Chapter 31
Lorenzo's fingers dug into my shoulders as we crashed through the bedroom door, his mouth never leaving mine. I kicked it shut behind us, the wood slamming hard enough to shake the frame. His hands were already tearing at my shirt, buttons scattering across the floor with soft clicks.
"Off," he growled against my lips, and I yanked his shirt over his head, needing to feel him, all of him.
We collided with the dresser, sending something crashing to the floor—a lamp, maybe. I didn't care. His skin burned against mine, every point of contact electric. I pressed him back against the wall, my mouth closing over the fluttering pulse in his throat.
"Rafael," he breathed, and hearing my name like that, rough and desperate, sent heat flooding through me.
His hands fumbled with my belt, and I helped him, shoving my pants down while he quickly discarded the last of his clothes.
He looked like something from a painting in the dim light, all golden skin and serpentine tattoos that seemed to writhe as his muscles moved. I couldn't get enough of him, couldn’t stop touching him, wanting him.
"Bed," I managed, but we only made it halfway before I had him pressed against the wall again, my teeth finding the junction of his neck and shoulder. He cried out, his nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood.
"Harder," he gasped, and I bit down until I tasted copper, marking him as mine. His whole body shuddered against me, his cock hard and leaking against my stomach.
I pulled back to look at him. His lips were swollen, neck already blooming with bruises, eyes glazed with want. "Turn around."
He obeyed instantly, bracing his hands against the wall. I pressed against his back, my cock sliding between his thighs as I bit the nape of his neck, then lower, leaving a trail of marks down his spine.
He pushed back against me, trapping my cock between his thighs, the heat and pressure making my vision blur. I groaned into his shoulder as I fucked the tight space between his legs. His muscles flexed with each thrust, drawing desperate sounds from my throat that I couldn't hold back.
"Christ," I gasped, my control fraying. The friction was maddening, so good but not enough, never enough. My hands gripped his hips hard enough to bruise as I chased the sensation, feeling him tremble against me with each slide.
I couldn't take it anymore. I hooked an arm under his chest and another behind his knees, lifting him easily despite his surprised yelp. "Bed. Now."
"Impatient," he murmured, but his voice was breathless.
I laid him on his back, drinking in the sight of him marked with my teeth, his cock flushed and hard against his stomach. I grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand, then hooked my hands behind his knees, pushing them up and back until his ankles rested on my shoulders.
The position left him completely exposed, vulnerable in a way that made my chest tight. I slicked my fingers, watching his face as I circled his entrance.
"Where did a priest learn such a kinky position?" Lorenzo asked as I pressed one finger inside.
"I'm a sinner," I admitted, working a second finger inside him, watching his muscles flutter and adjust. "Always have been. Even before... this. Before you. I've seen things. Watched things. The collar doesn't blind you to the world."
His laugh was breathless as I crooked my fingers. "Fuck—Rafael—"
"I know what I want," I said, adding a third finger, stretching him carefully, thoroughly. "And right now, I want to fuck you."
His hands fisted in the sheets as I worked him open, his cock twitching against his stomach with each press of my fingers. I could have done this for hours, just watching him, learning every sound he made, every way his body responded.
But my own need was becoming unbearable. I slicked myself with trembling hands, then lined up, his ankles still resting on my shoulders. The position folded him nearly in half, and when I pushed inside—slow, so slow—I could see everything on his face.
This wasn't like before. Before had been desperate, frantic, all sharp edges and violence barely contained. This was something else entirely. I sank into him inch by inch, watching his mouth fall open, his eyes flutter closed and then snapped back open to meet mine.
"Look at me," I whispered, bottoming out. "I need to see you."
Lorenzo held my gaze, his eyes wide and dark. The angle had him completely at my mercy, and when I pulled back slowly, I watched his throat work as he swallowed a moan.
"Don't hold back," I said, rolling my hips forward again. "I want to hear you."
His next breath came out as a whimper when I found the right angle, the right rhythm. His hands reached for me, fingers digging into my biceps as I fucked him harder. The bed frame creaked with each thrust, a steady percussion that matched the pounding of my heart.
"Harder," he gasped, and I complied, driving into him with enough force to push him up the bed. His cock bounced against his stomach, leaving wet streaks of precum on his skin that caught the light. The sight made my mouth water.
I leaned forward, changing the angle, and bit down on his collarbone hard enough to break skin. He cried out, his whole body clenching around me, and I had to still my hips to keep from coming right then.
"Mark me," he panted. "Everywhere. Want to feel it tomorrow when we—"
I silenced him with my mouth, not wanting to think about tomorrow, about what we'd face. Instead, I focused on now—on the taste of blood on my tongue, on the way his body opened for me, on the desperate sounds he made when I bit his shoulder.
I pulled out slowly, watching him shudder at the loss, then thrust back in hard enough to punch a cry from his throat. His teeth found my forearm where it braced beside his head, biting down until I felt skin break. The sharp pain shot straight to my cock, making me groan.
"That's it," I encouraged, fucking him even harder. "Mark me back."
He released my arm only to bite into my shoulder, my chest, anywhere he could reach even folded as he was. Each bite sent sparks through me, pleasure and pain blurring together until I couldn't tell them apart. Blood smeared between us, his or mine, I didn't know or care.
My rhythm faltered as I got close, my thrusts becoming erratic.
Lorenzo's cock was leaking steadily now, a puddle of precum pooling on his stomach.
I couldn't resist anymore and released one of his legs to wrap my hand around him, but didn't stroke.
Just held him, enjoying the way he pulsed in my grip.
"Rafael," he whined, trying to fuck up into my fist, but I kept my hand still.
"Not yet," I said, though my own control was hanging by a thread. "Want to see you come just from this."
I angled my hips, aiming for his prostate with each thrust. His back bowed, mouth falling open in a silent scream. His cock twitched violently in my hand, and then he was coming.
The first rope of white painted stripes across his stomach, his chest, catching on the ridges of muscle as his body convulsed. I watched, mesmerized, as more spurted from his untouched cock, pooling in the hollow of his throat, dripping down his sides. The sight was obscene, beautiful, perfect.
I released him to gather the warm fluid on my fingers, bringing them to my mouth. The taste of him—salt and musk and something uniquely Lorenzo—made me groan around my fingers. His eye tracked the movement, pupils blown so wide there was barely any gold left.
"Fuck," he breathed, watching me lick my fingers clean. "Rafael—"
I pulled out slowly, watching him clench around nothing, then thrust back in hard.
My hand returned to his spent cock, using his own release as lubricant to stroke him through the oversensitivity.
He writhed beneath me, caught between pushing into my hand and pulling away, little broken sounds escaping his throat.
"Too much," he gasped, but his body told a different story, already beginning to harden again in my grip.
I leaned down, changing the angle, and dragged my tongue through the mess on his chest. The taste flooded my senses as I lapped at his skin, cleaning him with my tongue while still fucking into him.
His hands tangled in my hair, holding me there as I sucked a bruise directly over his heart, mixing blood and cum on my tongue.
The taste of him pushed me to the edge. My hips stuttered, rhythm lost as heat coiled tight at the base of my spine. I bit down hard on his throat, right over his pulse, and he keened beneath me, his cock fully hard again in my slick fist.
He let out a loud cry as I drove deep one last time, my orgasm hitting hard and sudden. I groaned against his neck as I spilled inside him, my vision whiting out at the edges. Each pulse seemed to last forever, my body shaking with the force of it.
I pulled out slowly, watching my release leak from him, white against golden skin. The sight made something primal and possessive surge in my chest. Without thinking, I dropped down, spreading him open with my thumbs to watch more drip out.
"Rafael, what—" His words cut off in a strangled moan as I dragged my tongue over him, tasting myself mixed with him.
His thighs trembled on either side of my head as I licked him clean, savoring the obscene intimacy of it. It was filthy and perfect and everything I'd imagined in those dark moments alone.
"Fuck, fuck—" Lorenzo's hands fisted in my hair.
His thighs clamped around my head, ankles crossing against his back, holding me in place as he came for the second time. The warmth splattered across his chest, mixing with the mess already there, and I groaned against him.
When I finally pulled back, my mouth and chin were slick. But Lorenzo… He looked wrecked and perfect.
"Come here," Lorenzo rasped.
I crawled up his body, and kissed him, letting him taste himself on my tongue. We kissed slowly and deeply, all the desperation finally bleeding out into something softer but no less intense.
I lay on top of him, just enjoying the warmth, the feel of skin on skin while Lorenzo gently rubbed my back. Tomorrow those hands might kill again. Tomorrow, we both would bleed. But right now we were just skin and breath and heartbeats gradually slowing to match.
"We should clean up," I murmured against his neck, but made no move to pull away.
"In a minute." Lorenzo's fingers found the bite mark on my forearm and traced it gently. "Just... stay like this for a minute."
We stayed like that until our breathing evened out and the sweat cooled on our skin.
Eventually, I forced myself to move, grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom to clean us both up.
When I climbed back into bed, he reached for me immediately, and I pulled him against my chest. His face tucked into the space between my shoulder and neck, breath warm against my throat.
My hand traced lazy patterns down his spine while his leg hooked over my hip, keeping us tangled together.
That's when I felt the tremor in his hands where they rested against my ribs. I tightened my arms around him and pressed my lips to his temple. I didn't say anything. What was there to say? All I could do was hold him until it passed.
Lorenzo's breathing hitched. Once. Then again. His fingers curled against my chest, gripping tighter, and when his shoulders started shaking, I realized he was crying.
"I don't want to die." His voice came out broken, muffled against my neck. "I should be okay with it. I've been ready to die since I was seven years old. But I'm not. I'm so fucking scared, Rafael."
"I know," I whispered, holding him tighter. I'd never heard Lorenzo sound like this.
"But I don't want to lose you more." The words came out strangled. "If it's me or you tomorrow, if Constantine makes us choose—" His breath hitched again and wetness spread across my skin where his face pressed against my throat. "I can't lose you. I just found you. We just—"
"Hey." I cupped the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. "Don't. We're not doing this."
"But if something happens—"
"Then we face it together." I pulled back enough to tilt his face up, forcing him to look at me. Tears tracked down his cheeks, catching the dim light. "You hear me? Together. No heroics. No sacrifices. We both walk out or neither of us does."
His eyes searched mine, still wet, still terrified. "You can't promise that."
"No," I admitted. "But I can promise I'll fight like hell to make it true."
He made a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and buried his face back against my neck. The tears kept coming, but quieter now, his breathing gradually evening out as I held him. My hand moved in steady circles on his back, the way my mother used to do when I had nightmares as a child.
The shaking lessened slowly, my presence apparently enough to quiet the worst of it.
I shifted us slightly, pulling the sheet over our cooling bodies, arranging us so he was mostly draped across my chest with my arms locked around him.
"Sleep," I murmured against his hair. "I've got you."
His breathing deepened gradually, the tension finally bleeding from his muscles as he surrendered to exhaustion. I stayed awake longer, memorizing the weight of him, the sound of his breathing, the way his heartbeat felt against my ribs.
Just in case.