Wade thrust his cock with slow, deliberate movements, loving the way Alex arched under him, giving in completely. The bond between them twined so tight it was hard to tell where one heartbeat ended and the other began.
It didn’t take long. Alex was already wrung out, and the first few strokes had him gasping, pulling at the pillow for something to hang on to. He whimpered, sounding more desperate than before, helpless to stop Wade from working him right back up to the edge.
Wade grinned against Alex’s neck, biting down again, just below the first mark. A matched set. He wondered if he’d run out of space before they ever got out of bed.
Alex’s voice went high, almost panicked. “Wait, fuck, I’m gonna—”
Wade wrapped his hand around Alex’s cock, squeezing in perfect rhythm to his thrusts. He jerked his mate off while fucking him, stroking both until Alex stiffened, body drawn so tight Wade thought he might snap in half.
Instead, Alex came hard, spurting across Wade’s fist and their stomachs, every muscle locked, eyes rolling back.
Wade let himself go, pounding through the last few strokes, pouring his cum inside his mate, emptying out every ounce of tension and want he’d carried for weeks.
Afterward, he dropped to his elbows, covering Alex’s back with his own body. And stayed there, breathing in the scent of sex, the sweat, the faintest tang of blood where his teeth had left marks.
The silence was perfect.
Eventually, Alex opened his mouth, just as sarcastic as ever. “So, afterglow, round two. Are there snacks, or is this when you carry me to the shower?”
Wade laughed, honest and open, letting it shake them both. “Honey bunny, you’re not getting out of this bed until I say so.”
“You’re a tyrant.”
“Only for you.”
They clung together, sticky and exhausted and happier than either of them had a right to be. The marks on Alex’s skin would fade, but the bond never would.
For once, his mate didn’t have a single reason to run.
And Wade, who’d never been allowed to keep anything that mattered, just held on and refused to let go.
Chapter Eight
Alex walked down the steps, heading to the kitchen, feeling like he’d been twisted into a pretzel for hours. Every part of his body ached. His mate had kept one hand clamped around Alex’s waist like retractable seatbelts. There in theory for safety, in practice mostly for preventing escape.
There’d been a second round, a third, and, somewhere in there, either Alex fainted or blacked out from too many orgasms.
Might as well have been the same thing.
Somewhere around dusk, Wade finally released his grip. Alex slithered out of bed, knees threatening insurrection, body abused in the best possible way.
Every inch of skin tingled. Every step felt like it should come with a warning. Fragile, contents under pressure. He’d never felt so alive.
By some small miracle, three showers later, the bruises had started to fade. The fucking collar, however, was going nowhere.
His reflection in the hallway mirror said it all. Hair sticking up in three directions, lips bruised, cheeks bright and dewy like he’d overdosed on highlighter.
Total post-coital glow.
Maybe it was visible from satellites.
NASA, you’re welcome.
After one last teeth cleaning and a fresh shirt, he tiptoed downstairs, not wanting to know if “walk of shame” counted if it was technically your new home. Every joint ached. So did Alex’s jaw, from too much grinning…and other fun, yet challenging things.
Wade’s shirt draped his frame like he was in a cult for awkward skinny dudes.
Alex kept waiting for the regret to arrive, but all he felt was a dangerous, dizzying species of hope.
