Page 23 of My Family

"Don't you dare let go," he says. "You keep it right there, pretty boy."

I nod, best I can. My throat is raw already, spit and precum running down my chin, but I love it. I love that he's not being gentle, that he wants to ruin me just because I couldn't keep my mouth shut about some new teacher.

He starts going faster. My eyes water so bad I can't see, but I keep looking up, keep wanting to see the way he looks at me. My jaw aches. My hands go numb from gripping him so hard.

He pulls out suddenly, leaving me gasping, spit trailing from my lips. He yanks me up by the hair, brings his mouth to mine, kisses me hard, wet and open, like he wants to taste himself on my tongue. I whimper into it, wipe my mouth with my wrist, but he bites my lower lip and drags it down before letting me go.

"Not bad," he says, but his voice is rough. "I should leave you here. Let you cool off."

I don't want him to. I want more. I want him to keep going until there's nothing left of me.

"No, Daddy, please," I beg. He smirks and doesn't answer. Instead, he grabs my jaw, tilts my face up to his, and kisses me hard again. He bites my tongue. I kiss him back, opening up, letting him take whatever he wants. My hands find his waist, pulling him even closer.

He breaks the kiss, breathing heavy, forehead pressed to mine. "You want to be a brat? Fine," he says. His hand slides down my throat, thumb pressing against my pulse. "But don't forget who you belong to and who decides the consequences of your attitude."

The way he says it makes me shiver all over. I nod.

He smiles, sharp and mean. "Good."

He moves fast. One hand goes to my hip, the other to the waistband of my workout shorts, yanking them down so hard I nearly lose my balance. It's like he's trying to mark me, to erase the memory of every other person on earth, especially Vikki. I don't fight it. I want it. I want him to be angry, to use me.

He turns me, so my chest is to the wall, palms flat against tile. He pulls my briefs to my knees, then his own. I can hear the shudder in his breathing, the small noises he never makes unless he's at the edge. He spits in his hand, slicks himself, and pushes the head of his cock against me. He's leaking so much precum I almost think he didn't even need the spit.

He lines up and pushes in. No warning, no tease, just the blunt reality of him, thick and insistent. He goes slowly though, careful with it, and I feel every inch. I bite my arm to keep from making a sound, relax myself as something I know how to do pretty well by now.

He buries himself to the hilt and just holds there, breathing hard against the back of my neck, my whole body shivering in extreme pleasure. "Good boy," he says, almost tender, which somehow makes it worse.

Then he starts to move.

The rhythm is brutal, every thrust slamming me into the wall. The tile digs into my skin, cold and wet, but I barely notice. All I can feel is him, the way he fits, the way he fills every empty space inside me, and it hurts, God, it hurts so bad and it feels so good. I can hear the slap of his hips, the grunts he tries to swallow, the way his hands never stop moving, fisting my hair, grabbing my waist, pinning my wrists against the wall when I start to reach back.

I lose track of time. It could be minutes, or forever. I know only that I'm shaking, I'm sweating, I'm close to coming just from the friction and the thrill of it, the risk of being caught, the knowledge that anyone could walk in and see me bent over and begging for it.

He leans in, teeth grazing my ear. "You're mine, Liam, not someone else's, not some art teacher's," he whispers. "Say it."

I pant, "I'm yours."

He picks up the pace, jackhammering now, using me like a fucking toy. My knees start to buckle, but he holds me up, one big arm wrapped around my chest, squeezing tight. I feel the first wave hit me, sudden and overwhelming, and I come all over the wall, barely stifling a moan as it crashes through me.

He's not far behind. I feel him swell, the rhythm breaking, then he slams in one last time and goes still, body rigid, every muscle locked. He bites down on my shoulder, the pain blooming through the haze of pleasure, and then he fills me, warmth spreading inside like a second heartbeat.

We stand there, both gasping, bodies glued together, sweat and spit and cum everywhere. My legs are jelly, but he doesn't let me fall. For a long minute, the only sounds are our breathing and the distant rattle of a cart in the corridor.

Finally, he pulls out, careful, and turns me to face him. I look up, and his face is a mess, flushed, eyes glassy. He wipes a thumb over my cheek, smearing away a tear I didn't even know was there.

"You okay?" he asks, and it's soft, barely a whisper.

I nod, but my voice is gone. I'm more than okay. I'm molten.

We shower together, him hugging me, my head on his chest, still no words coming from me.

"Was I too rough? You know I love you, right, baby?"

"Yes, you were. Yes, I loved it, and I love you too, Daddy," I say, grinning into his chest, while he presses kisses into my hair under the hot water.

Chapter 9. Ethan

The phone room is purgatory.