Hunter
I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than Charlie like this—naked, flushed, trembling against his refrigerator with tears clinging to his lashes and his cock leaking all over my fist.
He’s wrecked.
And he’s mine right now.
I stroke him slowly, torturously, keeping him right on the edge but not letting him fall. Every time his thighs start shaking and his breath hitches like he’s about to come, I loosen my grip or pull my hand away completely.
“You still good?” I ask, voice low but steady, thumb brushing gently over his hip bone, ghosting my lips over his. “Tell me if it gets too much.”
“Oh it’s way too much,” Charlie gasps, hips jerking desperately into my fist, “but don’t stop. Fuck, please don’t stop.”
The words go straight to my cock. He’s shaking, tears slipping down his flushed cheeks, and he’s still begging me to keep going.
I groan and drop back down, taking him deep into my throat in one smooth motion. He cries out, hands flying to my hair as I swallow around him. I nudge his legs further apart, spit-slick fingers sliding over his ass cheek and pressing against his tight little hole.
The second I apply gentle pressure, Charlie lets out the filthiest, most addictive moan I’ve ever heard—high and broken and desperate. My cock throbs painfully in my jeans. I’m so close to coming untouched just from that sound alone.
I push one finger inside him, slow and careful, working him open while I suck him harder, tongue swirling around the head on every upstroke. He’s so tight, so hot, clenching around my finger like his body is begging for more.
“Fuck— Hunter—” he sobs, hips twitching between my mouth and my hand, caught between sensations.
I add a second finger, stretching him open, curling them deep until I find that spot that makes him scream. His cock pulses on my tongue, leaking constantly now, and I know he’s right there again.
I pull off with a wet pop, still fucking him with my fingers, and look up at his ruined face.
“Not yet,” I growl.
He whines. “Please—I’m so close—I need it—”
I nip his hipbone, hard enough to make him jolt. “No.”
“You’re a fucking masochist,” he gasps, voice wrecked and shaky.
“Maybe.” I laugh low against his skin, because I’m not opposed to being tied up and feeling a little pain. “But right now, I’m enjoying making you the masochist.”
I curl my fingers again, pressing hard against his prostate while I stroke his cock with slow, torturous pulls. Charlie’s head falls back against the fridge with a thud, a broken sob tearing out of him as I bring him right to the edge again… and stop.
He cries out in frustration, hips jerking uselessly into the air.
I stand up slowly, keeping my fingers buried deep inside him as I rise. It’s awkward for a second—I have to curl them and press upward to maintain the angle while I straighten, but the broken moan Charlie lets out when I do makes it worth every bit of strain.
I pin him against the fridge with my body, chest to chest, my thigh wedged between his legs to help hold him up. My fingers stay inside him, curled tight against his prostate, stroking that spot with slow movements while my other hand wraps around his cock again.
Charlie’s mouth opens on a silent cry. His hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in hard through my shirt. Ah, there’s the pain. My healing skin isn’t quite all the way there yet, but I don’t stop him.
“Fuck—Hunter—you’re gonna kill me,” he whimpers.
His words make me pause for half a second as Robby’s voice tries to crawl in—Yeah, you’re real good at that, aren’t you? Killing people who get too close.
No. Not now. Not here.
I push the ghost away and lean in, biting Charlie’s bottom lip before soothing it with my tongue.
“That’s not the plan,” I growl against his mouth. “I’m not going to kill you, baby. I’m going to make you feel so good you forget how to breathe.”
I curl my fingers harder, stroking his prostate in tight, relentless circles while I pump his cock with long, firm strokes. Charlie sobs, legs shaking so badly I have to press my thigh firmer between them to keep him upright.
I keep him right there—right on the edge—for what feels like forever. Every time his cock starts pulsing and his breath turns into broken little cries, I slow down or loosen my grip just enough to pull him back.
By the time I’ve edged him three more times, he’s crying openly, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, body trembling violently against mine.
“Please,” he sobs, voice completely wrecked. “Hunter, please—I can’t—I need to come so bad—”
I rest my forehead against his, breathing hard, and press one last kiss to his trembling lips.
“One more,” I murmur against his trembling lips. “One more and I’ll let you come so hard you forget your own name.”
Charlie nods frantically, fresh tears slipping down his flushed cheeks. He looks completely wrecked—eyes glassy, lips swollen, body shaking so hard I have to hold him up with my thigh and my chest.
I drop back down and take him to the back of my throat in one smooth motion, sucking him hard while I thrust two fingers deep inside him, curling relentlessly against his prostate. No more teasing. I work him fast, moaning around his cock so he can feel the vibration.
Charlie’s whole body locks up.
His hands fly to my hair, gripping tight as his hips jerk forward. A broken, guttural cry tears out of him as he finally tips over the edge.
He comes so hard his legs give out.
Thick, pulsing ropes flood my mouth as he sobs my name, over and over, body convulsing with every brutal wave. I swallow everything he gives me, milking him through every shuddering pulse until he’s oversensitive and whimpering, weakly pushing at my head.
I pull off gently, pressing soft kisses to his twitching cock, his hip, his stomach, his pecs as I rise. He collapses forward into my chest the second I’m upright, face buried in my neck, still crying softly through the aftershocks.
I wrap my arms around him tightly, one hand stroking up and down his sweaty back, the other cradling the back of his head.
“You okay?” I whisper, kissing his temple. “Talk to me, baby.”
“So good…” he mumbles. “Holy fuck…I think I blacked out for a second.”
I chuckle softly and hold him tighter, letting him come down slowly in my arms. His legs are still trembling. His breathing is ragged. He feels so small and vulnerable like this, completely undone, and something fiercely protective surges in my chest.
I’ve never wanted to keep someone safe this badly.
I press another kiss to his damp curls. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
Charlie nods against my neck, arms wrapped weakly around my waist as though he doesn’t want me to move. Sofia chooses that moment to hop up onto the counter beside us, purring loudly like she’s proud of the mess we’ve made.
I scoop Charlie up properly, carrying him to his bed. He’s boneless in my arms, still trembling from the aftershocks, face tucked against my neck like he doesn’t want to let go. I tug the covers down with one hand and settle him gently onto the bed.
He looks ruined in the best way: flushed skin, swollen lips, tear tracks drying on his cheeks, cock still half-hard and glistening against his stomach.
I stare down at him, chest tight with something I don’t have a name for.
Charlie reaches up with limp arms and tugs weakly at the hem of my shirt.
“Off,” he mumbles, voice hoarse and fucked-out. “All of it. I want to feel your skin on mine.”
The quiet demand hits me hard. I don’t hesitate. I reach back and pull my shirt over my head in one motion, then shove my jeans and boxers down, kicking them aside. The second I’m naked, Charlie makes this soft, needy sound and reaches for me again.
I crawl over him, settling my weight between his spread thighs. The moment our bare skin meets—chest to chest, hips to hips—we both groan. He feels so warm, so soft, so alive under me. I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in as his arms wrap around my back.
“Better?” I murmur against his skin.
“So much better,” he whispers, legs coming up to hook loosely around my waist. His hands slide up my back, fingertips tracing over the still-healing burns along my shoulder and upper back.
The skin there is tight, pink, and sensitive as hell, but he doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t pull away. He just touches them like they’re part of me.
I shiver hard at the contact, a mix of pain and something deeper.
Charlie notices. His touch lightens immediately, becoming softer, almost reverent as his fingers ghost over the damaged skin.
“Still sore?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I admit against his neck. “But don’t stop. I like feeling your hands on me.”
He makes a small, understanding sound and continues stroking me there—gentle, careful, but not hesitant. It’s the first time someone’s touched the burns since they started healing, and the fact that it’s him makes my chest ache in a way I’m not ready to examine.
I bury my face deeper into his neck, breathing him in as our bodies press together, skin to skin. My cock is heavy and aching between us, trapped against his stomach, but I don’t rush it. I just hold him, letting the warmth of his body sink into mine.
Charlie eventually tilts his head and kisses the corner of my jaw, soft and sweet.
“It feels like…you need some relief,” he whispers.
I pull back enough to look at him. His eyes are clearer now, but still dark with want.
“I’m good,” I murmur, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip. “I just want to hold you.”
Could I be touch-starved? The thought hits me hard. It’s a very real possibility. Months of keeping everyone at arm’s length, and before that, Robby’s sharp-edged version of intimacy that always left bruises…I don’t remember the last time someone just held me without expecting something in return.
I’m going to soak up every second of this.
I roll us so I’m on my back and pull Charlie on top of me, chest to chest, his head tucked under my chin.
He comes willingly, melting against me with a soft sigh, legs tangling with mine.
His fingers trace lazy patterns over my collarbone, occasionally brushing the edge of the healing burns on my shoulder without hesitation.
We stay like that for a long time. Sofia curls up somewhere near our feet, purring loudly. And every so often he presses a soft kiss to my chest or my neck.
I run my hand slowly up and down his back and feel something tight in my chest slowly start to unwind.
“You’re warm,” Charlie mumbles sleepily against my skin. “I like it.”
I huff a quiet laugh and press a kiss to the top of his messy curls. “Stay here as long as you want.”
He makes a contented little sound and nuzzles closer, one leg sliding over mine possessively. His hand drifts lower, resting just above the worst of the burns on my shoulder blade, and I tense for half a second before forcing myself to relax.
Charlie lifts his head just enough to look at me, eyes searching mine in the dim lamplight.
Then he leans in and presses the gentlest kiss right over one of the older scars—the ones that didn’t get burned again last time.
His lips are warm and careful, like he’s trying to heal something with just that single touch.
My throat tightens so suddenly I can’t speak.
I just pull him back down against me and hold him tighter, burying my face in his messy golden curls.
He doesn’t resist. He just melts into it, letting me take what I need without asking for anything in return.
His arms wrap around my waist, one leg hooked over mine, his breath warm against my collarbone.
Eventually, his breathing evens out. His body goes heavy and pliant against me as sleep pulls him under.
It’s the best feeling in the whole fucking world.