Chapter 8 #4
He shoves his pants and his briefs down past his hips in one fast motion.
He is, fuck, he’s so hard. The head of him is dark and slick and my mouth waters looking at the length of him.
"On your knees, baby."
I lower myself just like he tells me to.
The carpet is cold. He's not gentle about putting me there—his hand at my throat guides me down with steady pressure, his other hand fisting in my hair the second I'm in position. I look up at him from his floor. His cock is at my mouth. His thumb traces the corner of my lips.
"Open."
I open.
He doesn't ease me into it.
He pushes the first inch of himself into my mouth and then keeps going. Slow but unrelenting, watching my face the whole time, his thumb pressing the corner of my mouth wider as he works deeper. My jaw aches before he is halfway in. He keeps going.
"That's it. Open up for me. Yeah, baby. Look at you."
I gag.
I gag on the head of him hitting the back of my throat and tears sting at the corners of my eyes and he watches it, makes a sound low in his throat that is not quite a laugh, and does not pull out.
"Mm. There it is."
Panic tightens my chest.
"Breathe through your nose, baby. You can take it."
I breathe through my nose just as he pushes deeper.
He pushes until the dark curls above his cock are against my forehead and the head of him is somewhere I did not know I had room for. Tears spill over and run down my cheeks, hot and shameless, and Zero looks down at me like I’m his own personal wrapped gift.
"Look at you crying for me."
I groan around his cock.
"So pretty. Christ. So fucking pretty when you cry."
He pulls out, slow, and I gasp around the head of him, choke a little, and the noise I make is wet and ragged and his.
He doesn't let me catch my breath.
He pushes back in. Halfway this time. Then out. Then deeper. He's setting a rhythm, watching me, his thumb stroking my wet cheek as he fucks my mouth. He talks the whole time. Filthy, indulgent, marveling.
"Your throat's going to be bruised tomorrow, baby. You know that?"
I can’t answer, I can barely breathe.
"You're not going to be able to swallow anything without thinking about me. Margot's going to ask if you have a cold. And you're going to lie to her again."
I sob around his cock.
"Mm. Yeah. Just like that, baby. Just like that."
He fucks my throat. Harder. Deeper. My eyes are streaming and my jaw is screaming and my throat is burning and I am hard.
I am so painfully hard between my own thighs, untouched, and Zero is watching me kneel for him with tears on my face and he has never, in any version of him I have known, looked more pleased.
"You like this, baby?"
I still can’t answer, but I think that’s his favorite part.
"You like crying for me?"
I nod around him.
"Tell me."
He pulls out. Just to the head. Holds himself in my mouth so I can speak around him.
"...y-yes—"
"What do you like?"
"...I like crying for you."
His hand fists hard in my hair and his head tips back and he groans at the ceiling like a man receiving a benediction.
"Christ, Maxie. Fuck."
He pulls out of my mouth. Drags his thumb across my lower lip, wiping the spit there. I am gasping. My throat aches.
God, I fucking want him so bad.
He drops back down to his knees in front of me. Takes my face in both hands. Kisses me with the taste of his cock still in my mouth. Kisses me deep and slow and his hand goes to the side of my throat where he just was and presses, gently, like he is feeling for the bruise he just put there.
"I'm gonna hurt you a little, baby. You know that, right?"
"...yeah."
"And you want it."
"...yeah." I nod.
"Mm. Good. Good."
He pulls me up.
He walks me three steps to the bed and tips me forward onto it.
Doesn't help me up. Just lets gravity put my chest against his duvet and my knees against the mattress edge, and the position—face down, ass up—pulls a sound out of me.
The soreness from two nights ago flares hot.
My body remembers. Atlas put me in this exact position.
Atlas's hand at the back of my neck. Atlas's voice in my ear.
Zero behind me notices the way my body has settled into it. He hums.
"Yeah. Look at you. You know what you're doing here."
He spreads my ass cheeks his hands.
The cool air hits where I am still—
—a little raw.
He stops.
The silence behind me is total. I can’t see his face, but I can feel his thumbs at the cleft of my ass, holding me open, and the slow weight of his attention on what he is looking at. My breath catches. I bury my face in the duvet.
"...oh, baby."
His voice has gone different. Reverent and dark in the same breath.
"You’re still red from my brother."
He drags his thumb, slow, over my rim.
I yelp.
It’s small and humiliating and entirely involuntary, and it makes Zero respond—half a laugh, half a groan, the sound of a man finding more than he came looking for.
"Aww,” he coos at me. “That tender, baby?"
"...Zero—"
"Yes or no?"
"...yes—"
"Good."
He drags his thumb again. Slower this time. Watching, I can feel him watching, the way he watches me wince and clench and try to push back into him anyway because I am so far gone–driving mad by how bad I want him inside me–I can’t help it.
"Look at you. So fucked out for me already and I haven't even started."
"Zero, please—"
"Please what?"
"...don't–don’t be gentle."
His thumb stops.
The silence behind me is one full second long.
Then he laughs—soft, wrecked, almost disbelieving—and presses the pad of his thumb against my rim and circles it, slow, on the still-raw place where I am still puffy from being held open and fucked raw for hours two nights ago.
The sound I make into the duvet is feral.
I feel the wince in my hips. I feel my body clench against the ache and then open against the want, both at once, and Zero is reading every twitch.
"You are delicious."
"...Zero—"
"You can't even take a thumb without crying, baby. And you're shaking. You're shaking. You want it anyway. My perfect boy."
He presses his thumb in.
Just past the rim. Slow, deliberately cruel. I cry out into the duvet, arching as my ass aches deep. He hums approval. Works his thumb in tiny relentless circles, hitting the still-tender places, listening to every breath he tears out of me.
"That's it, baby. That's what you came in here for."
He pulls his thumb out.
He spits.
I feel it hit me, hot and obscene, and he works the spit in with my slick, shoving his thumb back in—deeper this time, the pad against every place that is still aching and refusing to let go. I sob into the pillow. He hums.
"That's my baby."
I am dripping onto the duvet. Precome leaking out of my aching fucking cock and making a mess beneath me.
He hasn’t even put his cock in me yet, and the ache I came in here carrying is no longer one note—it’s layered now, sharpened, raw and hot and the most pleasurable thing I have ever felt, and Zero is the one who is taking it from one register into the other with the slow cruel patience of a man who has been wanting to do exactly this since the moment he first put his teeth on me.
He pulls his thumb out.
I hear him spit again—into his hand this time, I think, because I feel him slicking himself behind me. He lines up. The head of him drags along my rim, slow, deliberate, smearing the wet around.
"I'm going to fuck you, baby. Hard. Because you asked for it and because you're already raw for me and because every time I make you wince I want to do it again."
"...Zero—"
"I'm not gonna knot you. You know why? Because that would simmer your need for me and I want you fucking needy. I want you to walk around the rest of this day carrying me on top of Atlas, and when Bane comes home and smells us both on you, you’ll let him fuck you too."
"...okay—"
"Yeah?"
"...yes—"
He presses in.
The head first. Just the head, and I am open enough from his thumb and slick enough from his spit and my own biology that it sinks in past my rim with a single steady push. I cry out into the duvet. The soreness flares so hard my eyes water. He hums.
"Mm. There it is. There's that pretty wince."
He pushes deeper.
Half. Then more. Then to the hilt in one long unbroken slide that lights up every aching place I have, and I sob into the pillow and my hands fist in the duvet on either side of my head and Zero, behind me, settles his hips against the back of my thighs and stays there.
He doesn't move.
He leans down over my back. Mouth at the back of my neck. His cock buried to the hilt in a body that is shuddering on every wave of pain-and-pleasure his presence keeps generating.
"Feel me, baby?"
"...y-yes—"
"All of me. Same place he was. Same hole. Atlas warmed you up nice, didn’t he?"
"Zero—"
"You feel both of us in there now. Don't you?"
"...yes—"
"Tell me."
"...I—I feel both of you, fuck—"
He starts to fuck me.
It isn’t slow. It isn’t patient. It’s exactly what he warned me about—hard, deep, brutal.
Just what I got from him in the basement before I knew what being fucked by Zero meant.
Every stroke drives the ache deeper into me.
Every stroke is its own small bright pain that comes up the underside of my spine and settles in my teeth.
He fucks me like he wants to break me, and his hands at my hips are bruising and his cock is hitting somewhere in me that makes me see stars, but the pain and the pleasure have stopped being separable.
They’re one feeling. They’re happening to me at the same speed.
"Christ, baby. You're so loose for me. He really did stretch you out for me, didn't he?" He slams into me.
"...Zero—"
"Mm. I should thank him." Thrust.
"Zero, please—"
"Please what, sweetheart?” Thrust.
"Please—"
He shifts the angle, pulling out almost all the way out and slamming back in at a different pitch, deeper, harder, and the spot inside me lights up like a match and I am suddenly two strokes from coming.
“Oh, God, fuuuck…”