Chapter 53
Fifty-Three
SEBA
Marinade crackles and steams off the thick sirloins lined up on the grill.
It's making my mouth water. I flip the steaks over, the smoke wafting into the muggy night. It’s later than I planned, but I had to wait for the rain to stop.
It ended up working out. While Cade slept, I boxed and stacked everything and moved it into the garage in case he wanted any of it later.
Then I worked on some admin stuff for my boss Carl— scheduling maintenance for the irrigation system and reordering fertilizer.
When his brother Abel died, the old farmer was left as the sole owner of David’s Grove, but had no interest in the business side of it.
I interned for him during my last year at FMU; he hired me the day I graduated.
My phone vibrates on the tray beside the grill. I catch it before it scoots off the edge.
Pastor Sinclair:
Drop tonight. Don’t be late again.
Fuck.
I squeeze the stainless steel tongs to the point of indenting my palm. The schedule had me on for Drop next week. He must’ve found out about Cade coming home. My molars grind as I quickly forward the message to Darren, then alert the other Youth Warriors on call this week.
The day I’m done with this shit can’t come fast enough.
Darren responds first.
DDM:
Swing by in an hour. Twin Oaks.
Double fuck.
All I wanted was an uninterrupted night with Cade after four fucking years apart to convince him to drop his guard. And maybe touch him. And kiss him.
And fuck him.
It might be a long shot, but a man can dream.
And boy, do I dream of it. A lot. Like an abnormal amount.
Porn didn’t help while he was gone— it actually made things worse by opening the floodgates on all the ways I could take him, make him come, make him scream.
Which then led to even more twisted fantasies.
Ones where all three of us tangled and touched.
Having them once was a cruel, cruel punishment.
To know how they felt, tasted, sounded, only for them to be torn from me.
Time chipped away at those vivid sensations, stealing pieces here and there until they faded into a fragmented short film.
But then I’d spot Andrea on campus or hear one of Cade’s favorite songs and I’d be thrown back to a time where our bodies connected in the most unholy sin.
As if I wasn’t horny enough, an adorably sleepy Cade opens the slider, his hair flattened on one side, the other sticking out like a mad scientist after an experiment gone wrong. He stretches an arm overhead, his t-shirt riding up to expose a sliver of pale, smooth skin as he groans.
I'm staring and I don't even care.
He squints at me.
I smirk. “Looks like you had a good nap.”
He rubs his nose with the back of his hand. “Where’s everyone?”
I pluck the steaks off the grill and pile them onto a serving dish.
“Last I knew, your dad went to his office, probably to avoid my mom, but she left a few minutes after him. I doubt either of them will be back for a bit.” I lift the plate. “Hungry?”
To my surprise, he nods.
He follows me into the kitchen, perching on one of the counter-height stools at the island while I grab him silverware, then scoop mashed potatoes and sautéed spinach onto a dish beside one of the smaller sirloins. My brows lift in silent confirmation. He nods again.
Once I’ve served myself too, I take a seat next to him.
He digs in immediately. My chest warms. Feeding him fulfills a deep-seated need to care for him.
“Everything taste ok?”
“Mhmm.”
By the time I’m finished, he’s almost cleared his plate. He pushes his spoon into the mini mound of remaining potatoes, creating a crater in the center.
“They fight now.”
Our parents, he means. I shrug. “Only all the time about everything.”
Cade snorts. Using the back of his spoon, he molds the mashed potatoes into a square. “You still live here?”
“Nah, I moved out after you left.”
“So why are you here now?”
“You,” I say simply. It’s the truth.
He scoffs. The potato square becomes a pyramid. I can tell he wants to ask something else, but stubbornly keeps quiet. It's both endearing and infuriating.
“You look good,” I murmur. “Healthy. I meant to tell you—”
The spoon clatters to his plate.
“Why are you doing this?” he demands.
The fire in his icy glare doesn’t intimidate me the way he wants. But it’s a fire I’ll gladly stoke.
“Doing what?”
“This!” He growls, shoving his stool back. “I’m psychotic, not an invalid!”
“Baby—”
“Don’t you dare,” he snarls, trying to squeeze past me.
Catching his wrist, I yank, sling-shotting him back against the island between the stools. He huffs as his ass hits the counter.
“I dare,” I murmur against the shell of his ear. My tongue darts out— just a taste. “Baby.”
He shivers. The pulse in his throat feathers. His breathing stutters. I lean in, dragging my nose through his hair. He smells so damn sweet for such a feisty thing. His palms land on my pecs…
And shove.
“Fuck. You!” Fingers curl into my shirt, cheeks flushed as he bursts into a raging inferno.
“Fuck you, fuck you, fucking fuck YOU.” He shoves me again, harder this time.
He’s stronger than he used to be, but I’m an immovable wall.
Shoving turns into clawing, then punching to the soundtrack of, Fuck you, asshole, I hate you, bastard, I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you!
I stand there and take it. Unmoving. Steady.
His voice cracks. He misses a punch. Screams.
“FIGHT BACK.”
I don’t.
He goes ballistic. I lose count of the hits and curses.
He tries to knee me in the crotch, but I block him easily enough.
That only pisses him off more. He scratches my cheek, marking me like a damn wildcat.
My hand shoots to his throat— just holding him there.
Feeling his pulse pound and pound and pound.
He’s panting. Fuming.
“You done?”
With a snarl, his forehead collides with mine, the force sparking fireworks in my skull. The menace head-butted me. I almost laugh. Instead, I pin him against the counter with my hips.
His eyes widen at my erection digging into him. I tilt his chin up, skimming my lips along his jaw. “Keep fighting me, Heathen, and I'm gonna have to punish you.”
He thrashes. The friction against my cock makes me groan.
“So you want to be punished, huh?”
“Fuck you,” he hisses. But I can feel him solid as granite through his jeans. I see it in his blown pupils. Hear it in his harsh pants. He just doesn’t want to give in.
“That’s not a no.”
His nostrils flare. His lips purse.
Spit hits my cheek.
Scooping up the saliva, I ram my wet fingers into his mouth. He gags in surprise, eyes watering as my fingertips rub the back of his tongue. His irises shrink to slim blue and honey rings around pools of black.
“This mouth,” I rasp, slowly pumping my fingers in… and out… in… and out. “The things I wanna do to this filthy mouth. You’ve got no idea.”
The tiniest whimper escapes. I grind against him, drawing out that sound again— a little louder this time.
“Mmm, yeah, you need it bad, don’t you, baby?”
His teeth scrape my knuckles, but I don’t stop fucking my fingers between those glistening lips. Saliva drips from the corners of his mouth, rolling down his chin. Glassy eyes burn with anger, lust and something much deeper than both.
My free hand grasps his waist at the same time I withdraw my fingers.
“You need me.”
A split-second realization crosses his face, but it’s too late. I’ve already flipped him and bent him over the counter. Smashing his cheek into the cool marble, I cover him with my body and reach around to unbutton his jeans.
My breath ghosts his ear. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
He bucks, only succeeding in rubbing his ass all over my crotch. I bite the side of his neck. He howls.
“Tell me to stop.”
He doesn’t. But he does try throwing his weight back to knock me off balance. Gritting my teeth, I unzip his fly. The loose denim puddles around his ankles as I brace a forearm across his lower back and admire the curve of his ass in a pair of white boxer briefs.
My palm cracks his cheek.
“Fuck!”
“Has anyone touched what’s mine?” I growl, pushing the thin cotton into his crease with my thumb. A strangled moan catches in his throat. I spank him again.
“Answer me, Cade.”
“Eat shit!”
“I’d rather eat your asshole, but not if you gave it to someone else.”
“Fuck you, I was in a psych ward!”
“And?”
A frustrated, “UUGH!” comes in response.
Spank.
“There was… no one. Just… me.”
I reward him by rubbing the fabric teasingly around his rim. “And who did you think of when you played with this little hole?”
“You bastard,” he snarls. I know he’s just cursing me, but I choose to believe it’s his way of admitting what we both know.
“Damn right, you thought of me,” I murmur, pushing the tip of my thumb into the tight ring muscle.
He grunts, “F-fuck you.”
My teeth sink into his neck again. He gasps, arching into the pain as I dip into his boxers, smoothing my palms over his firm cheeks, kneading gently.
If I had more time tonight, I’d draw this out, edge him to the brink of insanity, then have him come for me until his balls drained. But with the Drop looming, I’m limited.
I’ll have him again soon, that’s for fucking sure.
I slide his boxers down enough to expose him to me. He squirms as I pull his cheeks apart. That perfect pink hole clenches in anticipation. The memory of it gaping and dripping cum makes my cock throb.
“If you don’t obey, you don’t come,” I warn.
An indecipherable grumble.
Spank.
“Jesusfuck,” he hisses.
“Tell me you understand.”
He pushes his ass back in response. That’s about as much of an answer as I’m ever gonna get from him, so I drop to my knees and bury my face between his cheeks. He jolts.
I groan at the musky scent of him. “My damnation.”
The second my tongue flattens over his fluttering hole, he inhales sharply. I trace circles around the ring, the distinct taste of him making my cock leak. And when he lets out a shaky whine, I’m near bursting.
“Once wasn’t enough. It’ll never be enough. I want this ass every fucking day, multiple times a day, every way I can have it. It’s mine. You are mine. Whether you wanna admit it or not, you belong to me.”
Then I devour him.
“Ohhhh shit,” Cade moans as my tongue drives into him, my finger joining a moment later. “Shit, shit, shit.”
He feels himself up, lifting his shirt to play with his nipple while I thrust my finger in deeper, curling in search of the spot that drives him mad. I know the instant I hit it. He cries out, reaching down the front of his underwear to stroke himself.
That won’t do.
Pausing the attention on his ass, I rip his hand away from his dick. He whimpers. “F-fuck y-you.”
“Ask me nicely.”
He’s so pent up, seeking friction where there is none, drenching his boxers in precum. As much as he’s fighting me, he can’t deny how badly he wants this. Needs this. To encourage him, I lick his rim again.
“Motherfucker, ok, ok,” he pants. “P-please.”
Gripping his shaft, I thrust my tongue into him as far as it can go. Then two fingers. The moan that scrapes out of him is more heavenly than a whole choir of angels.
“Damn it, Sebastian,” he gasps. Moans. Trembles. “Fucking. Hate. You.”
“Mmm,” I hum against his hole. He clenches around my tongue. I pick up the pace as he begins rocking— fucking himself in my fist, then back onto my mouth. I curl my fingers to rub that spot.
“FUCK!”
His entire body locks up. Seizes. Then he breaks.
And I break right behind him.
I’m pissed I didn’t see his face when he came. Next time, I tell myself as I continue milking him of every drop, sucking his spasming hole and massaging his balls until he’s so overstimulated he’s jerking to get away.
I spin him around and admire the mess he made on his stomach, leaning forward to lap the cum off his abs. Once cleaned up, I pull down his shirt.
Heaving, flushed and furious, he glares at me. “That’s not happening again.”
I kiss the tip of his spent dick before tucking him into his damp boxers. “Who’s the liar now?”
He shoves me and this time I let him.
“I’m serious, Sebastian,” he snaps, fastening the button on his jeans. I get to my feet and snatch his chin.
“So am I. You’re mine. You told me so in that bathroom upstairs four years ago. You don’t get to take that back.”
He looks ready to head-butt me again. “And what does being yours mean, huh? Because if I remember correctly, I was just a fun little experiment you tossed aside when shit got too real.”
It hurts more than any of the physical blows he landed. But I get it. He doesn’t know everything I’ve done since then. For him. For us. Before I can argue my case, the front door slams and heels click in the hall.
Panic flashes in his eyes.
I release my hold on him, giving him some space as Mom walks into the kitchen.
She pauses in the archway, her gaze swinging from me to my stepbrother.
“What’s up, boys?”
“Nothing,” Cade hisses, shooting me a glare before bolting. His stomps ring out like gunshots as Mom and I stare at each other. She glances at the used plates and silverware pushed to either side of where I had Cade pinned.
“What happened to your face?”
The scratches.
“It’s nothing I didn’t deserve.”
Her nose scrunches in confusion. I don’t elaborate. Simply grab my keys off the counter and head to the laundry room.
“I made steak if you want some,” I call as I leave through the garage. Once in my truck, I shoot off a text to Darren, letting him know I’m on my way. Right below is a saved text thread. My thumb hovers over it.
Fuck it.
Don't sleep on the couch. I’ll be back in the morning.
Immediately, a text comes through.
Heathen:
I’m grinning like a fool.