Chapter Ten #4
I kiss him, tongue digging into his mouth, and he hums happily, settling with every gentle lap of my lips.
Once he’s calmed, I rest my forehead on his. “We should’ve talked about condoms before we got started. That’s on me. But I’m not letting you make this decision right now. Either I fuck you with a condom, or we wait.”
He whines, his bottom lip jutting out in the most adorable pout.
“Now, please,” he relents, and I kiss him one more time.
“Good boy.”
A tinny, fevered cry. It yanks on my chest, has me pressing another kiss to his lips.
“So good for me,” I say, and he repeats the sound. “You are. Letting me take care of you, trusting me.”
I roll the condom on, add a ton more lube, and position his legs so his knees are bent, a pillow under his hips, his thighs as wide as they can go. He splays back while I arrange him, his arms up, gripping another pillow under his head.
I’ve never fully digested the phrase pillow princess until I see him like this, his rose-gold body sweat-glistened, that chain off-center from all our movements. He’s so gorgeous, it’s regal.
“Deep breath, okay? Push out,” I tell him, and he nods, eyes on my face, lips parted.
One hand holding his thigh to the side, the other lining up my dick, I prod his rim.
Bel hisses but bears down, hands gripping the pillow above his head. My gaze flicks from his face to the eye-rolling sight of my cock disappearing into his hole.
I slide past the first ring, and a breath leaves his lungs in a punch, his erection wilting, and I know I’m leaving bruises on his thigh with the way my fingers dig in beneath that chain.
“Oh my gods.” His eyes slam to mine, those reddened lips popping open. “Burns, burns—”
My heart squeezes. He’s so much smaller than me; it’s going to hurt him, how could it not?
I force my grip on him to loosen, rub my thumb in soothing circles on the inside of his thigh. “You opened up for me really good, but this might’ve been too much, too soon. I shouldn’t have jumped right to—”
“Don’t stop,” Bel begs, and releases the pillow to grab me when I try to pull out. “I want this. Please, Orok.”
I study his face for a long second, weighing the desperation in his gaze against what he needs. I told him I’d take care of him. But he’s also had so much of his own agency ripped away, and my heart squeezes again, this time in needing to give him what he wants.
Okay. Okay, he wants this; but I’m not going to hurt him.
“Just—just t-talk to me,” he stutters.
I ease back a little before pushing in. “Gods, sweetheart, you’re doing so well. Sucking me in. You want me so bad, don’t you? You feel amazing, opening up for me.”
He whimpers; I push a little deeper, pull back, push in, setting a steady rhythm until the pained tension on his face melts under the transition into bliss.
“So good,” I promise him. “You’re so good for me. Fuck, Bel. I wish you could see how sexy you look right now, spread out on the bed, flushed and perfect, your hole swallowing me up. Gods, you’re taking me. That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it. Can you do it? Can you take all of me?”
It’s a stream of nonsense more than questions, but he answers, nodding and clinging to me. His tail whips against the bed, then twitches up and wraps around my forearm.
“Kiss me,” he begs. “Please, please.”
I comply, abs contracting to bend down to him, the angle forcing more than half of me in, and he cries out against my mouth.
“Do you want to stop?” I ask the strain around his eyes, the nails digging puncture wounds into my shoulders, the way his dick is still flaccid.
He’s sweat-soaked, his dazed eyes locking on mine, and he cants his hips, whimpering as he fucks himself deeper. “No. Tell me you won’t let me go. Tell me I’m yours.”
“I won’t let you go. You’re mine, Bel. Mine, and I’m not letting you go.
I’ll keep you safe.” I give an experimental thrust, pushing more in, and he moans, the good kind of moan.
“You’re mine.” Another thrust, and my hips hit his ass; he’s gasping, I don’t think he’s even realized I’m fully in.
“I’m never letting you go.” Another thrust. “Mine.”
I grab his now half-hard cock, hand still slick with excess lube, and stroke in time with my gentle thrusts.
He fills in my hand while sexy little mewls get mangled in his throat.
I kiss that throat, laving my tongue on his salty skin, rolling my hips in a throbbing rhythm he picks up instantly, his body writhing along with it.
“Good?” I ask, propping back so I can see his face.
“S’good,” he slurs, fighting to open his eyes, to look up at me. “I—I can f-feel you. Everywhere. Oh, gods, you’re deep. I’m so full, so—more.”
He’s a vice. A hot, perfect vice clamping on my dick, and that beastly part of me knows, knows he was made for this, for me, and I was made for him. It’s over the top but everything about this morning has been that way, and I’m so tired of fighting what I want.
What I want is this, exactly this, him and us in this perfect held breath of a moment. Details alchemize from mundane into anchors—the satin drag of the sheets under us. The hues of pink and gold in his hair. The smell of soap and sweat on his skin. The moan that shoots out of his throat.
He consumes me in a way that silences the world. In that silence, I’m pushed out of myself, and I realize I’m not fighting so hard to be healthy, to move on, fighting. That’s all I ever am, fighting, but right now, with him, I’m here.
It’s grounding and freeing. A foundation and a release.
The backs of my eyes burn before I can consciously acknowledge the rush of emotion swarming me. Fuck, I’m not going to cry during sex—
Pain flares, ripping me out of the onslaught, Bel’s nails dragging down my back. His calves hook around my hips and he tries to get leverage, sharp ankles digging into my ass, but his legs are spread too wide to pull. He squirms with the effort and my lip curls up, eyes still damp.
“You’ll take what I give you,” I pant, thrusts staying smooth, careful. “You’ll take what I think you can handle.”
I won’t hurt him. But also, I want to savor him. Want to savor this. I want each slow plunge, each choked gasp. I want the slick, warm hardness of his cock in my palm, how I can completely surround his dick with my hand so he can’t escape sensation on it.
He shudders, tremors that ripple across his gleaming skin, and between one misfired whine and the next, he’s coming.
It takes him by surprise as much as it does me, his eyes bursting wide in almost panicked pleasure.
His neck arches, every part of him rippling and rolling as he comes in my hand, wet release spilling between my fingers.
The moment his hips flinch, oversensitive, I pull out of him, rip the condom off, and use his cum to jack myself over his stomach. His eyelids flutter, mouth agape, his belly rounding out and concaving with his winding-down breaths.
My orgasm smashes into me, pyrotechnics firing off gold and pink, shivery sparks sizzling every nerve.
A roaring shout bruises my throat as my cum pools on him, fills his navel, covers some of the body chain, and in that immediate moment post-orgasm, I’m all primal, all beast—I dip my fingers in my cum and spread it across his chest, marking him.
Bel trembles, whimpering; he has been, I think: small, exhausted whimpers that have me gathering him in my arms, mess be damned, and rolling us onto our sides. He scrambles on to me, burrowing as close as he can get. Does he know he’s whimpering, does he know he’s shaking?
“Empty,” he moans. “It hurts.”
I tug the comforter over us and rub a hand down his body, between his cheeks, softly prodding his swollen rim. His whimpers splinter apart but he hooks one leg over my hip, giving me access, and I dip two fingers back inside him.
He sighs, his face tucked under my chin, parted lips letting his breath bathe the underside of my jaw.
The tremors fade.
We only have a few hours before the buses are due to take us back to Philly. I need to get him food; he has to be starving. We need another shower. I need to get started on all the other tasks I have waiting for me now to keep him safe.
But even with the intensity of being inside him passed, that overwhelming feeling of being free hasn’t.
I’ve been a worshipper of Urzoth my entire life. Sacrificed hours in church, devoted my younger self to a barrage of commandments. And all of it, all of it, was in pursuit of this feeling.
Not strength.
Peace.
I hold Bel, safe and alive and mine, and let touching him be the catechism that overwrites all the others.