Chapter 7 – Jace #2
He mutters out a distracted, “’kay”, settling further into the couch, his focus still on the TV as they start rattling off stats and interviewing some of the players.
In the shower, I can’t help but tug on my cock as I picture Charlie lounging back into the couch. Only this time I’m kneeling before him, his focus on me not the TV as he runs his hands through his hair.
He lifts his hips, tugging his zipper down so I can pull his jeans down his legs enough to free his hard cock. I lick my lips and his grip in my hair tightens, not letting me move until he’s ready.
In one smooth thrust, he hits the back of my throat, and I grip my dick tighter, groaning at the mental image before climbing out of the tub and digging through the back of the bathroom cabinet for the toy and lube I stashed there last week.
Taking advantage of the suction cup at the base, I step back under the pray of water and stick it to the tiled wall before squeezing a heap of lube into my palm.
Wrapping my hand around the silicone shaft, I close my eyes, returning to the fantasy in my head, picturing it’s Charlie beneath my palms.
“That’s it, get me ready for you,” he praises, his hands just shy of painful as he continues to tug on my hair. Finally, he orders me to stand, stepping around me so that he’s pressed up against my back. I lean into him, my breathing speeding up as I anticipate where this is going.
Suddenly, Charlie kicks my ankles, forcing me to widen my stance before he presses down on my back so that I’m bent over for him. He runs a hand down my spine before hooking into the waistline of my pants, slowly dragging them down my legs.
Lining himself up, he nudges his cock at my entrance and presses in. I force myself to relax, hissing at the slight sting from not being stretched beforehand but I welcome the pain.
I can’t hold back my grunt when he slams the rest of the way inside, my eyes rolling back at the pleasure and pain coursing through my body. Charlie pauses, giving me a moment to adjust before withdrawing until just the tip remains. Then he does it again.
His thrusts are rough, punishing, exactly what I need. My cock weeps and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to reach out and stroke it to get some relief, but I haven’t earned it.
A creak has my eyes snapping open, the fantasy disappearing as I blink, refocusing on my surroundings only to see Charlie standing just inside the bathroom door which is now wide open.
Fuck! That door is a finicky fuck and often opens on its own unless you lock it. Something I clearly forgot to do.
Our eyes connect and I freeze. There’s no playing this off. No ‘this isn’t what it looks like’, because it’s exactly what it looks like.
I’m bent in half with a seven-inch silicone dildo buried to the hilt in my arse.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Charlie breaks the silence, smirking as he kicks the door closed behind him and I swallow, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my head. Both heads.
“W-What?” I stutter, my mouth suddenly dry as I try to make sense of what the fuck is happening right now.
“I said…don’t let me stop you,” he repeats, waving his hand and walking further into the room until he’s standing right in front of me. “Keep going.”
I consider it. The tent in his jeans is obvious, and close enough that I could easily reach out and take him in my mouth, so I’m filled from both ends.
Fuck it. I think, my eyes meeting his as I grip the bath’s edge and slowly pull myself off the dildo buried in my arse until it’s almost free, then I slam back onto it.
My lips part and I drop my head before he can see the involuntary wince from the bite of pain that brings.
A hand on my chin halts me, his firm grip tilting my head up. I blink a few times, clearing the pain from my face before I’m forced to meet his eyes, too ashamed to let him see.
His eyes flick between mine, a soft smile stretching across his face as he leans closer, brushing his nose against mine. “Slower,” he whispers in my ear. “I want to savour this.” A shiver runs through my body as his voice brushes against my sensitive skin.
“I-” my words cut off and I swallow, not sure what I was going to say. Instead, I slow my pace, feeling every ridge and bump along the surface of the silicone shaft.
Charlie brushes his fingers against my jaw in a gentle embrace and my eyes close, pleasure coursing through me in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time.
“That’s it, just like that. Tell me Jace, before I walked in, what were you thinking about?” I try to look away, my cheeks and ears burning at his words, but he doesn’t loosen his grip.
“You,” I finally admit quietly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. What’d you say?” There’s a smug note to his voice and a glint in his eyes that gives me the confidence to repeat myself.
“You," I say, louder this time. "I was thinking of you.” He crouches down so were eye level and slips his hand from my jaw to the back of my neck, pulling me forward until our lips crash together in heated kiss.
“I was thinking of you too,” he confesses, his lips connecting with mine again. “Now-” he clears his throat, straightening up and moving his hand back to my chin, forcing me to look up as he looks down at me with a hunger that rivals my own. “I want you to come for me, Jace.”
I try. I really do. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t tip over that edge and a frustrated growl slips out. I haven’t been able to have an orgasm in years. Not since them.
I hate this feeling. I want to come. Every cell in my body wants to come for him and yet, my mind once again betrays me because no matter how much I want it, no matter how hard I try, I just…can’t.
My growl turns into a whimper as I admit, “I can’t.” I shut my eyes, not wanting him to see the shame written clear as day on my face but he refuses to let me hide, his grip tightening until it’s just shy of painful.
“Look at me Jace,” he commands, his voice firm, yet absent of any pity or judgement, giving me the strength to do as he says. “Why can’t you?”
“I-” I swallow, my heart racing for an entirely different reason.
I don’t know why I’m struggling to answer his question.
Logically, I know Charlie won’t judge me, he never has.
He’s always been there for me. So, why am I scared to say it?
So many people enjoy pain with pleasure, so why do I feel ashamed of it?
Probably because I don’t enjoy it. It’s just another thing my mind has betrayed me with because I don’t want pain. Not really. But I need it. It quiets my mind; with it I feel…well, I feel.
“Pain.” There. I said it. It’s just one word but it’s enough. A ringing starts in my ears, and I shut my eyes again. Fuck, I’m an idiot. I should have just faked it. I’m in the shower, the water would have washed away any evidence of an orgasm, or lack thereof.
But this is Charlie.
He’s never judged me, I remind myself. He isn’t going to start now. No matter what my mind tries to convince me, I know, I know in my heart he will never judge me.
With that in mind, I take a deep breath and meet his eyes once more.
Staring back at me, his eyes are completely free of judgement.
There’s no disgust. No pity. Just Charlie.
He looks at me with an openness and understanding that I haven’t found anywhere else.
Not even my therapist looks at me with that level of understanding.
His eyes flick between mine, his thumb caressing my jaw as he searches for what, I don’t know. After a moment, a small frown appears between his brows and the smile he gives me tells me he sees far more than I intended.
“Do you need pain because you want it? Because it’s something you enjoy?” Or do you need pain because you think it’s what you deserve?”
His question knocks the air out of my lungs, and I rear back, accidentally impaling myself on the dildo. Fuck, I’d kind of forgotten about that.
I don’t know why his question catches me off guard, but it does.
His words penetrate what six years of therapy have failed to do.
Making me question whether I have been using pain during sex as a way of unknowingly punishing myself because I feel that after everything, it’s what I deserve.
Blaming myself for Bonnie getting hurt, for us being separated, for my bipolar diagnosis, for… everything.
“I…I don’t know,” I answer honestly, my mind reeling from the revelation.
Charlie steps into the tub, still fully clothed and sits on the edge, lifting my head into his lap, not at all bothered by the water now soaking his clothes
I let out a half chuckle, half sob at the absurdity of it all. Me still bent over with a dildo in my arse, Charlie fully clothed and drenched.
But his question has made me realise something…I don’t want to blame myself anymore. I don’t want to hate myself anymore.
I’m tired of punishing myself for things I don’t deserve to be punished for.
I want…I want to forgive myself.