Chapter 69
Jamie
“Want a tour?” I ask, suddenly agitated.
I’m just putting off the inevitable, and it makes me feel pathetic.
“Does having me here make you uncomfortable?” He asks.
“Not at all.”
He gives me a condescending look. “You don’t have to pretend, you know?”
“I’m not pretending.”
“If me being in your house is a problem…”
“It’s not. I asked you to come.”
“Okay.”
He steps closer and puts his hands on my shoulders. I flinch at his touch, as if his fingers burn.
“Sorry,” I say immediately, realising he might take it the wrong way.
“Relax, Captain.” His hands slide up to my face. I tense, but this time his touch is bearable, almost comforting. “It’s still you and me.”
It’s just him and me. Only us. Only his voice. The only one I need to listen to.
I move closer and press my lips to his. My hands slide down his shoulders and trace the curve of his back. I’m desperate to feel him close. I want to lose myself, to be carried far away from it all — anywhere, as long as it’s with him.
He presses into me, as if he can read my thoughts, and deepens the kiss. Everything else falls away, taking me with it.
I lead him towards my bedroom, still holding on to him. I don’t want to wait any longer. Right now, his presence and his sweetness are the only things that can quiet everything else.
I sit on the bed, and he settles onto my lap. He doesn’t stop kissing me, touching me, making me feel he is here and has no intention of going anywhere.
He grabs the edge of my T-shirt, and I am forced to pull away from him to slide it over my head. He takes off his shirt as well and goes back to kissing me, his hands trailing down my back while mine tangle in his hair.
He gently pushes me back and stretches out over me, his weight both comforting and arousing.
I grab his buttocks with both hands, feeling the firm muscle beneath denim, and guide him along my body; his erection pressing against mine through layers of fabric, his body sliding over mine, his mouth claiming mine, and his tongue forcing its way past my lips.
I might come at any moment now, and I still have my jeans on.
I push him aside and take control. I sit on him and, with trembling hands, begin to undo the buttons of his trousers. The Doctor covers my hands with his, and they instantly stop shaking.
I don’t look at him, or I won’t be able to go on.
With his help, I pull off his trousers and toss them onto the floor. Undoing my own is even harder.
The Doctor rises and helps me again. He unbuttons them for me, and I stand to take them off. I stay in front of him while he sits on the bed, watching me. Then he reaches out his hand, and I take it. If he hadn’t, I probably would have run to my closet to hide.
I kneel on the bed and lean over him. My breath reaches him first, then my mouth, as I savour every inch of him.
His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer; he rises to meet me, asking for — and taking — exactly what he wants.
I move down his chest, reach the waistband of his briefs, and slowly slip them off, revealing his erection just waiting to be released.
I return to him. My hands travel along his thighs, over his hips and chest, finally up to his face.
I lie on top of him, smothering him with my need to feel him.
For the first time in my life, I feel truly bound to someone.
The Doctor moves me on top of him, his hands firmly on my buttocks; his moans, his eagerness. His fingers slip under my undies, squeeze again, then move quickly, seeking a way to speed things up.
When he starts to torture me, pressing against my opening, I curl up against his neck and push my hips back to meet his hand.
“I need something,” he whispers in my ear, his voice rough.
I lift myself just enough to rest my elbows on either side of his head. I meet his eyes, and finally, the words come.
“I need something. You. I need you.”
This doesn’t feel like freedom. It feels like a sentence.
His hands slide up to cradle my face. He holds me still, as if he can keep me from breaking his gaze.
“Do you want to fuck me?”
“I want to make love to you,” I say, my voice tight with anxiety.
Saying it out loud hurts even more.
The Doctor lifts himself just enough to press his lips to mine. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask.
It takes everything from me — all my anguish, all my torment, all my pain.
My guilt.
In return, he gives me calm, sweetness, peace.
Forgiveness.
He moves me gently to the side and breaks contact to slip off my underwear, then returns to my face.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his fingers stroking me softly.
The Doctor knows everything, even though I haven’t said a word.
“And you?” I whisper.
His answer is a kiss. A kiss that melts my soul — a kiss I’ll remember whenever I try to kiss someone else and feel nothing.
Because I am his, and I will never be anyone else’s.
I leave him waiting on the bed while I reach for my bedside table. Yes, Doctor, I have one too. It’s just like yours. I bet it has the same effect on you.
I grab a condom and a bottle of lube, then go back to him. When he takes my hands in his, I realise I’m shaking.
“Come here,” he begs softly. “Come to me.” He lies back on the bed and pulls me down with him.
His hands gently touch my face, his eyes locked on mine — warm, so kind.
Everything else in my world is about to fall apart, except for this: he and I, together, bodies pressed against each other, his touch, my mouth crushing against his, my erection rubbing against his.
“Touch me,” he says, with a deep, steady voice. “Do you want to touch me?” Insecurity creeps into his words.
“Yes,” I breathe into his mouth. “I do.”
I bring two fingers to his mouth. The Doctor parts his lips, and I slide them inside. He sucks on them, lust in his eyes, desire in my veins. Then I trail my fingers down his chest and over his torso, reaching his erection, hard and stretched towards me. I take it in my hand and stroke it slowly.
The Doctor moves onto the mattress. His moans travel down my spine, echoing through my core; I go down and caress the tip with my lips.
The Doctor watches me, breathlessly, as I take him into my mouth.
He slides his fingers into my hair, the gentle pressure urging me to take him deeper, to go faster. But I have other plans.
“I want to feel you. Can I?” I ask.
“Yeah. God, yes.”
I reach for the bottle of lube, then wet my fingers with it. I come back to him. I tease him with my tongue while my fingers begin to massage his opening.
“Yeah,” he says, panting. “Fuck, yeah.”
I play with him, fingers curling, pressing, torturing. My tongue caresses his cock. His eyes, darker than ever, don’t miss a single beat of this. I go deeper, and the Doctor catches his breath, while my cock pulls between my tights.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Everything’s great,” he pants.
I push harder, stretching him, preparing him for me.
The Doctor’s moans fill my head, silencing everything else.
“Feels good?” I ask.
I need — I want — him to say it.
“Feels fantastic.”
I keep pressing and teasing, his cock between my wet lips, his fingers scratching my scalp.
“Fuck…” the Doctor swallows his own breath. “Fuck…” he keeps repeating, arching his back, moving desperately on my bed.
“Doctor…”
“Yes.”
“God, Doctor… I just want… I only want to be inside you.” It sounds like a prayer.
“And I want to feel you,” he says, his voice trembling more than mine. “All of you.”
His last words shake me to my bones.
Suddenly, I’m not sure anymore I can do this. Us. Suddenly, I’m not sure I can survive long enough to have him for myself.
“Hey.” The Doctor rises and comes to me, his soft mouth just brushing against mine. “If you’re having second thoughts…”
“No. I’m not.”
He studies me for a moment.
“I want it, Doctor. I want you so fucking much.”
The Doctor bites his lower lip seductively.
“I want you. I want you. I want you.” I repeat it like a mantra as the Doctor kisses me deeply, his breath coaxing my lungs to work, his hands caressing me with reassuring pressure.
“Do you want me to help you?”
I nod, tears thick in my throat.
He grabs the condom from the bed, tears the wrapper open, and rolls it on. Suddenly, I feel foolish. I feel like someone who doesn’t know how to love a man like him the way he deserves.
Because that’s how it is, Doctor: I can’t love you. But I love you anyway. In my way, the wrong way. The only way I know.
He smooths lube over me, his hands warm and sure against my skin. Then he kisses me again, and the embarrassment — the feeling of not being enough beside him — begins to fade.
He lies back on the bed and gently draws me down with him, guiding me into place.
He wants me like this: face to face, eyes locked on each other. I could never deny him, even if it means laying myself bare, completely exposed before him.
I brace my hands beside his head and settle between his legs. I hold my breath and push into him, just a little. Fear grips me. I don’t want to keep going. I don’t want this to be the end.
I don’t want to hurt him.
His hands slide slowly down my back, over my buttocks.
“I want you. All of you,” he says. Then he nudges me forward, and I slip deeper into him.
Friction. Heat. Love.
I simply shatter inside him.
Jamie the Captain dies here today, in this room, in this moment.
And I am the one who killed him.