Chapter 10 #2
“Of course not.” My pride has the audacity to be a little wounded.
I let a lot of people into my bed over the years—especially when I realized how it infuriated Ivan when I allowed other men to touch me.
All those men were for our mutual torment.
Everyone else though, they were a source of comfort for those times when I just needed someone to hold me and make me feel good.
When I needed someone to remind me that I hadn’t sunk completely into that dark space.
That I was still alive. That my body was still mine.
“Hey. Listen to me,” Hawthorne says a bit more sternly to recapture my attention.
“I don’t care, Sol. I don’t care what you did while you were gone.
There was never anyone who could replace me.
Not a single person who could ever know your body like I do.
Nobody who can make you fall apart completely and help put you back together.
I’m not worried about anyone else. You’ve always been mine in every way that matters. ”
I can only nod for fear that I’ll start crying.
There’s no chance I ever would have admitted to myself just how badly I needed the affirmation.
Not that I need his approval…or maybe I do.
Maybe it’s the daddy issues—fuck him—or maybe it’s the Autistic trauma, but what I want more than anything is to be understood.
My intentions, my choices, my mind. He never fails me in that way.
Emboldened, I meet his eyes again. “Show me what I’ve been missing.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, but he fists my hair, wrapping the strands around it until it pulls taut.
“Trust me, I’m going to make you feel every inch of my absence.
But first, I’m going to have you dripping.
You’ll take me so easily, you’ll see.” His other hand clutches the round underside of my ass cheek and jerks me up and forward, so I rub against his hard length. “Just like you do in our dreams.”
Our. How could it be possible that he knows with such certainty?
“Did you think I wasn’t aware? That I wouldn’t know your touch anywhere—even through the astral plane, even when I’m not quite conscious?
” He slips his leg between my thighs, adding pressure as he lifts his heel.
“Do you have any idea how fucking hot it is to know that you needed me so desperately that you were willing to come to me in your sleep.” The words trail off in a groan.
“So many nights, you taunted me with what I wanted most, just out of reach. Riding me so fast and hard, running from everything that haunts you. That was cruel, my love.”
A gasp escapes me as he hoists me around his waist. “Wait,” I object, but he continues walking us toward the wall until my back presses into the tiles.
“Don’t worry, I’ll never drop you, Nightingale.” My thighs squeeze appreciatively in response. “Admit it; that was cruel of you.”
“I didn’t know you’d be aware.” My voice shakes. With me at this height, the head of his dick grazes my center, so he takes advantage, thrusting his hips forward.
“You thought you’d come visit me and I wouldn’t know? You thought you could ride me for your pleasure, and I wouldn’t feel that pussy wrapped around me, draining me greedily?” He tsks. “I’m more attuned to your presence than my own body.”
“I’ll make it up to you. Put it inside me. Let me fuck you like this.” I try to move, but his hold firms.
“You are going to make it up to me. But I’m calling the shots. I’m going to use you to relieve the ache that’s had me in a vise grip since you left.”
My stomach drops when he lets go, but my feet meet the short bench I didn’t notice beneath me.
“Let me get down.” I try to maneuver around him, but he cages me against the wall.
“I said I wouldn’t let you fall.”
“This isn’t going to hold me.”
He huffs, as if insulted by my lack of faith in the furniture.
“This bench can hold up to four-hundred-and-fifty pounds. Did you think I’d have a single thing in our home made that wouldn’t accommodate you?
” Taking my chin between my fingers, he tilts my head up.
“The rest of the world might not revolve around you, but mine does. Never forget that, Nightingale.”
It's things like that, those little confessions of devotion, that make him irresistible, my need doubling as I hold his gaze and see nothing but complete and utter reverence.
I’m not as good with words as he is, but there are other ways to show my appreciation. Sinking to my knees, I hold his gaze as I wrap my fist around his dick. Wrapping one hand around the back of his thigh, I bring him closer to my face.
“Fuuuuck,” he sighs as I give him a teasing lick, the slippery warmth of my tongue caressing his balls and then up his shaft.
Lacing his fingers through my hair, he tugs my head back.
“Stick out your tongue.” Eager for his direction, I do it without hesitation.
My mouth waters as he takes his dick in hand and lets the precum drip onto my waiting tongue.
It gathers there, pooling as I resist swallowing, savoring the taste of him.
“God, I’ve missed that sight. You look so pretty on your knees. ”
My skin heats under the praise.
“Swallow for me.”
Finally, my mouth closes and I swallow, my eyes fluttering closed in satisfaction.
“How does it taste?”
“Delicious. More, please.” I stick my tongue back out expectantly.
“Good, because I’m going to fuck your throat and then paint your face with my cum.
Remind you who you belong to.” I nod vigorously, and he plunges into me.
Jerking his hips forward, he picks up the pace, the punishment only beginning.
I relish every harsh thrust, digging my nails into his ass, urging him to continue.
“Feel how full that throat is?” He strokes his thumb along it.
“Such a perfect fit. This mouth was molded just for my dick.”
I hum my agreement and then hollow my cheeks, sucking him harder, trying to force him to come.
It has the opposite effect as he slows his hips to a halt.
“I decide when I come. You don’t get a say.
” When the tension ebbs, he rocks forward, building a steady pace, bringing my face closer and closer to the base, making me take every inch we both know I’m capable of.
My gag vibrates around him, and he groans appreciatively, stroking my hair.
“That’s it, baby. You’ve got this. You’re taking me so well. ”
With every bob of my head, my dark plum lipstick smudges up and down his slightly curved length. A sight I never want to forget.
Our eyes meet, the same thought passing between us.
“Put a kiss right there for me.” He points to a spot near the base.
Sliding him from my mouth, I instantly miss the hardness of him, but I comply, pressing a firm kiss to the spot of his choosing. I waste no time taking him back into my throat.
“Fuck. I have half a mind to get that tattooed on me.” He looks down at it with admiration. “Would you like that? Having a reminder of your pretty lips stained on me forever?”
My sucking intensifies as I bob my head ‘yes.’
“If you stay here with me, I’ll get it, but only if you stay. Only if you promise to be mine. Only if you let me fuck this godsend of a mouth and come on this pretty face whenever I want.”
“Yes, please. Use me.” I explore his shaft with my tongue as he drives himself into me.
There’s no resistance as I take him deeper down my throat, eager to worship every inch of his perfect dick that throbs inside me.
“Come anywhere you want.” I press him closer against me, taking him deeper until I feel like I can’t breathe, relishing in the stuffed feeling of it and how light my head becomes.
“Eyes up here, baby.” My spine tingles at his words. His hips meet my lips.
When I look up at him, I’m struck by his beauty.
The tattoos that wind around his arms, the piercings that adorn his face, his bright smile, his deep brown eyes, everything about him.
Pure desire strikes through me thick and hot as it drips between my thighs.
He truly is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.
Nobody has ever made my body respond like this, made me feel completely consumed by my lust. Eager to please, and desperate for pleasure at the same time.
“Are you ready for me?”
Closing my eyes, I nod just seconds before the warm spray of his cum coats my cheeks and mouth.
“That’s my girl,” he moans. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.”
Licking my lips, I savor the salty yet sweet taste while he helps me get to my feet and washes it from my face, carefully avoiding getting any in my eyes or nose.
“Thank you,” I say through slightly numb lips. Even though he’s no longer blocking my airflow, my thoughts still swim groggily. Between the hot water and all the excitement, I’m so relaxed that I could easily fall asleep if I were lying down.
“Mhmm. I think that’s all for today.” Hawthorne steps out of the shower briefly, returning with a towel wrapped around his waist and one that he quickly covers me with. I’m pleasantly surprised by the heat that envelopes me.
“You have a towel warmer?” I nearly moan. Transitioning in and out of the shower has always been a sensory nightmare. But this is lovely.
“We have a towel warmer, yes. And the floors are heated. I’ll show you how to use everything…later.” Fisting the fabric, he tugs me closer. “Right now, I’m going to get you fed and start that fire.”
“You don’t have to do everything for me, you know.” My hatred for feeling incapable awakens, even though I know he’s doing this out of kindness.
“I know”—he shakes his head, recognizing my stubbornness for what it is—“but you’ve been doing everything for yourself for how many years? I want to.” His hands move to my shoulders. “I take care of you, you take care of me. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“You’re right.” The defensiveness leaves as quickly as it came.
“I’ll let you have a few minutes, then I’ll meet you downstairs. No rush. All of your toiletries are in the cabinets and drawers on the right side.”
“Thank you.” It’s all I can say because I’m lost for words.
I forgot what it is to be cared for. How much lighter life can feel when you’re not struggling to do it all alone.
When you’re not left to fend for yourself against all the overstimulation, when you have someone to ease the burden of existing and all the demands of keeping yourself clean, fed… alive.
It’s always been hard for me to accept help or anything perceived as such, but with Hawthorne, it’s different.
I know that I’m not a burden because he tells me so.
But more than that, it’s the simplicity with which he does it.
He anticipates my needs, and he understands them.
He doesn’t begrudge me for being “difficult”, doesn’t tease me about how particular my needs are.
He sees me. He meets me where I need him. And he carries me the rest of the way when I need him to.
His ability to care for me isn’t what makes me love him or want to be with him. There are so many other incredible qualities to him—the genuine goodness in him, our shared love of music and the macabre, his undeniable charisma and openness—but I do appreciate it more than I could ever say.
I don’t want to lose this again. But it’s also a sharp reminder of all the pain I’ve caused him.
It was always important to me to give as much as he allowed me to take from him.
I wanted to be good for him, good to him.
But what if all I can bring him is suffering?
What if all I have to offer is danger simply by way of loving me?
It’s not your fault that evil has attached to you. As if he’s in the room with me, I can hear the chastisement in his voice.
I want to believe it, more than anything. I want to know without a doubt that that is the truth, but that would make me a liar.
He deserves to know everything he’s getting himself into. He deserves to understand the depths of what I’ve found myself in the middle of. He deserves all of me, wholly his, and able to love him just as much. Or I don’t deserve him at all.
But that’s easier said than done.