Chapter 21 Toby
TOBY
Even as I returned to captivity, I felt freer than I had since I’d left.
He held me so tight, as though he was afraid he’d wake from a dream to find me gone — and honestly, I wasn’t so sure this wasn’t a dream myself. Why else would I leave everything behind to come back to the man who had so badly abused me?
The man I had missed every waking moment since I’d left him.
I didn’t know if I’d been broken beyond repair or if he’d succeeded in making me want him, but it didn’t matter nearly as much as I’d thought it might. I didn’t regret leaving my family behind this time, even though I knew it had the potential to destroy those who had the misfortune of loving me.
But they’d never understand.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, pulling me closer to his front.
I gazed at him, tracing my finger along the scars on his face.
He flinched, looking away from me. “Oh,” he said dully, trying to pull away from me.
I wrapped my arms around him and refused to let him draw back. “Just thinking about you.”
“What?” he asked bitterly. “How hideous I am?”
I shook my head. Once upon a time, I had thought him hideous — inside and out, a veritable beast for doing what he’d done. The more time that had passed, though, the more I’d realized there was more beneath the surface. “You aren’t,” I said softly.
“Why did you really come back?” he asked, his eyes meeting mine.
“Because I wanted to.”
He snorted. “That’s not it, and we both know it.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It just felt right.”
He fell silent. I could make a guess at what he was thinking — that he’d just done such a good job twisting me that I couldn’t live without him. Maybe that was even the case. I didn’t know. All I knew was that my home was no longer with my family.
My home was here.
“I did this to you,” he said, his voice soft. He touched my cheek.
There was nothing I could say to change his mind, especially since even I didn’t know why this had happened. It was ironic, considering how badly he’d wanted it, only to reject it now that he had it. But here we were, and I did the only thing I could think of.
I leaned in and kissed him, soft and sweet.
He stiffened, and it took him a moment to kiss me back. When he did, there was something desperate about it — about the way he clung to me, as though afraid I’d disappear if he let me go.
One of his hands slid down my back, and he hesitated before sliding it over my ass.
I started, making him pull away just that quickly.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I shouldn’t have—”
“I can say no now, can’t I?” I asked him, still clinging to him and keeping him from moving too far away from me.
“Of course,” he said, sounding utterly miserable.
“I didn’t say no.”
“But you…”
“I wasn’t expecting it,” I told him. “I’m still getting used to the idea of another guy touching me.”
“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice subdued.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” I let him go long enough to touch his face, feeling the scars beneath my fingertips.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’m not going to reassure you every ten seconds,” I said, cupping his cheek in my hand. I couldn’t. I was still too fragile for that, still in need of my own reassurance. I’d spent so much time telling him that it was okay that he hadn’t done much of the same. “Why aren’t you reassuring me?”
He stilled. The idea probably hadn’t even occurred to him. “I…”
“Tell me it’s going to be okay,” I ordered him as though I was the one in charge, not him.
Maybe I was.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered against my lips before leaning in, kissing me more urgently. “I promise.”
“Okay,” I said, breathless as I drew back just enough to speak.
“Just okay?”
“You need practice,” I told him, kissing him again and trying to get used to the idea that I was being so intimate with a man.
But I’d chosen this. Against all odds, I’d returned to him of my own volition, where I was cuddled up against him — where it felt right to be so close.
I didn’t know why. Maybe I never would. I only knew that I wanted it.
This time when he slid his hand onto my ass, I arched into his touch, wanting to feel more. I felt like I was drowning for attention, affection, acceptance, and he gave me so much of what I needed as he pulled me above the surface.
Maybe it didn’t matter why I was there.
Maybe it only mattered that I was.
His lips met mine, more urgently this time, and I matched his passion with my own. One of my hands found his hair, my fingers lost in the strands, and I kept him close as he slowly explored my body. This wasn’t like before, when he’d touched me and I’d had no choice. I had every chance to say no.
I just didn’t want to.
His hand slid under my shirt, hot against my skin, and I pressed back against his touch. His fingernails dug lightly against my skin.
“I’m the kitten,” I whispered against his mouth. “Shouldn’t I be the one scratching you up?”
He let out a startled laugh. “Do you want to claw me up, kitten?”
“Maybe.”
Did I? I didn’t know, but it was an interesting thought.
He’d put on a shirt and boxers after he’d gotten out of the shower, and I was both grateful for the clothing and not.
It was one thing to kiss him, another to let him touch me…
and another entirely to think about taking his clothes off.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to go that far, though the idea of him stripping me down was far from abhorrent.
I wanted him to.
His fingers found the hem of my shirt, tugging experimentally at it, and I pulled back.
He froze for a moment, but I took over for him. I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. He groaned, sliding his hands along my chest. “You are so beautiful,” he said, reverence in his voice.
I blushed, unsure of what to make of another man calling me beautiful. It was flattering, though, and I settled on, “Thank you.”
We were so different, he and I: the beauty and the beast of our own story.
What sort of ending could we write with one another?
Our clothes slowly ended up on the floor as we made our way to the bedroom, one piece after another as we each undressed ourselves.
The pace was slow, kisses peppering skin in between each article of clothing, but it was perfect for me.
It gave me enough time to get used to the idea of being touched so intimately of my own accord.
I needed it, because as much as I wanted this, there were still parts of me that protested. I wasn’t gay. And I wasn’t. It was him and only him, and that… That was okay. I hadn’t expected it to be, but it was.
Finally, skin pressed against skin, and I could feel his length against my thigh.
I both wanted to touch him and push him away, to feel its weight in my hand and refuse it all at once.
I touched his chest instead, seeing where the scars continued from his face to his neck, then down to his shoulder blades and lower still.
He kissed my lips, then my chin, then my throat, and I bared it for him as the tingling sensation raced through my body and left me breathless, helpless.
He nudged me onto my back, and I didn’t resist even as he moved atop me.
I looked up at him, trying to figure out just what was going on in my own mind and failing miserably.
There was no room for thinking, not then.
There was only room for kisses and touches, for softness and careful exploration. I gave myself over to him, little by little, bit by bit, until I was lost in the sensations.
He slowly started to move down, kissing his way down my chest, and my breath caught as he continued south. My cock twitched when his fingers wrapped around it, all too ready for more.
“Do you want this?” he asked as his tongue tasted the slit.
My hips jerked, shoving more into his hand, and he grinned at me.
“Do you like this?”
He kissed the tip of my cock then slowly started to take it into his mouth, so slowly I wanted to plead with him to do more. I bit my lip though, trying to enjoy the sensations instead of rushing through them.
“Yes,” I groaned, falling back on the bed as he enveloped my cock even more, taking me down in one smooth motion.
Fuck.
I was impressed, really. It had been hard as fuck for me to take him even a little bit of the way into my mouth, and there he was, every inch past his lips.
My hands fisted in the sheets, my eyes closing and my head thrown back, as he began to suck in earnest.
My girlfriend had been nothing in comparison to this.
I couldn’t help but compare them in that moment, her soft, almost obligatory touches with his full-on enthusiasm. It was impossible, but there we were, and the more he worked my cock with his lips and tongue, the closer I got to climax.
When I was on the precipice, I choked out, “About to—”
He drew back, his hand sliding along my wet cock as he worked me toward climax.
I groaned, the feeling not as good but still wonderful, and I—
I fell.
I flew.
When I opened my eyes, he was wiping his hand clean with a tissue. He smiled at me then tossed it into the wastebasket, coming back to kiss me.
Tasting myself on his lips wasn’t as odd as I might’ve thought, but I was definitely aware of it — especially as his tongue pressed at the seam of my lips, exploring my mouth. I could only moan against him, my body still feeling like it sparked with electricity from my orgasm.
When his hands slid along my arms, along my chest, it was all I could do to endure it in its intensity.
“I want you,” he said against my mouth before kissing me again, harder that time.
I froze, knowing what he meant and unsure of whether I could go there yet. But I remembered how good it had felt with the plug inside of me… “Okay,” I croaked.
“You don’t have to say yes,” he said, kissing my brow.
“I know,” I said. “But I want to try. You’ll stop if it hurts too much.” I phrased it as a statement rather than a question, knowing what he’d said but still afraid he’d force me to endure more than I could.
“Yes,” he said instantly.
I nodded, but I couldn’t say anything around the lump in my throat. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t scared, but I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t curious, either.
He reached past me into the bedside dresser, watching my expression all the while.
My breath caught when he came out with a bottle of lube, and I couldn’t help but be worried about the idea of his thick fingers pressing inside of me. I didn’t think he was going to make me prepare myself for the intrusion this time, and if he did…
Well, if he did, he wasn’t getting any today.
He kissed me again and again, and I almost didn’t notice when one slicked-up finger drifted down to part my ass cheeks. I was very aware of it as that finger circled my hole, and there was a part of me that wanted to put the brakes on all of this.
I didn’t.
Instead, I lifted my hips a little, giving him more room to maneuver.
One moment twisted into another as his fingers opened me up for him. I lost myself again as they brushed that golden spot inside of me again and again, curving and shifting so he could bring me pleasure even as bright spots of pain dotted my awareness here and there.
I lost myself to the feeling.
I lost myself to him.