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I start stripping him out of his clothes. When I reach for his pants, he shoves at my hands.
“I can do it myself,” he bites out but won’t meet my eyes.
“Fine, get out of the wet clothes yourself then. I’m taking a shower, and, Eli?” I wait until he looks in my direction again. “Don’t leave this room, do you understand?”
He clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes. It’s as much of an agreement as I’m going to get. I make quick work of my wet clothes and take a quick shower, finally rinsing the dried cum from my body that I missed with the washcloth. Part of me doesn’t want to. It’s proof he liked it too.
When I get out of the shower in loose shorts and no shirt, he’s curled up on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall in a baggy shirt he must have dug out of the laundry. I climb into bed and pull him against me, needing to touch him.
He doesn’t react, doesn’t stiffen or acknowledge me at all. Wrapping my arms around his slender body, I pull his back against my chest and bury my nose in his hair. Eli shudders, and I slide my hand under his T-shirt to stroke his skin.
I get one pass of my palm against his body before he reaches for my wrist and pulls my hand from his shirt and drops it on my own side. My hand clenches into a fist, and I tap it against my thigh.
“Eli,” I start, but he’s back to limp and not there. “I’m sorry.”
I kiss his neck, and this time he shivers, his breathing hitching at the touch, but he lifts his shoulder to get me off him again.
I’m desperate for a connection. I need him to touch me or at least let me touch him. I need to know we’re okay. The horrors of my past are raw-dogging me, and I need a fucking anchor in the here and now.
“Eli.” This time, his name is harsher, more of a command. “I need to touch you.”
“Fine,” I hear his barely-there whisper, but it’s all I need. I shove his shirt up to expose his torso and shove my hand into his purple underwear. He’s half hard, which stings, but I stroke him until he’s thrusting into my hand. I’m grinding my dick against his ass and sucking on his neck until he’s just as lost as I am. His skin heats as I play with him, and I growl into his skin.
I try to force his legs open, but he stiffens and just says, “No.”
I freeze and lean up on my elbow to look down at him, but he’s looking at anything but me. Embarrassment or nervousness making him jumpy, and I have no idea why.
“No what?” I demand. Frantic energy trying to take over every thought and action I’m capable of.
“If you want to fuck me, fine, but leave my legs alone.” Eli is almost angry. “Don’t touch my inner thighs.”
My brain pauses for just a second, attempting to understand or process what he just said. Fuck it. I can work with that.
I pull on his underwear until it’s at his knees and roll us so he’s under me. I reach for the lube on the bedside table and hesitate.
“No condom.”
Eli whimpers, flicking his gaze over his shoulder, and gives me a nod with his lip caught between his teeth. Thank fuck.
I straddle his thighs and drag a lubed finger through his crack.
“Spread your cheeks, show me your hole.”
With shaking hands, Eli complies, burying his face in the pillow and groaning when I breach him.
“You want to stretch on my dick or fingers?” I slide a second finger in, crooking them along his insides to find that magic spot. His body shivers after a minute and he groans, “Oh god,” when I find it.
“Your ass looks so good stretching around my fingers.”
After lubing up my cock, I shuffle forward and push my head against his hole.
The pitiful whimper that leaves his mouth spurs me on. I don’t give him time to adjust, just start thrusting, taking my pleasure while he struggles to stretch. If this is what it takes to get a fucking reaction out of him, so be it.
“Just like that. You’re doing so good for me,” I groan as I grip his shoulders to hold him still. The snap of my hips is punishing, unyielding, but he’s pushing back into me now and arching his hips.
“You like being used, Eli?”
His fingers dig into the muscles of his ass as he struggles to hold them open.
