Page 39 of A Thousand Cuts

He wanted to end it. Wanted to cut it short and just hide, but this was his livelihood. He had bills to pay and food to buy and a dog to keep happy. He liked his job.

He scrambled to find a comment that would suggest something that would turn him on again. Something to save the stream from being a total bust. He didn’t know how to save this. He wished someone was there. He wished someone was watching over him from the dark and making sure nobody could hurt him.

He wanted Fix there.

He tightened his thighs around the pillow between them. Turned his head to the side and stared at the corner of his room. There was a chair there. Empty now, but…

What if Fix was sitting there?

Liam could sit on his lap. He could spread his legs and sit on top of Fix wearing nothing but his black thong.

His hips would roll into Fix’s clothed ones, and he’d be hard for him. He’d grip Liam’s waist hard enough to bruise, bite his neck and leave marks there so everyone could see Liam was his. He’d cup his ass in his hands and help rub his cock against Fix. He’d growl in his ear. Tell him what to do. Tell him to go slow, tease himself. He’d be everything Liam wanted.

He closed his eyes and lost himself in his fantasy. He rode his pillow listening to the little zings of his stream as people commented on his performance. But Liam wasn’t there anymore.

He was inside his mind where Fix was branding his skin with his touch, leaving red marks on him with his lips, making him feel like he was the most perfect human who’d ever lived when he looked at him with those kind eyes.

He pretended he could feel Fix’s beard on his neck, his chest. On the inside of his thighs. He imagined Fix was sliding his hands underneath the string between Liam’s cheeks to find his hole. He’d press inside him and the pain would play with pleasure. It would make Liam whine and beg for more.

He’d set the pace, just like Liam liked it. Hard and fast. Brutal. He’d hold his arms behind his back so he couldn’t touch himself while his fingers split him in half. He’d make Liam desperate for release. Make him squirm. Make him sob and beg and scream.

He clenched his fists into the pillow and rode it faster. He felt himself getting closer. So close.

He bore down harder, and with a few final thrusts he was spilling milky white over the black satin.

Legs crossed at the ankles, shirtsleeves unbuttoned and pushed up to reveal those huge, tattooed forearms. Arms Liam longed to be wrapped in.

The chat went crazy.

The money trickled in.

People complimented and praised and asked for more.

But Liam was still in his head.

Slumped against Fix’s chest. Breathing hard into his neck. Vulnerable and spent but completely safe in his arms.

People began to log off as he remained inactive, some complaining about how fast it was, which drove Liam into action. He thanked the people and tied his robe around himself as he ended the chat, making sweet promises for more next time.

And then he collapsed back on his bed with his eyes closed, groaning.

He needed to get a handle on this quickly before he tanked everything he had built for himself.

Chapter 8

Fix

Cyrus:After the stunt you and Cane pulled looking for Hart, you’ve run out of favors.

Fix:It's not a favor if it's your job

Cyrus:The prints I can do. But I’m not putting a protective detail on a civilian just because you think he’s pretty.

Fix:It's not because I think he's pretty

Cyrus:Black said you did.

Fix:Black talks too much.