Chapter 7
It’s cold.
I try not to shudder as Knox spreads the glow-in-the-dark cream around my hole.
It’s thick and shockingly clinical for something so filthy.
The smell of something between latex and paint permeates the space.
It’s sharp and chemical. It coats the air as he pushes a finger inside, working the slick paste deeper, coating me from the inside out.
I don’t care what it smells like. I don’t care what it is. I just want him to use it.
I breathe through the sting of temperature and tension, heart pounding, skin prickled.
“You still being a good boy?” Knox asks, voice low as his finger drags across my prostate.
I know exactly what he’s asking. Behaving is only the smallest part of it. He wants to know if I’m safe.
If there’s been anyone else.
Between holding out hope I’d get another shot at him and having my liberal politician father who shoved me onto PrEP before I’d even learned what it was for, I’m more than ready to answer.
“There hasn’t been anyone but you,” I breathe.
Knox hums, satisfied by my answer, finger curling inside me causing me to arch back further seeking more friction.
As he works a second finger into me, I reach forward and grab the bottle of poppers. I’ve only tried them once before briefly and impulsively but it was enough to make me want to fall headfirst into sensation all over again.
I twist the cap and lift the bottle to my nose, inhaling deep. The sting hits instantly, punching into my sinuses and spreading like wildfire through my chest.
The heat comes next. Cheeks flushed, limbs loose, spine humming. The world softens at the edges, colors melting into each other like an oil slick. My vision blurs, my head spins, and I feel wide open.
Knox must feel it too. His fingers vanish and then, all at once, he’s there.
There’s no warning, no tension. Only a deep, slow press and a welcoming as I open to accommodate, moaning as he sinks all the way in.
His cock fills me completely, the thick base flush against my ass, and I breathe through it, pliable and perfect for him.
He stills for a moment, buried to the hilt, like he’s claiming space he’s always belonged in.
I squeeze my eyes shut and the world explodes behind my lids. White-hot stars bursting in the black. Galaxies colliding as I experience every snap of his hips against me.
Every nerve in my body sings. The pressure, the heat, the dizzying fullness.
It’s too much, too much, not enough. My lungs forget how to work.
I’m gasping, panting, open-mouthed and desperate as sensation after sensation steamrolls through me.
My skin feels too tight, too thin like if he moves even an inch, I’ll come apart at the seams.
I’m not just feeling him. I am feeling.
Raw, exposed, swallowed whole by it.
Every flicker of pain blooms into pleasure, every breath is a fight to stay conscious, every second is a riot in my blood.
His rhythm picks up. The slap of skin on skin fills the room, each thrust rocking me forward on the bed until my arms tremble from the effort of holding myself up.
This man is everywhere. Inside me, against me, beneath my skin, crawling through my bloodstream, and then his hands are at my mouth again.
Fingers slipping past my lips, two from each hand, creating a makeshift gag as he uses the leverage to haul me back onto him with brutal precision.
I cry out around them, the noise muffled, raw, guttural.
I’m drooling, face flushed and stretched wide, mouth full, hole fuller. His name is a prayer I can’t say with his fingers in my mouth, so I say it with my body instead, meeting him thrust for thrust, begging for more with every movement.
And he gives it.
All of it.
Skin and sweat and fury and need, crashing into each other again and again, until I’m nothing but sensation and sound and I’ve forgotten how to be anything but his.
This isn’t just sex. It’s surrender. With every brutal thrust, he tears away the lies he built around wanting me.
It’s in the way his rhythm falters every time I moan his name.
The way he looks at me like he’d carve my name into his own skin to prove I got there first. It’s the press of his fingers against my mouth like I might knock the restraint out of him if he doesn’t anchor himself somewhere.
Because Knox Everett, for all his dominance, for all his control, is showing me something real.
That’s the thing I never got. The thing I told myself I didn’t need. That wanting it made me weak. That getting someone like him to let me in meant playing small. Meant never pushing too hard or needing too much.
If he thought I was some obsessed little brat getting off on riling him up, God help him now. Because now that he’s let me in, I’m never leaving.
“I’m close,” Knox gasps, voice gone ragged.
The selfish part of me wants to drag it out, but the pace he sets makes that impossible. My whole body’s hungry for it, desperate to feel him let go. I rock back harder, greedier, every movement a silent plea.
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
His breath stutters. “Yeah… you want it, don’t you?”
I nod, only able to emit deep, throaty moans.
“You want to take it? Let me finish in you?”
Another needy noise escapes me. He growls.
“My little cum dump needs to leave here with me dripping down his thighs?” His voice is filth and fire and ownership, and I swear I come apart just from the sound of it.
He lets out a roar and slams into me one final time, buried to the hilt and hips locked as his entire body seizes. I feel every pulse as he empties himself deep. The warmth spreads until it overflows leaking past the point of connection, sliding along my skin down my balls.
He pulls out slow, savoring the moment and I swear I can feel the loss of him in my teeth. The sudden emptiness is humiliating and perfect, and then I feel the wet spill of everything he left inside me, sliding free in a slow, obscene trail that stains the sheets beneath us.
“Look at this cunt,” he mutters, gripping my ass with both hands. “Stretched open and gaping. Just for me.”
I whimper into the mattress. Wrecked and wanting more. I don’t need to look to know exactly what he’s seeing and what I gave him. He smacks one cheek lightly, reverent almost, and I flinch from the sting even as I arch back into it.
“Still twitching,” he says. “Can’t get enough, can you?”
Knox is still breathing hard, hands on my hips, chest heaving. Drunk on dominance. Smug and spent.
“No,” I say. “I can’t.”
I push up off the bed, twist in his grip, and shove him back with both hands to the chest. He stumbles, caught off guard, and I use the moment to climb over him as his back hits the bed. Straddling his lap, my fingers curl under his jaw and I force his head back until he’s looking up at me.
"You're not the only one who gets to take,” I say.
He’s panting, still dazed, but his pupils blow wide. I reach down, grip his still-wet cock, and stroke him once, then I rise to my knees and press my thumb to his lips.
“Open up, Sir.”
There’s a pause that feels long enough that my heart begins to thunder, but then he grins. Not the mocking kind. This one’s different. This one concedes. His lips curl into something dark and proud, and his mouth slowly eases open, presenting his tongue.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Knew you’d figure out how to get your way.”
My cock twitches at the praise, and I grip it at the base still rock hard, still needy despite the wreckage of round one and slap the flushed head across his tongue.
"Then be a good boy and hold still."
I lean forward, palm on his jaw, my cock resting heavy on his tongue. His eyes never leave mine, and when I push past his lips, deep into that smug, smirking mouth he moans.
I rock in and out of his mouth, groin pressed to his face with each thrust until the soft tickle of my curls brushes his nose. He leans into it sucking me deeper with his lips like he’s starving for it.
“I like you like this, Sir,” I pant. “Here for my taking.”
My fingers tangle in his hair and I pull, angling his head so I can fuck deeper into his throat.
“It’s all I’ve wanted all semester.”
A groan rumbles through him and the vibrations nearly send me over the edge.
“I think I’ll take it again and again. However I want. Since you enjoy it so much.”
I drag my cock out, just to the tip, and let it rest on his swollen lower lip. His tongue lolls out while he watches me with glassy, worshipful eyes.
“You love me untethered. Fucking insane for you.”
He traces the underside of my shaft with his tongue, dragging heat along sensitive skin, and I shudder.
“You’re perfect like this,” I murmur, hips stuttering as the heat builds again.
His hands trail up my thighs and settle on my ass. He squeezes once and then pulls, dragging me forward, impaling his own throat as he wordlessly begs for more.
This isn’t about flipping the script. It’s about showing him what happens when I stop trying to earn space I already deserve. Being all of me and letting him fucking beg for it.
As I feel myself teetering on the edge, I reach back and tug at his cock already hard again, slick with spit and cum and paint. I yank myself free from his mouth, sit back, and slide down onto him. He slips in with ease, and I slam down to the root, cursing as I start to ride him.
I’m not easing into anything now. I bounce with purpose. Fucking him with the kind of reckless hunger that says you don’t own me, but I’ll take everything you’ve got.
Knox moans and reaches for my hips to ground himself. I slap his hands away without breaking rhythm.
“This is for me, Sir. Not you.”
He chuckles then threads his hands behind his head to settle in for a show. “As you were, pledge.”
This angle is perfect. Every time I lift up and slam back down, his cock brushes my prostate. Each stroke a little sharper, a little deeper, drawing me closer to the edge until I’m teetering there, a mess of sweat and want.
I lean back, palms braced on the bed, chest heaving. My head tips with the motion, and I let it fall back as pleasure floods through me. It washes over me in wave after wave until I’m blissed out, milking every ounce of release from both of us like I earned it.
Because I did.
And I’ll fucking do it again.
“Touch me,” I demand, eyes squeezed shut, mind lost to sensation.
His hand is already there, wrapping tight around my swollen cock, stroking in rhythm with every thrust. I come undone with a shout, the tension breaking all at once as I spill over his hand. My body collapses forward, but he doesn’t stop. I feel him beneath me, hips bucking.
He hums low in his throat as he follows me over the edge, buried deep. A final jolt and then a growl, and then silence, save for the sound of us spent and still trembling.
When I shift forward, he slips out of me, the aftershocks still rippling through us both. His release follows trickling from me and landing on his stomach with a soft, unceremonious splat.
I eye him and the mess, all the way from from his hooded gaze down to the slick trail across his stomach.
Straddling his thighs, I lean in slow. His eyes never leave me as I dip my head and swipe my tongue through the warmth, letting it gather heavy in my mouth, thick and heady with everything we did.
I crawl up the length of his body until I’m straddling his chest and hovering above his mouth. He meets my gaze, eyes dark with something electric, and smiles as his tongue slides out in invitation.
I let it pool in my mouth a beat longer… then spit. It lands hot across his cheek, lips, chin.
He flinches, more out of shock than anything, then he laughs head tipping back, eyes squeezed shut, and I watch him feeling at ease and settled in the version of myself he’s been provoking.
“Stop ignoring me around the house,” I say. “Do you understand?”
He opens his eyes. Nods once.
I sit back, peel the sheets down, and make myself at home in his bed. He sits up, cum and spit still streaked across his face, brows drawn tight like he can’t quite compute what’s happening.
“You’re not sleeping in here.”
I raise a brow. “I think we both know that I am.”
He studies me clearly trying to decide if I’m bluffing. “This isn’t a relationship, Finley.”
“Say that again.”
He tilts his head. “This isn’t a relationship.”
“No,” I correct. “The other part.”
“…Finley?”
“That’s right,” I lean back, arms tucked behind my head. “We’re afforded opportunities others aren’t. So if you enjoy this, and clearly you do, I’m gonna go ahead and recommend we keep doing it.”
“You think it’s that easy?”
“It’s never been as hard as you’ve made it,” I say, letting my gaze drag down his body before twisting my face into a look of pure distaste. “Now go clean yourself up. You’re disgusting.”
He laughs under his breath, a stunned smile stretching across his face, then he grabs a towel from the closet, tosses it over his hips, and heads for the showers, still dripping with his own release.
I stay right where I am, because this is where I belong, and if there’s one thing I’m more certain of than ever, it’s that I always get what I want.
Eventually.
Entirely.
And with interest.