft, post-orgasmic time is as good a time to ask it as any.
“Tadhg, are you gay?”
That makes him freeze. But he looks up at me again instead of freaking out and running away, at least.
“I, um,” he starts, stumbling a little over his words. “I don’t know. I don’t really know what that’s supposed to feel like.”
I have to suppress a laugh. “It feels like when you like dick. It’s not that complicated.” Shit. Empathy, Micah. Not cool. I spent so long honing my defense mechanism sass that sometimes it still comes out in really inappropriate moments, and I hate that about myself. “Sorry, it is complicated. There’s lots of places to fall on the spectrum. You don’t have to give me a yes or no. There’s no wrong answer. I just wanted to see how you felt.”
“I never really wanted to fuck anyone, to be honest,” he continues. “The whole thing seemed stressful. Like some kind of test that you can never pass. But you had to do it anyway. I don’t know what that means. Like you said, I’m fucked in the head.”
“I didn’t say that, dick. I said you had trauma. I have trauma. We have trauma. It’s not the same. You’re allowed to not know how you really feel when it’s buried under all this other shit. I shouldn’t push.”
For a second, I wonder if the atmosphere is about to turn. Like I managed to not cross any invisible lines with the incredibly shithot, kinky sex we just had, but I did with one dumb, insensitive question. But he keeps looking at me, and a smile steadily grows on his face.
“I like your dick, Bambi. Does that count?”
I smile back. “It’s the only thing that counts, doll.”
It isn’t too far to stretch, so I reach down and grab a generous handful of his bare ass as it’s presented up to the world. His crease is still slick with lube and cum, so I let my fingertips slip and slide as I do it. Playful, though, not to go anywhere.
Tadhg gasps anyway, his pupils dilating before my very eyes.
I lean in until I’m almost brushing up against his lips with mine, still holding eye contact even though we’re too close to focus properly. While I speak, I jiggle the piece of him that I’m holding on to.
“And I love this pussy, doll. Along with everything it’s connected to.”
I kiss him, so he doesn’t have to find words to answer me. We’ll go to bed eventually. Right now, I feel like I need more of this. I need to feel like it’s solid, and no one can take it away, before I’ll be ready to face the real world again.