Chapter Three Pressure Cooker #2
But that’s how it began. Clothes discarded, rules established, a brutal relief found in the sweat and heat.
Hard. Fast. No strings. No bed, either. It was always in the gym, in a toilet, or here .
And in the months that followed, between shifts and chaos, between long nights and longer silences, Reece kept going back.
Even when he’d tried for something more with Freddie…
only for him to end it for the final time. Again.
But he didn’t want anyone else.
Not now he’d had a taste of paradise.
He looked forward to these stolen moments. To Trent’s hands and his moans and the rough, wordless comfort. And his restraint shattered like brittle glass every time Trent wanted it to.
With a rough growl, he grabbed Trent by the hips and spun him, pinning him hard to the cold brick wall. Trent gasped, splaying his palms flat on the stone.
“Is this what you’re after?” Reece rasped into his ear. “Hard and fast, with nothing left behind?”
Trent shuddered but nodded, dropping his forehead to the wall. “Yeah. Like that,” he ground out. “Don’t make me ask again.”
“Christ, you’re a fucking menace,” Reece growled, his voice thick with hunger and the edge of a warning he already knew he wouldn’t keep, not when he was already tearing at Trent’s belt from behind, yanking it loose in one hard pull, then shoving his jeans down far enough to expose his beautifully pale arse to the humid air .
Trent pushed his hips back, grinding against Reece as if he couldn’t stand the distance between them and Reece groaned, pulse thundering in his ears as he gripped Trent’s arse, digging his fingers into the firm flesh as if he could brand his need there.
“You have a fucking perfect arse.”
Trent shot a glance over his shoulder, eyes dark and daring. “You gonna ruin it again?”
“Fuck, yeah.” Reece freed himself with a quick flick of his button fly, his cock already painfully hard and aching for this— for him .
But he didn’t give Trent what he was chasing. Not yet.
Instead, he slid his cock between the tight cleft of Trent’s cheeks, dragging his slick head along the sensitive line. He rocked his hips, teasing, pressing his thumbs hard into the soft dip at the base of Trent’s spine, holding him in place as the friction built with his relentless arsejob.
“Look at you,” he rasped into Trent’s ear, rough with hunger as he watched his cockhead glide up and down the tight crease, smearing heat and slickness between them. “So fucking beautiful like this… always chasing it, aren’t ya, trouble?”
Trent arched into him as if he was born for it, lost to the rhythm, lost to him .
“Tell me you want it,” Reece growled. “Say it.”
Trent’s voice broke on a ragged breath. “Fuck me, Reece. Do it.”
So as per fucking usual, Reece gave in to him.
He fished out the sachet of lube and a condom from his back pocket, made light work of both, hands steady even as his chest heaved.
Then he lined up, poking the blunt head of his cock to Trent’s entrance, one hand gripping his hip hard enough to bruise, gliding the other up to curl around Trent’s shoulder. Not squeezing. Holding him there.
Claiming him.
Trent didn’t fight it. He pushed back into Reece’s hold, a soft, wrecked sound tearing free as he gave in completely.
“Fuck— Reece —”
But Reece didn’t give him time to catch his breath. He eased his cock into Trent’s tight heat, breaching him, and set a punishing pace, snapping his hips forward in hard, relentless thrusts.
“Take it, sweetheart,” Reece growled. “Take every fucking inch.”
Trent did.
And as Reece gripped Trent’s hips hard, digging his fingers in, anchoring him in place, and slamming into him again and again, each thrust brutal and precise, he watched, utterly captivated, how Trent’s arse clenched around him, the faint outline of bruises blooming beneath his hands.
And he was gluttonous for the view of his cock driving in and out, slick and relentless, as if he’d never get enough of Trent’s body.
Trent pushed back into every punishing thrust, his spine curving perfectly as he met Reece’s rhythm, trembling but obedient under the relentless pace.
It was all moans and groans, pants and grunts.
Ruthless and filthy. Then Reece released one bruising grip on Trent’s hip, to reach around and wrap his hand tight around Trent’s hard, pulsating cock.
He stroked him rough and brutal, matching the pace of his manic thrusting.
The rhythm was unforgiving. Primal. A fight waged in sweat and skin instead of fists.
It was dominance and surrender, a clash of need and defiance, and Christ , Reece was losing himself to it. But when Trent turned his head, his flushed cheek brushing his, mouth open, breath coming hot and fast, Reece nearly came undone.
Those lips begged to be devoured. To be bitten straight through.
And fuck, how he needed to taste that mouth. Needed his tongue, greedy and desperate, colliding with his own. Wanted to suck on it, bite it until Trent whimpered, then spit into his mouth and own him completely.
“Let me kiss you,” he whispered through fractured breaths. “Once. Let me fucking taste you.”
He knew Trent wouldn’t let him. But it didn’t stop him from trying.
“Earn it.”
Reece’s heart twisted painfully, chest aching even as his body kept moving, locked in that fierce rhythm, their skin silky with sweat, the air thick with violent, desperate fucking .
He didn’t know what earning it meant. So Reece did the only thing he knew Trent craved.
And that was to grab him harder, hold him exactly where he was, and fuck him as if the world was ending.
Fast, furious, every thrust a wordless declaration, and he jerked Trent’s cock in perfect time, stroking him mercilessly, pushing him closer to the edge with every rough breath against his ear.
“Come for me,” Reece growled, grazing his teeth on the shell of Trent’s ear. “Right here, right now. Break apart. Let me see you fucking come .”
Trent did. Hard and fast. Shuddering as he cried out, spilling hot and messy into Reece’s hand and the wall he faced, legs barely holding him upright.
Reece wasn’t far behind. And with a low, vicious groan, he slammed deep into Trent and came hard, cock jerking as he emptied himself inside Trent, digging bruises into his hips, holding him in place as if he couldn’t bear to let go .
“Fuck, take it. All of it ,” Reece snarled into Trent’s neck, grinding his hips through every pulse of release, wishing there was nothing between them. No barrier. Only the visceral, filthy proof that he’d given Trent everything. And God, he wanted him marked by it. Wanted him full with it.
Even spent, his body refused to pull away, the aftermath as intense and consuming as the act itself and Reece dipped his forehead between Trent’s shoulder blades, waiting out the tremble still running through his body.
And for a moment— one fucking moment —he let himself pretend this was something more.
That he was holding Trent, steadying them both in the aftermath.
But Trent kept his head bowed, shoulders drawn tight, unmoving, breathing shaky and uneven.
So Reece took a chance. He slid his arms around Trent’s waist, dragging him back to fall flush against his chest, and he ghosted his lips along the back of Trent’s neck, a soft press of his mouth onto damp skin.
Not a kiss. But… there . A quiet plea hidden beneath the touch.
For a heartbeat, Trent stilled.
Reece felt the shift. A small sigh. Not quite protest, but not surrender either.
As if Trent might lean back. Let some of that impossible weight fall off his shoulders for a second.
And Christ, he could feel it. Vulnerability poured off him in silent waves and it hit Reece harder than any punch he’d ever taken.
God, he hurt for him.
He didn’t know what had made Trent this way.
Sharp edges in the daylight, soft and burning in the dark.
Didn’t know what ghosts stalked his mind.
What turned his touch into a battlefield and his nights reckless and consuming.
Other than the scars left by the same front-line life, Reece didn’t know a damn thing about what really lived behind those guarded eyes .
But he wanted to.
He never had before. Never cared to take anything past the heat, the rush, the release.
But this? This was different.
And fuck, he didn’t know what it was. Why his chest ached to hold him, to save him from whatever hell he was running from. Why, for the first time in his life, Reece didn’t want to be everyone’s goddamn hero.
He wanted to be Trent’s.
Trent stiffened, his body rigid before he tore free of Reece’s hold, moving away from him as if his touch scalded him. He turned away, head down, shoulders tight as he yanked his jeans up with shaking hands.
Reece’s heart thundered, the aftershocks of everything they’d done still rippling through him. His hands worked on autopilot, ripping off the condom, gut twisting, sick and hollow. Then, at the thought Trent was going to disappear without a word, the way he always did, he glanced over his shoulder.
And fuck…
Those eyes.
Hollow and glistening, wide and filled with vulnerability, before the walls slammed shut again.
“We can talk.” Reece kept his voice low, careful, as if one wrong word might shatter the fragile thread still holding Trent there.
Desperation bled into every syllable, even though he knew—Christ, he knew—that giving in like this, letting Trent set the rules and break them all in the same breath, only proved Trent right.
He wasn’t someone Trent could trust.
Because he was a wretch. He gave in far too easily to a pretty face and a filthy plea.
And that was the vicious circle, wasn’t it?
One he didn’t know how to fucking break .
“You don’t want to talk, Reece.” Trent glanced at the floor. “I don’t even want to listen to myself. That’s why I do this.” He flicked a hand between them, a bitter, self-deprecating gesture. “You’re the only thing that drowns out the noise.”
Hesitation caught the tight line of Trent’s shoulders, and he raked his fingers through his curls as if he could scrub the moment off his skin. Then, with a sharp breath, he yanked open the fire door.
“ I’ll listen,” Reece called after him. “Any time you want to do this right.”
Trent paused, his silhouette bathing in the harsh light from inside. He tilted his head enough so Reece could tell he was fighting something. Himself, probably.
“We have nothing in common for this to be right.”
“Dunno about that, sweetheart.” Reece gave a small, tired shrug, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips despite the hollow ache in his chest. “We’ve both got a really bad habit of walking straight into fire.”
Trent hesitated. Long enough to make it hurt. Then glanced back over his shoulder with that familiar, crooked smirk, eyes dark and unreadable. “Guess I’ll see you at the next one then.”
And with that, he was gone.
Door slamming shut and the noise of the club swallowing him whole, while all Reece could do was stand there in the dark. Alone. The cold creeping in deep, chilling him right down to his bones.
He’d told himself before that he wouldn’t fight for a man who didn’t want him. Wouldn’t chase someone too afraid to be caught.
But the sick, brutal truth was…
Fighting was in his blood.