“I love you so fucking much.”
Was I starting to sound like a broken clock? Maybe. Was I making this too mushy when I was supposed to be talking dirtyto him, to keep the focus on my knuckles pushing through the ring of muscle and sliding into the tight heat of his ass? Also, yes. Did I care that much? Nope.
I cared about his shot pupils and his parted lips and the gasps and cries he let out while I explored his ass. While I thrusted into him and switched the shape of my hand from a cone to a fist, and I saw as his knuckles tightened against the chains he’d been holding on for dear life ever since I placed him here.
“I love you.” Ever bit his lip hard.
I grunted. I understood he thought he had to be quiet, that he was still scared he was too much, and I’d had a few weeks there where I hadn’t helped quell that fear as much as I could have, but no one but me was going to abuse that bottom lip. I was the one who said how much he took and when. With my hand up his ass past my wrist, my own movement was restrained, but I leaned forward to kiss that biting away. To be the one dragging his lip with my teeth until he quieted a scream.
“Good girl,” I whispered. “You’re going to let me keep stretching your ass as much as I want, aren’t you? You’re going to beg me to keep going, and you’re going to keep crying and taking it all.”
“Yes, Sir.”
It was strange, new, but the words made my chest expand. I took a deep breath, savoring that novelty, that rightness that came with it. With Ever being all mine, being so fucking willing to be fucked and teased and tortured.
More than that, it was about him being so willing to let me figure everything out, to let me take baby steps with him when he probably wanted to go at full speed because he lived for this shit.
“I can’t believe I’m fisting you.”
Ever chortled, the sound half-caught in his throat. The chains rattled as I pulled my fist out, the whitish ropes of lubesquelching as I moved only to fill him up again. Before he could complain. Before I could see how much he could gape, and how much hotter it looked when it was him and not some random amateur online.
“Fuck, i-it feels so good, Sir.”
“It does?”
Ever nodded. I traced a drop of sweat sliding down his forehead toward his shaved sideburns. “It’s like…drowning in pressure and burning, and… Fuck, just like that.”
I could ask him later to explain, when he wasn’t garbling his words and he could put more than two sentences together before he lost all trails of thought.
“I’ve got you,” I promised.
Having him just happened to involve using the moment, the second when he lowered his guard, to stroke his balls with my knuckles. To add pressure after I drank in the first time he hissed, and the second that hiss turned into a drawn-out cry that shouldn’t have had me straining again against my jeans.
I wasn’t old, but I wasn’t a fucking teenager.
My body wasn’t getting the memo, it seemed.
“Did you think I’d forgotten?” I teased. “Did you think I’d ever forget that you’re a fucking slut? That you can’t get off unless someone is treating you the way you want but definitely don’t deserve?”
My nostrils flared as I uttered the words and tested the weight of his balls in my palm. It was so easy to drag a blunt nail across the sensitive tissue. To wrap my fingers around it and hold his gaze. Read the trepidation in his flushed face, and the hint of fear because he couldn’t tell when I was going to squeeze. When I was going to do more than tease him with what was to come.
“Santos!” Fuck. If someone had told me the love of my life screaming in a mixture of pain and ecstasy would be the soundI’d keep chasing the second I was out of the Air Force… “Sir. Please. Please, please, I need…”
“I know what you need.”
I always would.
FORTY-THREE
ev
“Uncomfortable?”
I frowned. I wasn’t uncomfortable per se. I just couldn’t seem to figure out a position that didn’t remind me how thoroughly his fist had fucked me less than…an hour ago? No idea. If Erika didn’t kill me for fumbling—a few—moments of the workshop, she might for hoarding this room for as long as I was without having given her a heads-up. I supposed Eli might have. They saw me coming here and switching the door hanger.
“No,” I mumbled, “just sore.”
“Good sore or bad sore?”
