Milo
JASPER DIDN’T LET me turn the lights on when we stepped into the apartment.
The tension had dragged on for too long, and it was evident in the way he moved to help me take off my coat and shoes well before his own.
We navigated each other’s bodies in the dark, stumbling through the hallway and into my bedroom until I was flat on my back, his hands pressing into the mattress next to my shoulders.
“Do you trust me?”
Jasper’s breath was hot on my neck as I stared up at the ceiling, my arms wrapped around him. My nails dug into his back slightly, and I squirmed beneath him, irritated that he’d stopped kissing my favourite spot.
“Yes,” I said breathlessly.
“But you still came to my work.” He nipped at my skin, and I sucked in a breath.
He knew it wasn’t because I didn’t trust him, and he teased me about it anyway.
It was my stupid fucking brain. I’d created a scenario in my mind, one where he wasn’t at work and instead was with someone else.
It played out from start to finish, and by the end, my nervous system was convinced it had really happened, and I needed to see him to be sure it wasn’t real. But I couldn’t admit that.
“I needed to see you.” I settled for a half-truth.
I felt the way his lips curved knowingly against my neck, the soft rumble of laughter in his body vibrating against my fingertips.
Even though he was scolding me, he didn’t seem the least bit upset.
I worried that the novelty of my obsession would soon rub off, and he’d stop thinking it was cute. I was bracing myself for it.
His lips trailed along my jaw until they found mine, his hands slipping under my shirt and drifting over my stomach while he kissed me.
I shivered as he worked his way higher, the fabric bunching over his wrists.
His thumbs grazed my nipples, stroking over the pointed tips of the metal bars that went through them.
The contact was fleeting, and he moved on quickly, leaving me aching for more as he sat up to tug my shirt the whole way off.
This part never got easier. I closed my eyes and waited for him to continue, to let me get lost in the feel of his attentive hands and mouth and forget about all of the ugly marks on my skin.
And he did. I breathed a sigh of relief as his lips returned to my body, starting at my navel and working his way up to my collarbones.
His fingers ghosted up my arms; only for once, he didn’t breeze past the evidence of my pain. I tensed as his thumbs smoothed over the damaged skin almost apologetically, my heart leaping into my throat.
When he started to kiss the scars, my chest stuttered.
“Don’t,” I pleaded.
He paused.
“I need to see you, too.” His voice was low and smooth. “All of you.”
I felt the way the bed dipped beneath us as he moved, leaning over me and reaching for something on the nightstand. My stomach twisted with worry, and I couldn’t help but steal a peek at him, one eye opening in suspicion.
“What are you doing?”
“What I always do,” he said simply. “Taking care of you.”
I froze when I saw it—my camera in his hands, the lens pointed at me. I instinctively hugged myself, rubbing my upper arms in an effort to hide them from view. It was always me taking the photos. Being on the receiving side of it, lying beneath him, was terrifying.
Jasper kept the camera steady in one hand and peeled my arms away one by one with the other. I wanted to tell him to stop, that I wasn’t brave enough to do something like this, but when I opened my mouth, he cupped my chin and stuffed his thumb inside, pressing down on my tongue.
The shutter clicked.
“Seriously?” The insistent press of his thumb muffled my voice.
“What can I say?” He smirked. “I like seeing you with your mouth full.”
He pushed down harder and made me gag before sliding his thumb out of my mouth, smearing saliva across my cheek.
He handed me the camera, and I watched in silence as he lowered himself, nudging my legs apart, his fingers curling into the waistband of both my sweats and underwear, pulling them down slowly.
My cock bobbed against my stomach, the tip already glistening with precum. I was so embarrassed by how hard I was already that I almost forgot he’d given me the camera, a scrap of control in a situation I felt wildly vulnerable in.
A shudder rolled through me as he trailed open-mouthed kisses over my thighs, his lips touching every scar he found.
He lingered at each one, and as he moved between them, I pressed down on the shutter button, over and over, committing every press of his lips to a memory card that couldn’t lie—not the way my head would.
I was on the verge of fucking crying by the time his fingers wrapped around my neglected cock, his thumb circling over the weeping slit and wetting the rest of the swollen head, making me whimper.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured.
“Shut up.”
“You want to pretend you hate it so badly, don’t you?” He ignored me entirely, dragging his hand up and down my length with excruciating slowness.
My grip on the camera tightened reflexively. I did hate it. I hated the way sweet words made my chest tighten, my stomach twist, and words suddenly elude me. My first instinct was to reject it, to push it away, because I felt deep in my bones that they couldn’t be true.
It was easier when he taunted and teased me.
“It’s embarrassing,” I admitted quietly.
“Being loved by me?” He quirked a pierced brow.
I groaned, flustered. “Not that.”
Jasper straightened up, releasing my cock and then leaning in to press his forehead against mine. I was so sure I’d gone and ruined everything with my inability to just shut the fuck up.
“Do you know how hard it’s been?” His voice was strained, and there was a glossy film over his eyes. “Watching everyone else do a shit job at loving you?”
I shook my head, unable to speak without breaking down into tears.
He kissed me then, deep and slow. The slant of his lips over mine, the smell of his shaky breath through his nostrils, all of it made me light-headed. I wanted so badly to let myself have this, to have him.
“I don’t deserve it.”
His thumb brushed my cheek. “I do.”
My brow furrowed.
“I want you. I deserve you,” he said with certainty. “So you’ll just have to suck it up and deal with it.”
My heart squeezed as though he’d reached between my ribs and grabbed it with his bare hands. I wanted to be selfish, too. I wanted to soak up everything he gave me, everything he had—even if it didn’t feel like I’d earned it.
“Okay,” I rasped.
When he shifted back down and started touching me again, I didn’t say a word.
He started from the beginning, the press of his lips over my scars much harder than before, like he was making a statement, a silent vow.
I’d given up on not crying through it, my vision blurry with tears as I clutched the camera tightly, so swept up in the moment that I kept having to remind myself to click the shutter button while he worshipped every inch of skin the lamplight touched.
“You’re doing so well,” he praised.
The urge to say something snarky bubbled up, and I swallowed it down instead, letting the affirmation wash over me.
I was so raw with emotion that by the time he’d circled back to my cock, his grip firm, his lips grazing the tip, I was on the edge, my balls drawing up tight.
With one hand still holding the camera, I fisted a handful of his hair with a deep, shuddering breath, praying I wouldn’t cum before he’d even started.
“Fuck.” The air left my lungs in a hurry as the heat of his mouth enveloped me, my hips instinctively rocking into his face.
Jasper hummed, the sound vibrating around my cock and sending jolts of electricity up my spine. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked hard, his nails gently raking over my thighs and adding to the already overwhelming sensations rocking me to my core.
“That feels good,” I said, the words feeling awkward and foreign.
My honesty was rewarded when the head of my cock hit the back of his throat, his muscles contracting around my width and making my abs tense, way too fucking close to sending me over the edge.
The camera slipped through my fingers, slick with sweat. It was impossible to take pictures while he worked me so thoroughly, staring up at me with hooded eyes as he picked up the pace.
“Slow down—” I groaned. “You’re gonna make me—”
The cord of tension in my muscles eventually snapped, everything giving out at once.
My jaw slackened, but hardly any noise came out, the room falling out of focus for a disorientating moment.
He didn’t stop, his throat working to swallow every ounce of my release while my thighs squeezed and trembled around his head.
My softening cock slipped out of his mouth as he sat up, and I fully expected to see him smirking after I came so quickly. But he wasn’t. His cheeks were flushed, his breath ragged, and the look in his eyes was so tender it almost physically hurt to look at him.
He set the camera back on the nightstand and planted his hands on either side of my head on the pillow, his eyes raking over me as he hovered above.
His nose brushed against mine.
“You’re so perfect when you let me love you right.”
What the fuck did he want me to do with that?
I turned my head to the side in embarrassment, refusing to look at him.
He leaned down next to my ear. “I love you.”
My heart seized.
Hearing it outright was overwhelming. It made me forget how to function—like I suddenly couldn’t remember how to talk, walk, or swim.
I was drowning in it. The softness, the praise, the decade of evidence that pushed back against every effort I made to show him I wasn’t worth this type of love.
It was exhausting, trying to run away from something I wanted and already had.
I didn’t want to fight it anymore.
“I love you, too.”