Chapter 27 #4
“Look at me,” he breathed against Samuel’s lips.
Samuel’s eyes, glazed with pleasure and dark with a trust that stole Gael’s breath, found his.
Gael pushed forward.
The breach was slow, a relentless, burning pressure giving way to an impossible, consuming heat.
Samuel’s eyes flew wide, a strangled sound caught in his throat.
Gael stopped, buried to the hilt, his own breath coming in ragged, tearing gasps.
He was sheathed in a tightness so perfect, a heat so intense, it bordered on agony.
He held still, trembling with the monumental effort of restraint, every muscle corded, until he felt Samuel’s body relax around him, until he gave a small, shaky nod, his eyes never leaving Gael’s.
He began to move.
Slow, deep rolls of his hips, a grinding rhythm that pressed him impossibly deep on every stroke.
He kissed Samuel all the while; his mouth, his jaw, the salt-damp hollow of his throat, the sharp ridge of his collarbone.
He worshipped the skin with his lips even as he claimed the body beneath him.
Samuel’s legs came up to wrap around Gael’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper.
His moans became a constant, sweet, desperate music in Gael's ears.
The slow, grinding pace was exquisite torture, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more.
With a guttural sound, he rose up on his knees. He took Samuel’s wrists in one hand, pinning them to the mattress above his head. The position arched Samuel’s back, exposed the long, vulnerable line of his throat, made his body a taut, offered feast.
“Keep them there.”
Then he took Samuel’s hips in both hands, his grip firm, and began to fuck him in earnest.
Deep, powerful, piston-like strokes that buried him to the root each time, driving the air from Samuel’s lungs in sharp, rhythmic cries. The sound of skin meeting skin, wet, slick, and frantic, filled the room.
The sensation was overwhelming; the tight clutch of Samuel’s body on every inward stroke, the slick, hot slide, the way Samuel’s body yielded and took him, again and again.
Samuel was keening now, a continuous, high sound of pleasure-pain, his head thrown back, the cords of his neck standing out.
His flushed cock bounced against his stomach, hard and leaking, a pearl of moisture beading at the tip.
Gael was lost in it. The world narrowed to the feel of Samuel around him, squeezing him, milking him. The coil in his own gut was a white-hot knot, seconds from snapping. He was so close, the pressure building at the base of his spine an unbearable tension.
He released one of Samuel’s hips and wrapped his fist around his cock. The skin was like hot velvet over steel. He jerked him in time with his own brutal, driving thrusts, his thumb swiping over the slick head on every upstroke.
“Cum for me,” he gritted out, his voice raw, shredded by the force of his own need.
Samuel’s body went rigid, every muscle locking. A scream was torn from his throat, raw, uninhibited, shattering the last of Gael’s control. He came, stripes of white painting his stomach and Gael’s fist in hot, pulsing waves.
With a guttural, broken groan that was more animal than man, Gael fell forward.
He wrapped his arms around Samuel’s trembling, sweat-slick body, burying his face in the damp, salty skin of his neck.
He drove into him once, twice, three more times as his own release ripped through him.
He shuddered through it, holding Samuel so tight it must have hurt, his own cries muffled against his skin, as the world dissolved into blinding white light and the feel of the body clinging to his.
∞∞∞
The room was dark, the only light a faint silver seepage from the city between the gaps in the blinds.
Samuel was asleep. He lay on his side facing Gael, one hand curled loosely on the pillow near his chin.
The intense, frantic energy that had gripped them both for hours had finally bled away, leaving him pliant and still.
The lines of worry and alert tension that seemed etched into his waking face were gone, smoothed into an expression of profound peace.
Gael lay on his back, staring at the dark ceiling. His body was heavy with a deep, physical satisfaction, a pleasant ache in his muscles. But his mind was a clear, cold pool, reflecting the evening back at him with unforgiving clarity.
The club. The green-eyed man. The casual, friendly touch on Samuel’s arm. The instant, white-hot slash of pure anger that had severed his control. He had moved without thought, spoken without strategy.
And then here, in this bed. The coming together had been less about passion and more about necessity. A silent, physical argument to settle something that had shaken loose inside him. He had needed to feel Samuel unravel for him, because of him, to overwrite the ghost of that other man’s touch.
His eyes drifted to Sam’s neck. There, just above the collar of his t-shirt, was a faint, dark smudge. A bruise. The shape of his own teeth. He hadn’t meant to do it. It had happened in a moment where feeling had overridden all sense.
Looking at it now, in the quiet dark, the last of his internal defenses crumbled.
This is love.
He didn’t do love. Love was a complication. A vulnerability. It was the one variable he had systematically removed from every equation of his life.
And yet, the evidence was undeniable. It was in the way the thought of Samuel with anyone else made his stomach turn with a sick, cold dread. It was in the absolute certainty that settled in his bones: Samuel was his. Not as a submissive, or a project, but as his. Full stop.
The realization should have made him pull away. It should have sent him planning a careful, strategic retreat.
But as he lay there, the warmth of Samuel’s body a solid line beside him, he knew he wouldn’t.
He wouldn’t move an inch. If this evening had proven anything, it was that it was far too late for that.
The switch had been thrown. The line had been crossed.
The idea of walking away and leaving Samuel to someone else, was not just unthinkable; it was impossible.
He let out a long, slow breath, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. The war was over, and he’d lost.
Sam was his. He would remain his. And Gael would ensure it, with every tool, every rule, every ounce of will he possessed. The thought was terrifying. But the alternative, a world where Samuel was not here, in this bed, belonging to him, was simply not a world he would live in.
He turned onto his side, facing Samuel. He looked at the peaceful curve of his cheek in the gloom, and accepted the catastrophic truth. Then he closed his eyes, and for the first time all night, allowed sleep to pull him under, right where he was.