Chapter 15 Realizations
Cade
Not even in his filthiest dreams could Cade have conjured this vision of Tristan, sobbing from repeated denial and begging for his touch.
He was trussed up and blindfolded, his cheeks wet with tears, his lips red and puffy, his skin branded, his dick leaking and rock-hard.
The sight was a gut punch so irresistible that Cade's breath caught, and the words gushed out, raw and honest.
"You're so fucking beautiful like this, Tris."
Emotions surged unexpectedly, but he pushed them away, and then he was lost in the sweet sounds of Tristan's sobs, his howls of frustration, his desperate pleas, each one tugging at Cade's lower gut and cracking away another layer of restraint.
Words flowed from his mouth, but Cade was hardly aware of what he was saying.
He was losing control, barely hanging on, surrounded by the smell and taste and feel of Tristan.
When the other man's body finally clenched around his cock, he let himself follow, spiraling higher and higher and then into that delicious free fall.
As he basked in the tingling aftermath, his shallow breaths slowly returned to normal, and his body relaxed. Still, he lay there, not yet willing to move, to break this contact, to let this moment slip away.
As his foggy mind cleared, he registered what had happened. Tristan had come untouched on command.
That had to be the hottest fucking thing ever. Jesus, scenes this intense and satisfying could easily become addictive, and he wondered if he'd spend his life chasing this high.
Fuck, maybe he already was addicted, and Tristan was his drug.
If he had time, he'd love to see what else the redhead would enjoy. Spanking would definitely be high on the list, maybe other impact play, or...
He could almost hear his thoughts screech to a halt like a fucking record scratch, and berated himself for forgetting reality, blaming it on the post-orgasm brain haze.
The dark thoughts sparked irritation and resentment, so he punted them aside and switched his attention back to the man under him. He carefully stripped off the blindfold and watched Tristan's pretty face as he squinted from the brightness.
"There you go, you did so well," he praised as he tenderly kissed swollen, parted lips. "I'm going to clean you up, then we'll get you untied."
Tristan's cloudy eyes focused on him, but he didn't respond, so Cade pulled out and cleaned him up, untying his hands and gently rubbing the red marks circling his wrists.
"Do your wrists hurt? Are your hands numb?"
"No," came the barely audible reply.
"Are your shoulders or legs sore?"
"Mmm-hmm."
Interpreting that as a yes, Cade massaged Tristan's muscles, realizing with mild embarrassment and surprise that he had never devoted so much energy to aftercare.
Yes, he always gave his subs what they needed after a scene, but he never felt this invested in doing everything possible to make them content and comfortable.
Jesus, he was in so much trouble.
Reluctantly pulling his hands from soft skin and sleek muscles, he suggested, "You should shower now, then you can sleep."
"Mmm-kay," the sleepy man hummed, but made no move to get up.
"Come on. Let's go."
Auburn eyebrows drew together, but there was no other movement, and thinking back to the day before, he realized what Tristan wanted.
"I suppose you want me to shower with you."
Cade got a hum in response, and he sighed, fully aware that he forgot the word 'no' whenever this man asked something of him.
Yep, he was screwed.
"Come on then."
When Cade helped him under the hot spray, Tristan tucked his head under his chin and wrapped his arms around his waist. Cade soaped up Tristan's back, shoulders and ass, absorbing the contented sighs and hums of pleasure, and experienced another surge of satisfaction that this man reacted to him this way and trusted him so implicitly.
He didn't deserve it, but he wished he did.
Rotating Tristan's body, he pressed his chest to the other man's back, then reached around to wash off his chest and stomach. He moved his hand down, intending to do a cursory pass over Tristan's dick and balls, but when he pulled away, there was a grunt of protest.
Leaning down, he whispered, "What?"
"Do that again," was the soft, murmured reply.
"What? This?" he teased, stroking his soapy hand up Tristan's soft cock from base to tip.
"Mmm."
"Fuck, Tris, you're insatiable. You want me to keep going?"
"Feels good."
"Yeah?" Cade asked, shocked that this man craved his touch, even when exhausted and recently ruined. He continued his long, slow strokes, fascinated by the cock growing hard in his palm.
"Mmm. Love your hands."
Chucking, he asked, "You like when they touch you?"
"Yes, so much," Tristan answered, his voice breathy.
"Yeah? Should I keep going? Make you come again?"
"Yes. Don't stop."
"You're so greedy."
As Tristan hummed and lazily fucked into his hand, Cade continued to tease and pull until he heard a gasp, then felt warm cum coat his fist. He stopped when the redhead hissed from overstimulation, then rinsed off his hand and washed him properly this time.
When Tristan was clean and not begging for any more hand jobs, Cade dried him off, rubbed lotion on his reddened wrists, and gave him more painkillers.
Back at the bed, he helped Tristan under the covers and then slid between the sheets.
The other man's warm body immediately snuggled up to him, and Cade reached out an arm and pulled him close.
Though Tristan slept, Cade was wide awake, thinking about the last couple of days and trying to decipher the emotions that swelled and twisted into a jumbled mess.
He had tried to keep things uncomplicated, to stay away from Tristan, but had failed miserably.
Yesterday, he had broken down, revealing way too much of himself, somehow clinging to this man, desperate for something real and solid.
In the outside world, Tristan was in danger, and Cade was his shield.
But in this cabin, Tristan was his kryptonite, making him feel tender emotions he had never experienced before, making him feel weak.
When he said please, Cade wanted to give him everything, to do anything to make him happy; he wanted to hold and protect and care for him — after he wrecked him.
His instincts screamed that this man belonged to him and only him.
Was that selfish? Sure.
Was it unhealthy? Definitely.
Was it fucking insane? He didn't care.
Mine. His caveman brain was utterly clear on that point.
Was that love or obsession? Was there a difference? He had no fucking clue.
But none of it mattered because he could never give Tristan what he needed. He had nothing of value to offer someone, not stability or respectability, not a family or morality. All he could offer was protection and some damn good sex, and that wasn't enough to build a future on.
He had no right to ask Tristan to stay with him, no right to keep him here in this shitshow excuse of a life.
So he knew, when the time came, he'd let him go.
The awkwardness Cade sensed earlier in the day, before Annabeth's phone call that afternoon, resumed as they ate a late dinner.
Tristan was still uncharacteristically quiet, and when they sat down to watch a baseball game, he kept throwing surreptitious glances in Cade's direction.
His bouncing leg was a strong tell that he was nervous, and his anxiety was contagious.
A couple of times, he stared at him as if he was thinking hard about something important, but when he opened his mouth, it was only to comment on the game.
When Tristan suddenly blurted out, "Can I talk to you about something?" much louder than was necessary, the outburst startled him.
Turning to the other man, Cade took in his stiff posture, pinched face, and still-twitching leg and figured this conversation was going to be uncomfortable.
"Sure," he answered warily.
Tristan sucked in a deep breath and angled himself to face him. "I wanted to ask you ab — "
Cade's phone buzzed, cutting off Tristan's thought, and they stared at each other for a beat, silently acknowledging that phone calls always seemed to interrupt them. Cade rolled his eyes before answering.
"Hi Annabeth, what have you got?"
"Good news. Tag and Young saw the van at the warehouse and are following it now. I'm here with Hamm."
Turning to Cade, his eyes shining with hope, Tristan said, "Maybe that's the van that took Natalie. Maybe it will lead us to her."
"Let's hope."
Hamm's deep voice rumbled through the speaker, "Tristan, I'm Hamm. Nice to meet you."
"Hello, Mr. Hamm. Thank you for helping me."
"We're happy to. And just Hamm is fine."
"What's going on?" Cade prompted, impatient with all the introductions.
"Hold on. I'm pulling Tag in on the conference call."
A minute later, Annabeth said, "Tag, you're on with Hamm and King. What's your status?"
"The van's headed out of the city. We're keeping a safe distance."
"What exactly happened?"
"After it left the warehouse, we followed and rammed into the back at a stop sign. While Young approached the driver, I acted like I was looking at the damage and planted a tracker under the bumper."
Tristan's wide eyes darted in his direction, but Cade shrugged off the comment; they tracked vehicles all the time, so it didn’t faze him.
"The driver was pissed, of course. Young admitted it was his fault and offered to call the police. The guy balked, said he was late. Nothing specific, but he was too jumpy and clearly hiding something. I offered him cash to pay for the damage, and he took it and left.
"We both got a good look at the guy. Couldn't snap a picture, but I could pick him out again. Tall, shaved head, dark eyes, big bushy eyebrows, ears that stick out. I'm texting you his plate number."
"Anything else?"
"No... Wait, I think he's turning off the main road."
Annabeth confirmed, "Yes, I see it. Looks like a residence. Pulling the address now."
"Hold on."