Chapter 16 Wraith #2
“Do you know he’s older than me?” He laughs, but it’s bitter.
“By three years, but I’ve always been the one keeping everything together.
When our mother died, I thought that was it.
He went on such a bender and I didn’t see him for months.
But he showed up again, strung out but alive.
I paid for rehabs and group homes and doctors, therapists, treatment programs. Anything to help him.
I love him.” His voice cracks and I start to go to him, but he tenses. “I’m fine.”
“Okay.” I sit in the armchair instead of holding him the way I want to.
“Then I practically presented him to a man who wants to kill him on a silver platter.”
“Bouche, please. We’ve discussed this. I didn’t want to kill him.”
“Fucking semantics, dude. You would’ve, and that’s all that matters. I was fucking the guy who would’ve killed my brother. Do you see how fucked up that is?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
We sit in tense silence for a few beats until he continues. “It can’t happen again.”
“I know.”
“But for what it’s worth, it was… good. Fun.”
“Yeah.”
“But I can’t now. I don’t… I can’t… I have to hate you.”
His words feel like knives, but I nod. “You don’t have to hate me. I understand, but you don’t have to.”
“Yeah, I do, or I’ll—” He cuts himself off abruptly, rising off the bed and walking over to me. He kneels between my knees, his hands resting on my thighs. “This is so wrong. All of it. You’re a…”
“I know what I am, Bouche.” I push his hands away out of self-preservation. I can’t look into these beautiful, tortured eyes and not want to kiss it all away. “I wish it could be different, but I am what I am.”
“And you like it? It makes you happy?” His voice is tense now, angry. “You have no moral problem killing people?”
“No, I don’t.” I get to my feet as my own anger rises.
“You can sit there and judge me all you want. I don’t have any control over what you think of me, but I’m not gonna apologize for being who I am.
You may think it’s wrong, evil, disgusting even, but I serve a purpose in this cold, ugly, dark world, whether you like it or not. ”
“Don’t stand there acting like you’re Mother fucking Teresa, okay? Serve a purpose? Really?”
“Most of the time, yes.”
“But not all the time. How many innocent people do you think have died by your hand? Or your brothers’? Have you ever considered that?”
“Fuck you, Bouche. If these people weren’t fucking around and getting involved in bad shit, I would never meet them.
Your brother might’ve had good intentions, but he still chose to blackmail a dangerous fucking criminal.
It’s not like I was walking down the street one day and picked him out of a crowd. ”
Bouche narrows his eyes and I know my words hit a nerve. “He doesn’t deserve to die.”
“I’m not the fucking judge and jury of souls. If anything, you’re fucking lucky I was assigned to him. Anyone else and this would already be a done deal. I just happened to get distracted by a pretty fucking face and good dick.”
He scoffs. “That’s what I am to you? A pretty face and good dick?”
“What do you want me to say? That I’m in love with you? Get fucked, man. We’ve known each other for a few weeks.”
He nods, still glaring at me. “Yeah, you’re right. It was just easy dick. No connection, no attraction beyond the physical. Just fucking.”
Frustration builds in me. “I don’t understand what’s happening right now. You told me you have to hate me and nothing else will ever happen between us, but now… what? You want me to admit that there was something else going on between us?”
“It was starting to!” he yells, slamming his hand on the dresser. “Fuck you, Wraith. I know you felt it too. I fucking know you did.”
“And what if I did?! What fucking difference does it make now? You hate me, right?” I cross the room, getting up in his face. “And don’t forget what I am. You could never accept me from your high fucking hockey tower.”
“Fuck you.” Bouche shoves me hard, but I catch myself before I stumble.
Rushing forward, I grab his collar and shove him back. “Fuck you.”
He takes a swing and he’s too fast for me to block it. His fist lands across my jaw, sending me backward, and he doesn’t stop. Bouche charges me, but I’m ready this time. I catch his cheekbone with a punch, but he’s got a few pounds of muscle on me and is hardly fazed.
Bouche tackles me to the bed, wrestling me and pinning my arms to the mattress. I knew he was strong, but fuck me, he’s got me completely overpowered. I struggle beneath him, quickly becoming aware of his cock swelling as we rub together.
His eyes heat, and in seconds, our mouths are crashing together, our tongues tangling in a battle for dominance. Bouche keeps my arms pinned as he humps into me, and a small moan escapes my lips. He gobbles up every sound I make as we kiss and grind.
I need relief, and I want to touch him. “Bouche,” I whisper.
“Shut up,” he grunts, reaching between us to unzip my jeans. “I fucking hate you for making me feel this way.”
But he doesn’t hate me. I know that. This is way more than physical attraction growing between us, and if that isn’t the most fucked-up thing that’s ever happened to me, I don’t know what is.
I can’t have this. I don’t get to keep him.
In fact, I better enjoy this because I seriously doubt I’ll ever get another taste once he comes to his senses.
Bouche shoves his hand into my jeans, stroking my dick, and I desperately want to be naked with him. “Gonna fuck you,” he grunts. “You’re gonna take it.”
My mind is nothing but scattered chaos and words won’t come, so I just nod as Bouche’s mouth moves to my neck, sucking a mark into my flesh. At least I’ll have a souvenir when this is over.
Bouche flips me over like I’m not two hundred pounds of muscle, and I let him. He’s going to make me hurt, and hell, maybe I deserve it. He yanks my jeans down, exposing my ass, and squeezes my cheeks hard.
We have no lube, no condoms, but fuck if I can bring myself to care about that right now. Bouche finds my hole, poking and massaging it but not gently at all.
“Your little slutty hole wants my dick, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“You don’t deserve it, but I’m gonna use you to get off. That’s all you deserve.”
I groan. God, his dirty talk is next level. He’s been holding back.
Bouche moves quickly, spitting onto my hole and pushing it inside me with his thumb. The sting is a lot already, so his cock is gonna be a hell of a ride, but I can take it. I want to.
“Fucking slutty hole,” he mumbles, pulling his jeans down and spreading my legs apart with his knees. “That’s all you are to me. Just a hole.”
“Just a hole,” I repeat, bucking my hips a little. “Your hole.”
“Shut up,” he grunts, lining his cockhead up with my hole. “You’re not mine. You’re not shit.”
He pushes in slightly and the burn is fucking intense. I hiss but try to relax.
“Fuck,” Bouche says, pulling back.
I worry he’s gonna stop, but instead his tongue moves up my crease and I shudder with pleasure.
“Oh, fuck.”
“This isn’t for you,” he growls, pinching my ass cheek. “It’s for me.”
Whatever, dude.
He goes hard on me, sucking and licking and dipping his tongue inside me until I’m soft enough for the dicking down I’m about to receive.
After a few minutes of that my dick is throbbing and leaking when Bouche gets to his feet and shoves his cock inside me. It hurts a lot, bringing tears to my eyes as my body tries to defend against the intrusion.
Bouche puts his hand on the back of my neck, holding me down to the mattress as he whispers in my ear, “Fucking take it, you slut.”
“Do your worst, Bouche. I can handle it.”
“Fuck,” he snarls, slamming into me.
Lube would make this a thousand times better, but this isn’t about pleasure. He needs this. Needs to take his anger out on me. He needs to hate-fuck me. I need him to do it.
And I deserve it.
His hips snap fast, absolutely wrecking my hole, and all I can do is grunt and take it. It’s rare for me to be on this side of the equation, but I don’t hate it. Not with Bouche behind the wheel.
“I’m surprised your hole is so tight,” he grunts. “Since you’re a slut.”
“Just your slut, Bouche,” I manage. “Your hole.”
“Fuck.”
He goes harder, taking all his frustration and pain out on me, and it’s rough.
Rougher than I’ve ever had it, but fuck, it’s good.
His dick fills me so perfectly and since my body accepted him, the ride has been fucking bliss.
He hits my prostate with every stroke until I’m trembling and on the verge of release.
“Fuck, Wraith,” Bouche grunts, his hips stuttering as he tenses. “Gonna fill your hole with my cum. Make you all sticky and dirty, like the slut you are. Fuck!”
My body reacts to his words and my balls draw up, ready to release, but Bouche suddenly pulls out and stumbles backward, leaving me on the edge with nothing to cling to.
I roll over, sliding to the floor and fisting my erection wildly. My hole throbs, which only adds to my pleasure and need. It only takes a few strokes before I finally find bliss, spilling over my hand and onto the dirty motel carpet.
When it’s over, I slump against the bed, on my knees, and overstimulated. Bouche is watching me across the space, leaning against the dresser, his now-spent cock heavy and gorgeous between his legs.
“I hate you,” he mumbles.
I nod, managing to get to my feet even though my legs are shaky. “I know.”
Dragging his hand through his hair. “I… I don’t know what got into me, but, um, I—”
“Don’t you dare apologize. If I didn’t want it I could’ve stopped it.”
“But the things I said…”
“Heat of the moment.”
He nods, but his jaw is tense and his brow is still creased. “We should clean up.”
“And check on Boone. He’s been gone for a while.”
Bouche’s face falls. “Fuck. He has.”
We clean up and dress quickly. I’m out the door before Bouche, but it only takes me a second to figure out what happened. Oh no.