So I stop. Right there—mid-rut, mid-grind—my whole body vibrating with the effort, cock so hard I’m ready to rip through my jeans. I pull back just enough to let his spine smack the tile again, hands still locked under his thighs, holding him up, keeping him pinned and spread against the wall.
His eyes snap open—confused and pleading—and I stare straight into them. “Next time,” I growl, voice low and dark and edged with command, “you ask for what you want.”
He blinks once. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I don’t wait for words. I slam my hips forward again—slow, vicious—grinding up into him with deliberate pressure that makes his whole body jolt, a broken noise punchingout of his throat like I’ve forced the air right out of him. His eyes roll back; his head thuds against the tile again.
I grab his jaw, wrenching his face back to mine, lips brushing, teeth dragging over skin. “You don’t take me,” I snarl. “You ask.” Another grinding roll of my hips—he twitches hard, like I’ve lit a fuse inside him.
“You think you get to lose your mind for four days, pass the fuck out on the floor, scare the living shit out of me—and then pull me into your mouth like I’m yours to command?”
He tries to speak, but I press my forehead to his and grind again, dragging a full-body whimper out of him that rattles down both our spines. His breath stutters, trapped.
“You want me?” I breathe against his mouth. “You beg.”
His whole body shudders in my grip—wrung out, vibrating, breath caught like he’s terrified it’ll disappear if he exhales wrong. And then he says it: “Please, Rafe. I want you.”
My spine lights the fuck up—not just from the words, but from everything behind them. The four days he waited. The picture. The hoodie. The bucket. The blackout. The fucking obedience. The memory of him curled on the container floor, shaking and starving for anything except the one thing I told him not to take:Stay clean until I’m back, little halo, and I’ll fuck the tears out of you.And he did. He fucking did. Even after the tape, even after the truth serum and Kai peeling him open like a fresh wound—he stayed clean. He stayed mine.
I growl—deep, guttural—and slam him harder into the wall, one hand still locked under his thigh, the other dragging down my soaked shirt. I wrench the fabric up and out of the way, fingers tearing at my belt with rough, single-minded fury. My cock aches and I rip the button open, shove the zipper down, and push my jeans just far enough to free myself.
He gasps as I bare myself. The sound he makes when our cocks finally press together—skin on skin, soaked and fever-hot—is something feral, not quite human, not broken, just holy. A sharp cry punches straight from the back of his throat as he arches hard against me, pure instinct, body seeking more like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
“Fuck,” he sobs, voice cracking. “Fuck, that’s—oh my god—”
I snarl, “You earned it.” I wrap a hand around both our cocks and squeeze.
He screams into my neck—teeth bared, fingers clawing into my shoulders, his whole body jerking like I just slammed the high straight into his veins. I stroke once, slow and punishing, grinding into him with every ounce of pressure he’s been begging for since I walked out that fucking door.
“You waited for this?” I growl, my lips dragging against his jaw, wet and brutal as the words scrape out of me. “You stayed clean for this?”
His head snaps back against the tile, his chest heaving hard as the answer tears out of him in broken gasps. “Yes—yes, fuck, Rafe, yes—”
I stroke him again, harder this time, and he bucks into it like he’s seizing, so I grab his jaw with my other hand and force his gaze back to mine, holding him there, making him look at me as I speak.
“This is what it gets you,” I snarl, every word sharp and deliberate. “You obey, you earn. You break, you fucking suffer. Understand?”
“Y-yes—oh god, yes—”
I move again, our cocks slick and twitching together, the head of his brushing mine as he moans into my mouth like he’s coming apart piece by piece, his body unraveling under my hands while I keep him right there on the edge.
“No one else gets you like this,” I hiss against his lips. “No one else touches you like this, and no one else sees you like this.”
He nods, tears slipping free now, just enough to show me I’ve hit exactly where I wanted, exactly where he breaks.
I drag my teeth across his cheek, slow and claiming. “That’s it, halo. Cry for me.”
His moans pitch higher, tighter, desperate, his hips jerking into my hand like he’s chasing something just out of reach, his thighs flexing hard as his cock twitches against mine, leaking, seconds from spilling over while his fingers dig into my shoulders and his mouth hangs open, eyes blown and glassy.
He’s gone, completely gone, a wrecked, soaked, perfect thing writhing in my arms.
I can feel how close he is in every twitch, every ragged breath, every pulse under my palm, and I stroke him again—slow, brutal—dragging my fist from root to tip while our cocks press together, so slick now I can hear it over the water.
And then I stop.
He chokes, whimpers, his whole body flinching in my arms like I just tore something out of him. “N-no—no, Rafe—”
I grab his jaw again, force his head up. Eyes on mine. “Not yet.”
