48. Graham
48
GRAHAM
I ’ve managed to corner him, which begs the question: now what?
I should have thought this through, but the second I saw him, the only thing I could think about was getting him alone.
He doesn’t look happy, and God knows I know better, but my heart is fucking singing—a hymn of praises written just for him.
He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand, and words burst out of me. “Before you tell me to fuck off, please, please just let me look at you.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Silas—”
“Shut. Up.”
I press my lips closed, but I keep staring at his furious face, re-memorizing every centimeter.
“If you think there’s anything you can say to make me think you’re not the most disgusting piece of shit I’ve ever met, you’re wrong.”
I swallow hard on that truth. I guess I needed to hear that.
“What are you doing? You’ve got real witnesses here.” He gestures at the few feet of space between us. “You can’t blame this on AI.”
“I didn’t—” Jesus, I’m about to lie to him again. I make myself stop. “I did post that. It felt like the only way.”
Silas shakes his head in disgust.
“No… I know. I don’t expect you to understand.”
His chest heaves with a breath, and he’s close enough for me to reach out and grab his shirt—pull him close. He looks so good.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“None of your fucking business.”
“Are you with someone?” He must be, and I know if I go back out there, I won’t be able to stop until I figure out who it is. I can’t go back out there. I can’t let myself picture him with someone else. Not today. Not when he’s here, and we’re—for lack of a better word—together.
He gives me a hostile glare, but he doesn’t tell me to leave.
I take a small step closer. He backs up. “What are you doing?”
“I—” I shake my head, dizzy with his scent, drowning in a thousand memories. I want him. As much as I ever did. More than I want anything. I know I can’t have him, but it doesn’t stop how much wanting there is. This close to him, it consumes me.
“You what?” he snaps.
I realize how easily I could cry. My tears are always so close to the surface lately. Since the disaster at The Pierre last weekend, I haven’t gone a day without losing the battle to crying at least once, but it’s usually at night in bed. Or right when I wake up. “I know what I did was terrible.”
“Not terrible,” he says, his dark eyes unblinking. “Unforgivable.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Unforgivable means your apologies don’t mean shit.” His voice shakes, but I can’t tell whether it’s from emotion or restraint. His right hand is balled into a fist and his left looks ready to push me back if I get too close .
His gaze rakes my body, taking me in from head to toe and back. “You’re so pathetic,” he says. “All that power and influence, and you still can’t stand up to Daddy. You know what that makes you, Graham?”
I don’t answer because he’s stepped closer. We’re an inch away from being chest to chest. His gaze is on my mouth, and I’ve stopped breathing.
“A coward.”
I nod. “I know.”
“I lost two jobs because of you. What did you lose?”
“Besides you?”
A noise almost like a growl rumbles from his throat. “You didn’t lose me, you fucking asshole. You threw me away.”
“I didn’t have a choi?—”
“Bullshit. Just say it, Graham. Your job was more important. It’s the only thing you give a shit about. You’ll lie for it, you’ll do anything to keep it. You’ll break someone in half for it.”
“Silas…” The tears spill, and not because of what he’s saying because I can’t argue with any of it, but because of the way he sounds. Broken. I did this to him. He was perfect before I met him, and now he’s this .
He scoffs at the sight of me.
Using both hands I try to stem the flow, pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes and taking a deep breath. “I didn’t know what else to do.” That’s the only truth I have left. Hindsight is amazing, but at the time, I felt backed into a corner.
“I told you what you could do. You didn’t want to listen.”
“I didn’t know how , Silas.” I know he’s right, but I’ve never been at a lower point in my life. I couldn’t see my way through it. My father was the only person giving me a plan I understood how to execute. “I couldn’t lose everything .”
It was the wrong thing to say, judging by the layer of ice that seems to glaze his features and harden his gaze. “You didn’t seem to mind if I did. ”
“That’s not true?—”
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
I swallow hard. “I don’t expect you to.”
“Then why are you here, Senator? Are you all out of dirty secrets to keep? You need one more for the road?”
Heat takes over my face, but worse—far worse—a throb in my groin incapable of going where it wants to rattles my core. It’s painful and intense—like a kick to the balls. I whimper and shut my eyes in shame.
I nearly leap out of my skin when he palms my crotch—not expecting it and purely horrified at what I know he’s feeling.
He gives me a nasty smirk as his fingertips outline the cage through the fabric of my slacks. “What’s this?”
I shudder. His touch is like sandpaper, and still, I want more. My balls fill behind the cock ring, and I jerk when he cups them. “Still one dirty secret, then.” He squeezes my swollen sac causing me to grunt in agony. “Let me guess…you don’t have the key.”
Exhaling harshly, I shake my head, incapable of forming words.
“Is this how you do it? Pretend you don’t have needs like the rest of us poor slobs?”
My head falls to his shoulder, and he flinches but doesn’t pull away or stop.
Yes. Yes. This is exactly how I do it.
“I felt sorry for you when we met, you know?” he goes on, his hand rubbing and relentless. “Repressed. Sheltered. Greedy. Tell me the truth this time, Graham. One truth. Was the cage I gave you the first one you ever wore? Or was that a lie, too?”
“It wasn’t,” I try to breathe. “Not a lie.”
“Even when you’re telling the truth it sounds like you’re lying.”
Suddenly he’s got me by the hips. He maneuvers me until my cage is pressed against the bathroom counter .
I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror. I’m flushed and sweating.
His jaw is set, determined, but there’s no warmth in his eyes. Not even a flicker of desire—at least—not the way I remember.
Then, he lets me feel him—running his erection up my ass and squeezing my cheeks around his shaft.
I watch as he takes his phone out of his pocket and lifts his shirt to show his abs. He snaps a picture of us in the mirror. I close my eyes and turn my head once I realize what he’s doing.
“Shameful,” he says, another round of shots firing. “I know. God forbid the good senator likes a dick up his ass. But you do, don’t you?”
“Fuck…Silas…please.”
“Please stop? Please fuck you? I already got laid today, so I could go either way. But if you want to torture yourself, I’m happy to help.” He leans in near my ear and whispers. “You fucking deserve it.”
Either option will end me. But somehow being left here with the knowledge of his compromising photographs and nothing else to show for it seems like it would be worse than the hate fuck he’s offering.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Ask me nicely,” he says in the cruelest tone I’ve ever heard him use.
“ Please fuck me.”
He sets the phone behind the sink. It’s recording, in selfie mode, and my face fills three quarters of the screen. Behind me, he strips off his shirt, ensuring his very male chest is on full display. His piercings gleam in the light, and my mouth waters.
My hands could do any number of things. Turn off the camera. Toss the phone in the toilet. But they remain splayed on the marble, motionless, until one of them moves to unbuckle my belt.
As I open my pants, he does the same behind me. On the screen, he steps back, ensuring his long, stiff cock appears in the frame. He strokes it before slapping it against my bare ass. Then his hand is in front of my face.
“Spit, Senator.”
My saliva pools in his hand as he waits patiently for more. The sight of his cock has kicked all my glands into overdrive, and there’s more than enough in my mouth to serve this purpose.
“Hope the door’s locked,” he says as he coats his cock.
My heart jumps in my chest because I can’t remember. I also can’t care. I need him. I don’t care how—I don’t care what happens next. I might die if he doesn’t put his dick inside me. I might die if he does.
I’m miserably uncomfortable. It’s indescribable, the tight restriction of my dick, the strain against my sac, the sticky precum making me itch.
With no prep and only my spit on his erection, he breaches my hole in one stiff, graceless shove. I gulp back a cry and brace a hand on the mirror. His strokes aim straight for my prostate, and it’s impossible to keep quiet. I bite down on my bicep as tears streak my face. I’m desperate and on fire.
He fucks me like he’s never bottomed a day in his life. His stance is tall and confident, his hands firm on my hips, his movements strong and sure. Right here with him, now, I miss him more than I ever have. He’s so far away. So unlike the man who made the mistake of falling for someone who didn’t deserve him at all.
He thrusts harder, filling me the way I’ve craved in all my weakest moments. The slap of his balls against mine is excruciating. My knees knock the cabinet, making a noise that’s too loud. Silas chuckles with zero mirth. “Daddy’s golden boy’s gonna have a lot of explaining to do…”
My orgasm starved body reacts with a shudder and a series of strong pulses deep inside.
“ Mmm….fuuuccckkk …” he groans, like he felt them, too .
The barest glimpse of his pleasure has me coming immediately undone. A strong contraction cramps low in my belly where it feels like Silas’s cock is about to punch through, but it’s also where I feel my release build.
“Oh God, oh God…” I might throw up. Wouldn’t that be perfect?
My cock jerks weakly in its cage and releases a warm trickle of cum, but as the orgasm ratchets to its peak, it backs up inside me, releasing deep in my core and leaving me choked and gasping. I fight the gag that wants to come with the gut punched feeling.
Silas pulls out, and his own breathing picks up as he finishes himself, spilling onto my right ass cheek and glaring straight into the camera with his eyes hooded and lashes fluttering at the moment of his release. As soon as the last drop is out, he grabs his phone and staggers back, hitting the wall opposite the mirror. His chest is heaving.
I reach for a hand towel and push myself up straighter. After running the water a moment to get it damp, I wipe my face, then my ass cheek, then dab at my caged dick. By the time I’m done, he’s tucked in, buttoned and zipped, pushing his hand back through his hair, which rebounds in perfect waves to frame his forehead.
Still perfect. Still as beautiful and intimidating as the day we met. Still the unmatched love of my life, who I betrayed in a way he says is unforgivable.
He holds up the phone and says in a voice that’s tellingly breathless, “If I send this to your dad, will I get as much as Avery did?”
I turn to face him, my own gaze wary, not sure I did the right thing letting him film that. The man I used to know, I trusted with my life. But that was before I did exactly what he accused me of—chose my job over him—the same way his ex did .
I deserve every ounce of his dripping hatred. I deserve whatever he wants to do with that video.
“Get out,” he says, when I don’t answer.
I’m a mess. “Can I have a second?”
“No.”
I swallow, unable to meet his eyes. “How long will you be?—”
“Get. Out.”
With one last look at him, I nod and leave. The door was locked, and there’s no one in the hall. Children’s laughter comes from the guest bedroom and a more raucous laugh from a group of adults travels down the hall from the living room. I turn the opposite direction, going into my parents’ empty suite. Locking myself inside it, I slide down the wall, wincing when my ass hits the floor, where I wait for the wrenching pain to pass.