Chapter 58
Tristan
Bright, hot pain and pleasure fill my body.
Each of Nick’s thrusts into my raw hole sends shocks of arousal through my body, my soul.
“Me, too,” I gasp. “I’m gonna cum, too.”
And then I do—without even touching my cock.
Nick murmurs praises as cum shoots from my cock. I am a mess, a broken shell of pleasure and pain and orgasmic ecstasy as Nick holds me steady, holds me down, his cock still buried to the balls in me.
“So perfect,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”
He runs his fingers through my cum, gathering as much as he can. Then, he slips his cock out of my hole, rubs my cum on himself, and plunges back inside.
I cry out as he buries himself in me, fucking me harder than before now that he has more lube—my cum.
It feels almost spiritual as he lets out a loud cry, pins me to the bed, rams himself into me, balls-deep, and cums.
We hold each other, clinging to each other, as he fills me with his cum. I don’t want him to pull out. I don’t want to be empty.
“Tristan,” he whispers, kissing my neck, my ear, my jaw.
“Tristan…” He kisses me on the mouth, and I kiss him back. “You did so good,” he says, kissing my tears, my cheeks, my eyelids. “So, so good, baby.”
When he finally pulls out, I feel raw.
I am bruised, marked by his lovemaking. He leaves me on my bed, a sprawled testimony to his strength, and returns moments later with a warm, wet towel, a glass of water, and an Ibuprofen.
“Here,” he says gently, sitting on the bed, and handing me the Ibuprofen. “Take this.”
I place the capsule on my tongue, then take the glass of water. I drink half of it in two gulps, swallowing the pill.
“Keep drinking,” he instructs, and I finish the water.
“Good boy. Now lie back down.”
I lie down, and he takes the warm, wet towel and lovingly cleans my ass. His touch is tender, soothing, wiping up the cum and spit.
“How do you feel?”
“My hole hurts,” I admit, “but it’s a good pain. Is there any blood?”
“Nope, not yet. We’ll keep an eye on it,” he says. “You did so good,” he repeats. “Now, I get to take care of you.”
He scoops me up in his arms and carries me to my new bathroom, which was one of the features of this apartment that excited me the most. It’s not huge, but it has a beautiful clawfoot tub, a real vintage piece that’s been resealed and painted white.
Nick sets me on my feet and begins filling the tub with hot water. While the tub fills, he guides me to stand in front of the mirror. He stands behind me, large hands on my shoulders.
We are both flushed from our lovemaking, coated in sweat and remnants of other fluids. We look exhausted and deliriously happy.
“I know I’ve told you you’re beautiful,” he says, “but can I say it again?”
I smile at him in the mirror. “I like hearing it.”
“You’re beautiful.”
He touches the marks he’s left on me: the bruises on my hips; the bite marks and hickeys on my thighs, my stomach, my neck; my raw nipples; my swollen hole.
“And these are beautiful,” he says. “These marks.”
I nod because I can’t manage any words right now. I don’t know what to say.
That this is more perfect than anything I could’ve ever imagined? That this is what I’ve always dreamed of sharing with someone, but never thought I’d be able to? That I’m so fucking terrified of what it means, that I can’t bear to give myself over to it fully?
Nick tilts my head to the side, stretching my neck muscles, and kisses the skin behind my ear.
“You know,” he murmurs into my skin between kisses, “I never thought I’d find something like this—that I’d find someone like you.”
I close my eyes and lean into his touch.
I can’t meet his gaze right now.
“You are an answer to so many questions I didn’t know I’d asked,” Nick continues. “I hope you know that.”
He gently takes my chin, turns me to face him, and I open my eyes. His expression is soft, searching, and I know, again, that he’s ready to say the words I might not be ready to hear.
But I want to be ready.
“I know,” I whisper. I shudder involuntarily. “I—I feel the same way. I’m sorry that it’s hard for me too—”
He places a gentle finger on my lips. “It’s okay. You don’t need to say anything. I know.”
The bath is full, and he turns off the faucet. Then, from my cupboard, he fetches a tub of Epsom salts, scoops some out, and dumps them into the water. He uses his hand to stir the bath. Warm, fragrant steam rises, curling through the bathroom and filling it with a pleasant aroma.
“There,” he says. “It’s all ready for you.”
He helps me into the tub. “Take your time,” he says as I sink into the soothing hot water. It’s just what my exhausted muscles need after the absolute ringer through which I just put my body.
“I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done,” he says, and then presses one last long, lush, lingering kiss to my lips.
I watch him retreat out of the bathroom, staring at the slope of the muscles on his back, the firm globes of his ass, covered in fine dark hair, and the impressive and muscular length of his legs.
He’s everything.
Everything I’ve ever wanted.
Everything I didn’t know I wanted.
I sink to my chin in the bath. “Oh, Tristan,” I whisper. “What are you going to do?”