“I should warn you, I’m pretty amped up after a kill. Usually I jerk off and crash hard. It’s gonna be hard and fast. Can you handle that?”
Doubts fly through my head. Can I? We’ve done it sort of rough before, but maybe not like this. The shadows and light on his face make him look intense and scary, and somehow this moment more than any other reminds me exactly who Milo is.
Still, I won’t say no. I can’t. I don’t want to. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good.” I nod a little too enthusiastically. “Use me. Jerk off with my ass.”
Did that…did that sound as fucked up as I think it did?
I think I’ve officially gone off the deep end. At this point, I’m practically launching myself over it.
Milo laughs and pulls me forward on the bed, manipulating me into position as if I weigh nothing. He wastes no time slicking his fingers and pushing them inside me, stroking my sensitive spot so perfectly I whine.
He’s not being gentle. My body aches and burns, but he’s also making my nerve endings sing. The pleasure’s so overwhelming my body jolts off the bed.
“Oh God, that’s good,” I moan. “That’s literally the best thing I’ve ever felt.”
He chuckles again, low and deep, as he pushes inside. Each thrust in, each slide out, drags over my prostate and sets my body on fire.
“Fuck, I lied. That’s even better.”
After a few slow pumps, he speeds up, one firm hand wrapped around each of my ankles. “Hang on tight, Rowan.”
My eyes fly open, meeting his. That’s the first time he’s said my name during sex. From the look on his face, I wonder if he’s realized the same thing.
He seems to shake it off, fucking me harder and faster, his balls slapping my ass, his grip tight enough to leave a bruise. Iclench around him, enjoying the ache. It’ll give me something to remember him by after he’s gone.
“You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?” he murmurs as he fucks me. “Such a pretty whore. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you? You’re going to shoot all over that pretty, pale skin of yours. So fucking sexy. Look at that gigantic body naked and spread out for me. You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? God, I’d love to fill you up. I’d love to use more of my toys on you. I’d love to…”
I force myself to focus on the ache in my ass. Because yeah, I’d love it too.
Whatever he was going to say gets lost when his thrusts turn punishing. I’m writhing under him, dying for the orgasm that’s rushing toward me and dreading it at the same time. It’s too fast. Too soon. I wanted to drag this out. Make it last.
He told me it needed to be hard and quick, and I lied when I said it was okay. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to let Milo go.
He strokes hard and fast. He shudders again and throws his head back with his mouth open wide. “Oh Jesus. Oh fuck, that’s so fucking good.”
I’m gripping the sheets, my moans mixing with his, body shuddering as I cry out, spilling all over my stomach. Jesus, I never even stroked myself. “Oh God.”
I’m so lost in a sea of pleasure, I almost don’t wonder what he was about to say before his orgasm hit.
Almost.
The awkward part is after, when he’s kissing me, his sweaty forehead pressed against mine, and I let myself forget that wrapping my arms around him and murmuring how right that felt isn’t exactly the way to act with someone who was only fucking you because you promised it as payment for keeping you alive.
He stiffens and pulls his face away from mine, planting a weird-as-fuck kiss on the tip of my nose. “We’d better get cleaned up.”
“Right. You’re right.” When he pulls out a little too fast, I try not to care.
Even though we showered together previously, back at my place before we knew each other as well, by some unspoken agreement we don’t do that here. He goes first, and then I follow after into the small, attached bathroom. By the time I’m done, he’s sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep.
Guess killing people makes you tired? I don’t know. He seemed okay before. Maybe it adds up. Or maybe he…
No.
Entertaining the notion that he’s worn out because he took his time or got extra brutal with the guy on my account is not only wrong as hell, but plain old stupid. I’m can’t think I’m special. Not to him.
Not to anyone. Now that I think of it, it’ll be good to get home. See my folks, even if they hate me. It’ll be good to get back to, well, normal-ish.
I glance over at Iggy’s tank, sitting on the room’s small dresser. He’s sleeping again, snuggled next to his favorite rock. Must be nice to find comfort so easily with something so hard.
