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If anything, Hendrik and I were drawn together because we suffered more than most. What would it be like to desire to feel, but not be capable of it?
When Lily had died, how could he have possibly have dealt with that grief?
Knowing that he should be devastated, but unable to feel it?
That was the worst kind of suffering I could ever imagine on anyone.
When my fingers grazed his shoulder, he flinched as if I had struck him, but I was more gentle with him than I’d ever been.
I did for him what he had done for me. I ran my touch over his skin, then I traced that path with my tongue.
He didn’t have visible scars like me, but he was deeply scarred nonetheless.
And every touch I gave him allowed him to feel.
His breath came in short, deep gasps.
His shoulders trembled.
And his fists clenched as I continued to give him what he’d never had before.
By the time he was uncontrollably shivering, I wrapped my arms around him and settled his back against his chest. My cock pressed against him and I wrapped one fist around his dick, softly stroking as he struggled to breathe.
“Does it hurt?” I asked him.
He didn’t answer me for a long time. I continued to stroke him, to press my lips against the arch of his neck, and to gyrate my hips against his ass.
When he finally responded, it was so soft I almost didn’t hear him.
“Yes,” he admitted and put his weight against me. “It hurts like hell, Dante.”
I licked my fingers, then prepared his ass. I wasn’t going to make it hurt.
I was going to do exactly what he did for me. I was going to give him pleasure until he came for me.
I was going to fuck him until we finally found a way to feel everything together.
“Good,” I told him, then I pressed against his back entrance.
He stiffened and I waited until he relaxed. Then I pushed in a little bit more.
It took time a long time. I pressed kisses against his throat and his shoulder while I waited for his muscles to accept me. I stroked him with my free hand, waiting until he throbbed under my touch before I inched in further.
Finally, I was seated fully inside of him.
And then I began to thrust. Slowly. So very slowly, I rocked my hips against him until his breath was coming in short gasps.
Not of pain, but pleasure.
I kept stroking him in tandem with my movements. I occasionally spit into my hand to lubricate him and I twisted my fist over the head of his cock until I began moving faster.
He trembled as I fucked him. So much sorrow, pain, and regret hummed between us as I allowed it to sink into my soul.
Hendrik must have felt it too because he started to cry again.
“Does it hurt?” I asked him again, this time increasing my pace.
“Yes,” he said, fully giving himself to me as he leaned back and closed his eyes.
