Chapter 8 Miguel
EIGHT
MIGUEL
He’s still shaking when I find him.
Crouched against the tree, sweatshirt plastered to his chest, head in his hands like a child trying to hide from the dark. As if the dark isn’t me. As if I’d ever let him hide.
I linger in the shadows longer than I need to, watching the way his shoulders rise and fall too fast, watching his knees knock together like he might collapse. He’s wrecked, humiliated, so close to breaking—and I’ve never seen him more beautiful.
Every nerve ending in me sings with it. The hunt, the chase, the capture—it all leads here. To him on the ground, trembling, too ashamed to look up.
To me, taking my prize.
My mask itches against my skin. I’ve worn it long enough. The game’s already over. I’ve won.
I step into the faint light that spills through the branches. His head jerks up, eyes wide, wet lashes clumping. The moment he sees me, he flinches back against the tree like it could swallow him.
Fear looks so fucking good on him.
I reach up, slow, and peel the mask off. The cool night air rushes against my sweat-damp skin. The elastic snaps as I drop the thing into the dirt.
No need to hide. Not anymore.
“Better?” I ask, voice low. My lips curve into a humorless smile.
Caleb stares at me like he doesn’t recognize what’s been underneath the mask. Maybe he doesn’t. The mask covered my face, but it didn’t hide the hunger in my eyes. Now he has to see it, raw and unfiltered.
If he thought the mask was terrifying, looking at me is worse.
I crouch in front of him, close enough so that he can’t pretend he isn’t staring at my mouth, my throat, and the way my chest rises slow and steady while his stutters.
“You wanted the monster,” I murmur. “Now you’ve got him.”
He swallows hard, throat bobbing. His gaze flicks from my eyes to my hands, like he expects them to close around his throat any second.
He’s not wrong.
“You—” His voice cracks. He has to stop, breathe, and try again. “You’re relentless.”
I grin sharply, leaning closer, bracing one hand on the tree beside his head. “And you’re still sitting here, waiting for me to break you.”
His jaw tightens, stubborn even now. “I hate you.”
“Then why are you hard?” His gaze drops and sure enough, he’s hard as a rock, a tiny wet spot collecting from pre-cum leaking at the tip. “Then why does every inch of you call out to me like a goddamn siren? Hmm?”
The words land like a slap across his face. He jolts, cheeks burning scarlet under the moonlight. Fuck, he’s so pretty. He tries to twist away, but I press my knee between his legs, pinning him. His breath breaks, shallow and sharp.
I lean in, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Your body tells the truth, Caleb. You’ve wanted this for years. You’ve wanted me.”
He shudders. The sound that comes out of him is half denial, half desperate whimper.
I laugh low and dark. “Say it. Come on, pretty boy, tell your big brother how much you want his cock in your perfect mouth. Buried inside your tight ass. ”
His chest heaves. He shakes his head once, hard, but his fists are clenched too tight, like he’s holding himself together by a thread.
“Say you want me.” My voice is a command now, rumbling from somewhere deep. “Say you’ve been starving for me all this time.”
“I—” His voice breaks again. His eyes slam shut, wet lashes trembling. He looks like he might shatter right here, breath choking in his throat.
And then, barely audible: “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” I press harder against him, thigh sliding firm between his, my mouth hovering over his lips. “You already are. All you have to do now is use your words.”
His eyes snap open, wide and wild, pupils blown black. He stares at me like I’ve already ruined him. Maybe I have.
My hand finds his jaw, tilting his head up. My thumb strokes the corner of his mouth, slow and taunting. His lips part on instinct.
“There it is,” I whisper. “That’s the look I’ve been waiting for. The look of someone who’s ready to give up.”
His breathing turns ragged. He shakes his head again, but weak, not like before. His voice is raw when it scrapes out of him.
“Do it.”
For a second, the world holds still. No music from the party, no wind through the trees, no heartbeat but his hammering against my chest.
Then, softer, finally broken. “I’m yours.”
The sound of it lights me up like fire to gasoline. The words I’ve been waiting to hear finally ripped from his mouth in the dark.
I brush my lips over his temple, mocking tenderness. “Good boy.”
He trembles against me, not from fear anymore, but from what he’s just confessed.
And now, he’ll learn what it means to be mine.
The words hang between us, fragile as glass.
Do it. I’m yours.
He doesn’t even realize what he’s given me. Not a request. Not a plea. A surrender. The one I’ve been dragging out of him inch by inch since the night he left for college.
The night I kissed him.
I feel his chest stutter against mine. He’s waiting—for punishment, for release, maybe for both. His eyes are glassy and defiant still, but underneath all that defiance is relief. I can break defiance, especially now that he’s admitted the truth that we both know.
I curl my hand tighter on his jaw, forcing him to hold my gaze. “Say it again.”
His throat bobs, and the words come out hoarse. He swallows once, then. “I’m yours.”
It’s shaky, but it’s there.
Mine.
Fucking finally.
My pulse pounds hot and steady. I’ve chased him through shadows, pinned him against walls, stripped him down with words—but nothing tastes as sweet as this.
I press closer, chest to chest, my lips hovering over his. “You don’t know what that means.”
He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “Then show me.”
For a heartbeat, the woods seem to lean in with us. The silence is absolute. Just him and me, and the ragged breaths binding us together.
I let the moment stretch until his jaw trembles under my grip, until his thighs press tight around my knee, until he squirms with need he can’t deny.
Then I give him my smile—the one that promises ruin. “Careful, pretty boy. Monsters don’t give back what they take.”
“I don’t care anymore.” His voice cracks, but his eyes burn steady now, like he’s past the point of turning back. “I can’t—stop thinking about you. I don’t want to.”
That confession nearly undoes me.
I let my forehead drop against his, skin to skin at last. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you. Ever since that night.”
My hand trails down, slow, deliberate—his throat, his chest, pausing just above his racing heart. He’s trembling so hard he can’t hide it anymore.
“You’re mine now.” My voice is a growl, a promise and threat all at once. “No running. No hiding. You said it—you’re mine.”
His breath catches, lips parting helplessly. “Kiss me again, Miggy. Show me I’m yours.”
His words hit me like fire to dry tinder.
I don’t hesitate. I crash my mouth onto his, rough and hungry, a growl rising in my throat.
He opens for me instantly, desperate for anything and everything, his lips slick under mine, and I don’t hold back.
My teeth scrape, drawing blood, swiping it up, and then my tongue claims dominance over his, and I pin him harder against the tree just to feel him shudder.
He tastes like fear and need, salt, and sweetness all tangled together in the perfect package.
I drag my hands up his arms and slam his wrists above his head, holding him there while I devour him.
He gasps into my mouth, but he doesn’t fight.
No—he arches, surrendering, begging with every little sound he makes.
They are the only noises I want to hear now.
“You think you’re ready for this?” I rasp against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip hard enough to make him flinch. “You think you know what you’re asking me for?”
“Yes,” he breathes, voice breaking. “I want it. I want you.”
I’m done for.
He wants me.
I drag his wrists together in one hand, digging into my back pocket with the other. The thin, rough coil of rope brushes my fingers, and I smirk against his lips.
“Then you’re going to learn what it means to belong to me.” I yank the rope free, loop it quickly, and bind his wrists together above his head. He gasps, trembling as the fibers scrape his skin. I tie the knot tight, testing it, making sure he’s not going anywhere.
His chest heaves, his eyes wide but shining. Not with fear—but with unbridled want.
“Look at you,” I growl, stepping back just enough to drink him in. “All tied up, just the way you’ve always needed. Didn’t even take much convincing, did it?”
“Shut up,” he whispers, but there’s no heat in it. His cheeks are a beautiful scarlet, his pupils blown wide, making his normally blue eyes appear black.
I grab his jaw, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Don’t tell me to shut up, little brother. You asked for this. You begged me.” My thumb presses hard against his chin until he whimpers. “My pretty little slut, aren’t you? Go on, tell me what you are.”
His lips tremble, but the words come, soft and desperate, “I’m your pretty little slut.”
A wicked smile curls across my face. I lean down, tugging at the collar of his shirt and biting his neck, rough and unrelenting, marking him where no one else will see. He squirms against me, caught between a moan and a cry, and it drives me mad.
“That’s right,” I hiss against his skin, my tongue darting out to soothe the sting. “You’re mine to ruin. Mine to use. Nobody else will ever touch you, Caleb.”
I press my thigh between his legs, grinding up hard enough to make him gasp. He jerks, straining against the rope, and the sound that rips out of him is filthy.
“Miggy, please,” he begs, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. “I’m gonna—oh god—come in my shorts if you keep doing that.”
“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you? Us fucking.” I taunt, dragging my mouth back up to his ear. “On those lonely nights in that dorm room of yours, hand between your legs, stroking your cock, wishing it was me touching you instead. Tell me I’m right.”
His breath stutters. “…You’re right.”
“I know,” I murmur, low and cruel. “Now you’re going to prove how much you want it.”
I step back just enough to free one hand, undoing my belt with slow, precise movements. His eyes track every second, wide and dark, his lips parting as though he’s already begging without words.
I grab his hair, tilting his head back. “On your knees,” I command, my voice sharp.
He hesitates only for a heartbeat, then sinks down, bound wrists awkward above him, eyes burning up at me.
Vulnerable.
Submissive.
Only for me.
“Oh my pretty boy,” I sneer softly. “Tied up, on your knees, waiting for me to feed you my cum. Such a pathetic little slut—this is what you were made for, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he whimpers, licking his lips as I tug down my jeans, then I pull down the front of my boxer briefs, just enough to get my dick out. “Oh fuck, Miguel.” His eyes widen at the sight before him.
“Like what you see, baby?” I caress his cheek and tilt his face up to meet my eyes. “Is it the piercings or the size that’s turning you on? Because it’s all for you, pretty boy. All seven piercings and eight inches of this cock are just for you.”
Caleb’s eyes dart from my eyes to my cock and back, almost as if he’s unsure of what to do.
“Miggy… I’ve never—”
Just as I suspected. My brother’s never explored his bisexuality, even though we both know that’s what he is. He’s probably only ever fucked a pussy, if he’s not a complete virgin.
“Open nice and wide for me and stick that pink tongue out.” And like the good fucking boy he is, Caleb opens his mouth and shows me his tongue. I grip the base of my cock and smack it down, letting the drops of pre-cum spread over it.
Without being told, he closes his lips around me and I have to grab the tree for support.
His mouth is heaven—soft, warm, and so fucking wet.
Caleb sucks, his head slowly bobbing, and I swear to God I see another plane of existence as he takes me to the back of his throat.
“Oh fuuuck,” I moan. “That’s it. Gag on it for me, pretty boy.
I wanna see these fucking pretty blue eyes fill with tears while you choke on the first and only cock you’ll ever have. ”
I let go of my cock and let him do the work, pulling up my shirt so I have a clear, unobstructed view of his mouth filled with me.
The only sound that fills the air is Caleb’s wet slurping and frequent gags as he inches me closer to orgasm.
His bound hands search above him for something to hang onto.
So, I take them and lay them on my chest, and he hums in approval around me.
Don’t come yet, Miguel.
Even without touching him, I can feel him unraveling. His body bows toward me, instinct surrendering before his pride ever could. Caleb takes me to the back of his throat and I feel him constrict around me. I feel the creeping sensation of release.
Time to stop.
Pulling out of his mouth, he lets out a whine. “Keep your mouth open, pretty boy.”
He moves his hands from my chest, dropping them to his lap—he keeps his head tipped back, mouth open. Probably thinking I’m going to finish myself off in his mouth. I grab his face and spit into his mouth, “Swallow it.”
And he does.
“Please, Miguel. I want to taste you.”
I laugh low, savoring it. “Qué hermoso suplicas por mí, hermanito.”
He groans, half a whimper, head tipping back against the tree. Caleb grew up hearing Spanish every day once my mom and I moved in, so he knows exactly what I said. “Miguel—”
Hearing my name from his lips now? The sweetest sin.
I drop to a squat in front of him, brushing my mouth just over his jaw, teasing. “Say it again.”
“Miguel.”
“Louder.”
“Miguel.” This time it’s ragged, desperate, and cracking down the middle.
I could devour him right here. I could drag him down into the dirt and make sure he never forgets the feeling of me inside him. And he’d take it, trembling but willing, because he already said the words.
He already gave himself over to me.
But I want it branded deeper. Not just his body—I want his soul intertwined with mine.
I kiss the hollow of his throat, slow and calculated. Only I know what he needs. He shivers hard, fingers twitching like he doesn’t know whether to push me away or clutch me closer.
“Mine,” I whisper against his skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses. “God, you even taste like you’re mine, Caleb.”
“Yes,” he breathes it this time, less shaky, more certain. “Only yours, Miguel.”
That’s all I need.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes again. He’s flushed, pupils blown wide, lips parted. Ruined already, and I haven’t even given him what he wants.
What he needs.
My grin is sharp enough to cut. “Good boy. Come on, I need you in bed. Now.”