Chapter 18
. . .
Reuben
A Few Days Later
The grip around my cock is tight and hot and so fucking perfect. I shove my hips up, hearing the sound of my panting mingled with Xavier’s breathy groans.
“Go harder,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his thin hips.
I know I’m going to leave bruises, and it should make me stop.
Instead, I tighten my grip. Rather than being angry, he just throws his head back, his moans getting louder.
His hair is long now, brushing my balls.
It tickles in the best way, and I rut up into him, speeding up as we near the end.
He’s covered in sweat and looks as infuriatingly good as ever.
I can’t stop my eyes from tracing over him, and why should I?
He’s laid out like a gift for me, riding my cock and arching back so his long body is on display.
He feels so familiar, and yet he’s a stranger now—this famous model who’s on magazine covers.
It’s so different from the way he looked when he was nineteen.
He’s a man now. The sunshine boy has been replaced by this vengeful stranger, and part of me mourns his loss.
I track the movements of his ribcage as he pants.
He’s too thin, but he wouldn’t thank me for telling him that.
The deal is we meet, we fuck, and we go our separate ways, and if he can fuck me over in the process, he’ll leave with a smile on his face that never quite covers up the air of desperation that clings to him.
It’s not healthy, and we shouldn’t be doing this, but I don’t know how to stop it.
“Have I lost your attention?”
My eyes jerk up to his. His face is so pretty, but his ocean eyes look decidedly stormy. I want to smile, but I wisely stop myself, instead just saying, “You never lost it.”
“Doesn’t feel like it to me.” He circles his hips, and my eyes screw shut at the bolt of pleasure that sparks down my cock.
“Fuck,” I cry out and ram up into him in long strokes. I grab his arse, still full and round, and bring him in tighter.
He gives a garbled whine, his eyes falling shut.
“No, look at me,” I snap. They fly open, and I look into the green-blue depths with satisfaction. I let go of his arse and pinch his hip. “When did you get this tattoo?”
He blinks, never stopping his grinding. “You can still talk?” he gasps. “I must be doing something wrong.”
“What does it mean?” It’s a tattoo of a little dish of ice cream that’s blue with cold and shivering.
My voice is hoarse and rough, and I don’t know how I’m managing to concentrate, but the need to know is stronger than the need to come. “Tell me,” I snap. Did he get the tattoo for a man he’s met?
“It’s …ah fuck. Right there. Harder, Reuben.” I stop moving, and he cries out. He slaps my chest, the sound loud in the room. “Why did you stop?” he says petulantly.
“I don’t reward rudeness.”
His eyes narrow. “Oh, really?”
I lie back, putting my hands behind my neck and pretending an insouciance I’m definitely not feeling. “I believe I asked you a question.”
“Two can play that game, Reuben. I can be still too,” he warns me.
He sits up, which makes him tighten around my cock, and I can’t help the way my eyes screw shut and the moan that seems to come from deep inside me. I force my eyes open and look up at him. “What does the tattoo mean?” I say again, my voice hoarse.
He licks his lips. His face is wrecked and sweaty with red flags on those sharp cheekbones, and he can’t seem to stop the small movement of his hips as he grinds on me, which contradicts his threat.
I’m no better because I’m screwing up into him in small, uncontrolled jabs. Sweat is running down my balls, and I can feel the heat all over my body. “I might actually have a stroke,” I say. “And it’ll all be your fault, Xavi.”
“Don’t call me that,” he snaps, his eyes wide and his expression outraged.
“Sorry, sorry,” I mutter, rubbing my hands over his hips in apology. The skin there is tight as a drum and silky soft. I want to touch him forever. “I forgot.”
I can see the moment he lets go of his anger, and he rests his hands on my chest, his fingers curling and his nails dragging over my nipple. I shudder, which forces me up into him again, and he moans.
“Tell me.” I don’t know who’s winning this battle.
It’s probably him, and I don’t care anymore, but I do need to know.
The thought that he’s marked himself with something permanent infuriates me.
It itches under my skin like I’ve got thistles under the epidermis.
That I don’t know why is an abomination to me.
“Is it for Max?” I demand, my worst fear revealed.
His head shoots up, incomprehension written all over his face, and I relax a little. “No, of course not. Why would you say that?”
“You fucked him.”
He shakes his head. He doesn’t seem to want to rub Max in my face, which is curious. I wonder why. Maybe he knows how much it hurts to know about them. That had been a dark few weeks until it ended.
His voice brings me back to myself. “It was nothing with Max.”
“Really?” He bites his lip, and I arch up fucking into him and then stop again.
He lowers his head, his breathing coming loud and fierce. “God, I want to come,” he says in a low voice. “Why is your cock so good? Why is it always so fucking good with you?”
“Tell me what it means.”
“It means revenge,” he snaps. “It’s a dish best served cold. So, it’s still all about you. Happy now?”
“Never. It’s not possible without you.”
His face brightens at my confession, and it’s so bloody awful and yet wonderful at the same time.
I give up and grab handfuls of his arse, fucking him hard with long driving movements that will leave me feeling like I’ve been working out for years tomorrow.
I’ll track his presence in the ache and pain of my muscles when he’s gone, the way I’ve been doing for years.
“Shit,” he shouts and lies back, his hair cascading over my thighs.
The angle is excruciatingly good, and I’m rubbing over his prostate almost continuously.
His hands fasten like claws to my thighs, and he meets my thrusts, the perfect counterpart to me.
“Oh god,” he moans. “I’m going to come. Keep going. ”
“You don’t need my hand?” I shudder all over like I’ve been electrocuted as his channel tightens around me. We’ve been going for an hour. My dick is sore and so hot and hard, but I still can’t stop moving.
“Keep going,” he says desperately. “Don’t stop.” His cock waves in front of him. The head is slick with precome. I redouble my efforts, grunting as I bottom out, clutching his hips. “I’m nearly there.”
“Come,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re such a good fucking boy.”
The words do it the way they always do, and he gives a scream and bucks on my cock. Ribbons of pearly come shoot out covering my belly and chest, and I fuck him through his orgasm.
“God, I need to come,” I groan. “Don’t stop. I—”
I come awake with a gasp. My cock is throbbing, the head damp, and my heart is racing like I’ve climbed a mountain. I lower my hand and fist my length. It only takes a few strokes, and I’m coming in pulses over my hand and the bed linen.
Finally done, I collapse back into the sheets.
I close my eyes, feeling the hot dampness under the lids.
I can’t believe I’d dreamt of Copenhagen again.
I’d been at a club celebrating the end of a shoot.
A boy had come up to talk to me. I’d indulged him, but my attention had flown away the second I looked over and saw Xavier glaring at me from across the dance floor.
He’d come to my room that night and fucked me senseless.
My dream might have been hot, but it cannot hold a candle to the actual night, and unfortunately, the aftermath was sourer.
He’d got up and dressed and then leaned in and kissed down my spine.
For a foolish instant, I’d relaxed into his touch, but then I heard him whisper, “See how he likes my sloppy seconds.” The door had closed behind him, and I hadn’t seen him for another few months.
I rub at my eyes with a shaky hand. I know why this dream is tormenting me lately.
It’s all about my fear that Xavier will pick up his weapons again and restart his epic battle of punishment.
But my waking, rational mind knows he won't do that.
He's healthier now in so many ways, and he's done some growing up too.
I think being so ill scared him, and my ego is big enough that I'll take some credit in bringing him here, the right place for a recovery.
But where do we go from here? I want so much for him to be happy, and even after all that's happened, I'm afraid I don't know if his happiness can be with me.
There are things I haven't told him, and they're bad enough that it's ridiculous to hope we'll ever have a future.
And they're also bad enough that I'll never tell him, because I'd rather die than make him more unhappy.
I shove the depressing thoughts away and sit up, pushing my mess of hair back. I keep thinking I’ll cut it and then never make an appointment, so it’s halfway down my back now. Vanity keeps it there because I know Xavi likes it. I’ve seen him eyeing it with a lusty gleam in his eye.
“Idiot,” I say out loud.
The curtains are open, and the Sound is spread out before me, glistening in the early morning light.
The window is open, letting in a cool draft.
It looks like a clear day, one of those rare ones that come in October when it feels like you’re having a last look at summer before the winter descends.
My mood brightens. He might leave soon, but I will have this day with him, and I’m going to enjoy what I’ve been gifted because he is a gift.
Sent by the universe to slightly level the scales of shit I’ve seen.