2. Lucas
TWO
Lucas
It takes a long time for Roman to stop shivering. I hold onto his arm where it’s hooked around me. I want to turn his way and entwine my limbs with his, but I can tell he’s not ready for that.
I don’t know what happened. I doubt he knows either.
I wasn’t surprised though. I was already watching for this because it was brewing before we went down to the gym. In a way, I’m relieved. That makes me feel guilty, like maybe I wanted this to happen.
And maybe … maybe I did.
Roman has been closing up so much lately. Even when we’re together like we were in the library, I can feel a barrier between us, something he’s withdrawn behind. Only when he breaks like this, breaks open, is there an opening for me to get close.
He’ll fuck me soon.
His breathing has evened out. His powerful body is heavy against mine. We’re both hot and sweaty from the gym, but I don’t mind. It feels right to be this way with Roman.
When his cock starts stiffening against my ass, my own hardens in response. I harden so easily with him. I want him all the time.
Roman’s hand unhooks from my ribcage and starts roaming my body. He rubs my chest, grazing my nipples until they tighten. He runs his hand down my belly to my cock, murmuring against my neck when he finds the hardness. He starts stroking me.
I shift slightly to give him better access. He reaches lower to grip my balls. I bite my lip as he rolls and tugs them. His callused fingers and palm offer teasing abrasion. I push back against his erection.
“Fuck me,” I tell him.
His teeth close on the back of my neck. He’ll fuck me when he wants to. His hand starts moving from my balls to my cock and back again, tugging and tormenting me, rubbing my cockhead until I’m leaking all over myself.
I’m close to begging by the time he rolls partway over me, smashing me down on my front as he reaches for the lube. I open my legs as much as I can under his weight to let his heavy, stiff cock press between them .
It distracts him for a second. He has his hand around the bottle, but he stills with it there as he drops his face against the back of my neck and rolls his hips. I moan at the rhythm and the tease of his cock between my legs.
Then he draws up and away from me. I hear the bottle’s cap click open, but I’m too impatient to hold still. My restless shifting has him planting a hand on my back to hold me down. I settle under his dominance, soothed by it, reminded that I’ll get everything I need.
Roman works one handed, heavily squeezing lube along the crack of my ass. He tosses the bottle aside and sweeps up some of the excess to slick his cock. I squeeze my eyes shut at the filthy, delicious sound.
He lowers himself over me, settling the ridge of his cock along the cleft of my ass. His hand moves from my back to my head, holding me down as he starts rocking against me, gliding his slick cock between my cheeks. I tilt my hips to get him brushing against my hole.
Roman grunts and grinds harder against me, then his hand wedges into the space between our bodies. He keeps rocking, but his fingers start teasing my rim. I moan and relax for him as my trapped cock leaks all over the sheets.
I’m still open from when we fucked early this morning, so Roman soon sets his cockhead against my hole and pushes inside. The sensation of him stretching and filling me takes over my awareness. It’s always a lot at first, too much, then it’s perfect.
At first as he starts fucking me, I’m pinned to the bed, my cock trapped against the mattress, rubbing with each thrust. Then Roman tugs my hips up and forces my legs farther apart.
His other hand remains on my head, smashing me down as he starts fucking me harder.
He’s hitting my prostate now, which has me nearly out of my head.
His rhythm is harsh and relentless. His pelvis smacks against my ass, and his cock pistons inside me.
I don’t need my hand on my cock when he’s fucking me like this, so I just turn my face into the mattress and scream as he makes me come.
My cock jerks up against my stomach with each wave of my orgasm.
Cum hits my abs and chest. I strain through it, overwhelmed, as he keeps fucking me.
It’s too much, but it’s the exact too much that I want.
I moan and whine and break down to a deeper part of myself.
Roman is getting rougher, closer. When his cock swells and kicks inside me, I cry out at the heavy pulses against my prostate. I’m not sure if I ejaculate again, but I do orgasm. I buck against him as he groans and strains, releasing hotly inside me as our bodies fully synchronize.
I’m shaky at the end, gasping as I spasm. I clench on his still-hard cock, making him spasm against me in turn.
Roman’s hand lifts from my head and slides under my chest. He pulls me up and away from the mess, rolling us onto our sides. His cock pulls partway out of me in the maneuver, but he pushes back inside and tightens his arms around me.
I settle contentedly in his possessive hold.
***
We shower together. It’s one of my favorite things. When Roman and I were captive, our showers were always a mix of relief and stress. It was always good to get clean, but we were supervised and rushed. Roman always had to wear an electric collar because we were outside the cell.
Now, we have privacy and time. Roman is no longer restrained or abused, even if the history of restraint and abuse is written all over his body in scar tissue.
My fingers bump over the permanent marks of whips and blades and shackles.
I try not to let Roman sense how much they bother me.
They always have, because they show how much he’s suffered, but the longer we’re outside of that dark place, the more wrong they seem to me.
But at least I can take my time caring for him. I love that he allows it, at least here in this space. The more closed in we are, the better he does. Mostly, though, he cares for me. For every moment I get to spend washing his body, he spends twice that on mine.
After, when Roman shaves, he does it without looking in the mirror, not even checking at the end. He just runs his hand over his face. The peace of the sex and the shower is already fading.
His avoidance of the mirror confirms what I’d already sensed. He’s backsliding, reverting to some of the behaviors that characterized our early days here.
God, I’m so worried.
I try to hide it, busying myself with my own shaving. I take longer than Roman because I also have to dry my hair. He waits for me. Even when he’s struggling, he’s still so attentive.
After we’ve dressed, we go down to the kitchen. I can never tell whether Roman is hungry, but I’m starving. It’s almost two p.m. Days start and end late in this house, but that’s really late for breakfast even here.
I don’t say anything, but I see the exact moment that Roman realizes it. He glances at the microwave clock, grunts softly, and goes straight to the refrigerator.
No one else is in the kitchen right now, so it’s quiet as we make fried eggs and sausage with hashbrowns and toast. Most of the time, our silence is comfortable, but sometimes it starts to oppress me. I can’t help it. I just want to hear Roman’s voice.
When we sit down to eat, Roman sits where the wall is at his back and he can monitor both doorways into the kitchen. I sit close enough to press my foot against his.
Roman gets up because we forgot the ketchup. He comes back and puts it by my plate.
“Thanks,” I say .
He pets my hair as he sits down but doesn’t say anything. I feel bad that I’m disappointed about that. He was paying attention. He communicated. It should be enough.
I focus on my food.
I’m slathering jam on my toast when Quinn walks in. “Morning,” he says gruffly, even though it’s afternoon.
“Hi, Quinn,” I reply.
Roman doesn’t acknowledge the greeting. He just tracks Quinn’s movement as he walks to the island.
Even though Roman isn’t being aggressive, most people would be unsettled by his silent intensity. Quinn, however, isn’t bothered by it. He’s always understood Roman really well.
Quinn has his own scars. Burns on his forearms, others on his body.
Now that it’s summer, he’s mostly wearing t-shirts with his jeans, exposing more of it, at least here at home.
He always wears long sleeves when he goes out.
I don’t know a lot about Quinn’s life before he became a bodyguard for Vitali, but it’s not hard to see that it was rough.
“What are you making?” I ask as he gets out a glass measuring cup.
“Marinade. For steak.”
“Ooh.” I sit up straighter. Before living in this house, I’d never had steak, but Quinn grills it pretty often.
His eyes flick up. He smiles a little .
It’s nice to see Quinn doing better, and the reason for that could not be more obvious than when Vitali walks in, nodding a vague greeting to me and Roman as he beelines for Quinn.
Though Quinn is obviously pleased by Vitali’s arrival, he pretends to be annoyed. “Are you following me?”
“Yes,” Vitali replies shamelessly. “What are you doing?”
Quinn huffs, working very hard to keep up his pretense of annoyance. He loves Vitali’s attention. “I’m making marinade. Would you grab the mustard?”
Vitali makes a noncommittal sound as he joins Quinn at the island, pretending to take an interest in Quinn’s work even though it’s obvious that his interest is in Quinn himself. He grabs Quinn’s ass through his jeans. Quinn looks him dead in the eye and says, “That is not the mustard.”
“Black cat,” Vitali complains.
“Go fetch the mustard,” Quinn insists.
A smile plays around Vitali’s mouth, hinting at a private joke. He squeezes Quinn’s ass again then walks to the refrigerator. When Vitali opens it and bends to look inside, Quinn stares, clearly enjoying the view as much as Vitali was enjoying the handful.