Chapter 11 #2
‘Perfect-you,’ he signs, and then he slowly pulls it out, my bottom lip pulled through my teeth as it finally slips free. My ass is still on display for him, my knees still against my chest, and he takes that opportunity to lean in and press a wet, messy kiss against my hole.
I grunt as sparks of pleasure shoot through me, and my softening dick makes a feeble and failed attempt to get hard again.
Archie pulls back, then kisses my soft shaft before sitting up all the way, and his gaze locks on my flushed chest as he opens his jeans and pulls his dick from a pair of silky black boxers.
As I lie there, he cups his cock and jerks it roughly—over and over, fingers white with tension, his wrist bending and flexing in a way that has to hurt, but I can tell he likes it.
With three more tugs, his hand slams against the wall right above my head, and he gives a loud, heavy shout.
His cum spills across my gaping hole, and I’m unable to stop myself from reaching between my legs to feel it.
I drag my fingers through, pushing a bit of him inside of me. It’s the most unsafe and frankly foolish thing I have ever done, but in the moment, I’m feeling reckless, and it’s hard to give a fuck.
Archie watches me, and then his chin hits his sternum, his chest heaving as he wrings one more spurt of cum from himself.
It falls against my balls, dripping down my crack, and he drags his gaze from my ass to my eyes and holds them there, adoring and reverent.
It doesn’t last long, but the moment lingers more than it ever has, and I know that means something.
Eventually, he runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he tucks himself away, and the moment passes.
‘Shower?’ he asks in the silence.
I let my legs fall to the mattress, feeling the sticky mess he made there. I don’t know why it feels so strange to see that question linger in the air. Maybe because it’s so normal after what we just did. But Archie doesn’t seem like he regrets anything, and I sure as hell don’t.
I think maybe this is his attempt at being kind.
‘Yes.’ I roll over, and he helps me up. My legs tremble, and I notice a sting in my ass from being fucked with a rough knife hilt, and I know this feeling is going to stay with me.
As I attempt to regain the strength in my knees, Archie walks over to a closed door and pulls it open, revealing a very basic bathroom.
Through the door, I can see a shower, toilet, and sink, which are all we really need.
The shower’s a stall, but it’s big enough for two people, and I wonder if he plans on showering with me.
I peer over at him as he stands, leaning against the doorframe, his fingers dancing in little patterns against his thighs. He looks so good like that—powerful yet relaxed in a way I haven’t seen him before. His mouth is set in a soft line, and his eyelids are heavy, and god, he’s so beautiful.
‘Join me?’ I ask. The dribble of his cum between my cheeks starts to dry, and it’s not entirely comfortable.
His eyes flash. ‘No.’ I feel a pulsing sting of rejection, but it doesn’t last. ‘I want to…’ His eyes squint, and his fingers fumble. Then he adds, ‘Ass-eat-yours.’
My cheeks flame, and his lips twitch as he watches me struggle with the answer I don’t end up giving him.
‘Hungry.’ He makes a C with his hand and runs it down his throat once before pausing. It’s the correct sign, but then he does it several times more, letting me know he’s horny too.
And despite him sucking my brains out through my dick a few minutes ago, so am I. I take a step closer to him, then another. Then I slide my palms up his chest and push up onto my toes as he tilts down for the kiss I desperately want.
His mouth is soft, pliant, not as possessive as it was before, though his hand curls back into my hair and holds me there for a long moment. When it’s over, he doesn’t let go completely. Instead, he touches the side of my processor and lifts a brow, tilting his head to the side.
“Yes, please,” I say aloud. It’ll be nice to have a hearing break. I adore the punched-out, heavy moans he makes when we’re together, but tonight has been a lot.
Archie’s fingers are delicate as they dislodge the magnets and pull the processors away from my ears. The weight off is negligible and yet a relief, and I let myself adjust to my sudden, profound deafness as Archie walks over to the counter and sets them on the side of the sink.
He turns back to me and blinks rapidly as he meets my gaze before it falls again to somewhere around the middle of my chest. ‘Deaf?’
I know what he’s asking. I make the sign for profoundly Deaf. ‘Me,’ I add.
‘Born?’
I shake my head. ‘Sick when I was little. I don’t remember hearing.’ Mostly, but it’s complicated, and I don’t really want to get into that right now.
Although I should expect it, there’s a relief in my chest that Archie doesn’t ask anything else or try to apologize or ask me if I’m sad or whether or not I prefer life with my CIs on.
Instead, he accepts my answer for what it is, a part of me, just like the CIs are part of me when I choose to hear, and he drags a touch along my shoulder before leaning in to kiss my neck.
‘Shower,’ he signs when he pulls back.
I turn, reluctant to leave his touch but still desperate to wash some of the drying cum out of the crack of my ass.
The shower itself isn’t anything fancy. It’s a glass door with a silver showerhead and a matching knob that turns left to right for cold and hot.
I twist it, then stick my hand under the spray and wait for it to warm.
When it’s just shy of scalding, I step under the water and let out a small sigh of pleasure as my muscles immediately start to unknot.
It would be better with Archie in here next to me, but there’s something to be said about the way he’s standing a few feet from the open door, watching.
He props his shoulder against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets, and I make a little show of arching my back and gently running fingers over my hole as I use soap to wash the evidence of him left behind.
The tension between us is growing—the want. The need. I can feel it like it’s a tangible thing, like static in the air.
And it doesn’t last long. Archie prowls toward me, pushing the door all the way open, and he grabs me almost tight enough to hurt, but not quite.
Spinning me around, he presses my hands to the cool tile wall and gives them one hard squeeze as if to say, “Keep them there.” And that is easy enough.
His orders are simple, and my body seems to crave obedience when it comes to him.
My eyes close as he tugs my hips closer to him, and then his fingers spread me wide.
He must fall to his knees after that because I can feel the warmth of his breath hitting my hole as he stares at me.
And before I can beg him to do something—anything—he gets to work.
He licks and presses sucking kisses along my rim before his tongue pushes inside of me.
He does it with such focus, like this is his sole purpose in life.
Like he was made for bringing me pleasure and nothing else.
I’m already worked up, so it doesn’t take long before my dick is throbbing hard and begging for some kind of touch, but Archie doesn’t wait for me to give in and move my hand from the wall.
He wraps his hand around my cock and strokes me in time with the way his tongue thrusts into my ass, and a shout erupts from my mouth as I let go.
With hazy eyes, I watch my release swirl down the drain, then turn to find Archie on his knees, water running down his face, his curls tight, soaked ringlets over his forehead.
His lips are red and puffy, his cheeks pink with a flush, and I can tell from the rise and fall of his chest that his breathing is heavy.
I shut the water off and step toward him, and his hands skate up my wet, trembling skin.
My hand drifts into his hair as he presses his forehead to my stomach, breathing deeply.
I’m not really sure what to do next. Every time we’ve done this before, he’s run off. We’ve been in a game of fox and rabbit since we met, and as I push my fingers into his wet hair, I realize I don’t want that this time.
This time, I want to stay.
I want to curl up beside him, as close as he’ll let me be. I want to wake up and see his face and know that this was wanted. That I was wanted. That none of this was a mistake.
I look down again, and this time, he meets my gaze. ‘Bed?’ he mouths.
Something unknots in my chest, and with a breath, I offer him my hands, and he rises to his feet. Reaching behind him, he yanks a terry cloth robe from a hook, wraps it around me, then uses the belt to pull me across the threshold of the bathroom door and back into the room.
My gaze catches on the coffin, a moment of fear prickling up my spine, because what if he wants to sleep in that?
But it’s not on offer, it seems. He turns down the bedsheets, then climbs in and pulls me against him.
I’m half expecting Archie to roll away from my touch the moment we’re settled, but instead, he octopuses his arms and legs around me, keeping me tight against his chest.
I’m not used to this. It’s been far too long since I’ve fallen asleep in another man’s bed, but once again, it’s a reminder that whatever this is—whatever it’s going to become—in his arms, I’m safe.
And that is the only reason I can close my eyes and let everything else go.