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“I love you, Mitchell,” I croaked out. My asshole spasmed around his dick.
Luke set up a steady pace, holding my hips as he pounded into me, hard and relentless. “Again.”
I shook sweat out of my eyes, but said, “I love you, Mitchell.”
“Keep on. Again. Don’t stop.”
“I love you, Mitchell. I love you. I love you, Mitchell.” My legs shook as he raked over my prostate, and the rim of my asshole burned without lube or spit to make it easier.
He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “You came for your own father, Mitchell. A huge orgasm. It felt so good. Remember?”
“Yes,” I sobbed.
“You can’t ever erase that. You made him come too. There will always be a part of you that remembers how hard he spunked in your ass. How good that felt.”
I choked as vomit rose again. Luke’s relentless fucking made my legs quake and then, impossibly, I was right on the edge of coming. “Stop.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Minty,” Luke whispered. “Please say it.”
“I love you, Mitchell.”
“Why? Why do you love Mitchell? Tell me.”
“I love him because…” My mind searched for words in the haze of adrenaline, pain, and endorphins. I found some and blurted them out. “Because he tried so hard. Because he won. He fucking won.”
“He showed his father who was boss, didn’t he?”
“Yes. I love myself. I love Mitchell.”
Luke fucked me harder. His breath coming in pants as he went on, “When you’re getting fucked by Kyle, you love Mitchell.”
“I love him.”
“You’re so strong.”
“That was the strongest part of me.”
“No,” Luke whispered, slowing down his pounding fuck. “The strongest version of you will be the one we meet when taking praise isn’t a fight. When that shame isn’t living in your heart anymore.”
“Get it out. I want it out.” I clawed at my own chest. “I hate it. I want it gone.”
“Say it, baby.”
“I love you, Mitchell.” I grunted out, trying to make the horrible hardness of my heart soften. “I love you.”
“You’re going to come now. Not for me. Not for him. You’re going to come now for yourself.”
“For me,” I murmured. I felt dizzy. The day and night were catching up to me. The misery from that agonizing flogger mixed with the ache in my chest and throat, and I closed my eyes, focusing on the pleasure of Luke’s cock moving in me. I wriggled my other hand down to stroke my dick.
I hiccupped sobs. I wanted to be clean of this. I wanted to be the old Minty. The one who’d existed before the rape, or even the one who’d existed before the HIV diagnosis…
The boy who was in love with love. Who’d believed in thefuture. Who’d managed to forget that he’d sucked his father off…
How had I forgotten for days and months at a time?
