He leaves. The door shuts with a soft, final click.
And Julian gasps, voice cracking open raw and desperate. “Rafe—please—don’t stop—fuck—”
I tighten my grip around his throat with one hand—firm, steady, just enough to feel his pulse hammer against my palm—and stroke him harder with the other, slow drags turning deliberate, punishing, perfect.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
He’s so fucking soft in my lap now—molten, loose, drunk on the high and the way I’m working him open with nothing but my palm. His skin’s gone flushed, pink down his throat and across his chest where the hoodie gapes wide. His moans come quieter now, breathier, like he’s drifting somewhere warm and private, and I could keep him there, keep him undone in my lap, hand between his legs, mouth on his jaw, until he forgets what it felt like to hurt.
But he moves—slow at first, then all at once.
Julian shifts up onto his knees, hands bracing on my shoulders, eyes glazed and heavy-lidded from the dose still flooding his veins. The hoodie slips off one shoulder, the collar falling low enough to reveal the faint, lingering ring of bruising where the tape sat yesterday, a pale violet echo of everything we’ve burned away. He looks ruined—beautifully, deliberately ruined. Fuckable. Mine.
He swings one thigh over me, straddling my lap like a starved thing crawling into sunlight after too long in the dark. His thighs tremble as they settle around my hips, bare skin hot against mine, the weight of him grounding and demanding all at once.
“Please,” he whispers, voice shredded raw from earlier use, cracked and soft like torn silk. “I want to ride you before it crests. I want to feel it while I still can.”
The words hit me like a fist to the sternum. Not because he’s begging—though the sound of it alone could unravel me. But because he’s choosing this. He’s choosing me—clear-eyed in the haze, body still trembling from the needle but mind fixed on exactly what he wants, exactly who he wants it from. The realization sinks in slow and heavy, settling deep in my chest like something permanent taking root.
I growl low in my throat, drag my hands up his thighs, gripping the backs of them as he settles into place. My cock’s already hard again, pressed up between us, and Julian’s still so high, so raw, he barely flinches when I push the hoodie up and out of the way. No underwear. No resistance. I line myself up—one hand on his hip, the other stroking along his ass, thumb pressing where he’s already stretched from last night. “Take it,” I say.
He sinks down on me like prayer—slow, devastating, beautiful—taking every inch with a shudder that runs through both of us. His mouth drops open; a moan tumbles out so wrecked I feel it in my chest before I even hear it, raw and reverent and completely undone. His hands claw at my shoulders, nails biting in as his forehead crashes into mine; he whimpers against my mouth like the dose, the stretch, and the weight of me are all twisting together inside him, fusing into something too big to name.
“F-fuck, Rafe—”
“Shhh,” I whisper, voice low against his lips, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of his neck while the other stays firm on his hip, guiding without rushing. “Feel it. Take all of it. You wanted this.”
“I need this,” he whines, voice cracking open as he starts to move—hips rocking in small, desperate circles at first, then longer drags, thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself up and pulling me deeper at the same time. Every muscle in his bodyworks in frantic harmony to grind against me harder, to chase the friction, the heat, the fullness. “I need to feel you, I need to come on you, I want it now—”
The words spill out in a breathless rush, half plea, half demand, his eyes glassy and locked on mine like I’m the only thing still tethering him to the world. He’s shaking—everywhere—chest heaving, skin flushed hot and damp under my palms, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t hide how badly he needs this to be real, to be mine, to overwrite everything else with the rhythm of us right here, right now.
I cut him off with a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue. I grip his hips and guide the rhythm—slow and punishing, dragging him up until just the tip stays inside, then slamming him down hard enough to knock the breath out of both of us.
Julian sobs against my mouth, the sound raw and fractured, his hands fisting tight in my shirt as his spine arches hard, body bowing into me like every nerve is trying to crawl closer. His voice is ruined wreckage spilling out between gasps—shattered, pleading, barely words.
“You’re mine,” I growl, teeth sinking into the soft edge of his jaw just hard enough to mark, “and you’ll fucking come because of it.”
He rides me like he’s losing his mind—hips trembling, thighs shaking, head tipped back as the dose climbs his spine like liquid fire. Every time he sinks down, he gasps sharp and broken; every time I drag him up only to force him to take the full descent again, he whimpers like I’m rewiring him from the inside out, cell by cell, memory by memory.
But he’s too close.
I feel it in the desperate clench around me, in the way his breath staggers into short, frantic bursts, in the frantic little tremor that runs under my palms where they grip his waist. He’s seconds from coming—and he thinks he can do it without asking.
Not this time.
I seize both sides of his hips and hold him still, squeezing hard enough that he gasps and claws at my shoulders, trying to keep moving, trying to chase the crest he’s so fucking close to.
“No,” I growl, voice low enough to vibrate through his ribs and into his bones. “Not until you say it.”
He whines—loud, keening, almost animal. “Rafe—please—please—just let me—”
I tighten my grip and drag him down hard, pressing him flush against me until my cock is buried to the hilt and there’s no space left between us—chest to chest, heartbeatslamming against heartbeat. He’s panting into my mouth, legs shaking violently, nails dragging red lines down my back like he’s trying to climb inside my skin and live there.
“Say it,” I murmur against his lips, soft now, almost tender. “Do you remember what you are now?”
His eyes flutter open—glazed, golden, completely gone—and he shudders so hard I feel it echo through both of us.
“I’m yours,” he gasps.
