Page 23

Chapter 23

Can I Tell You A Secret?

Wade

A singular feather-light stroke starts at my ankle, then traces the arc of my calf and continues the climb up the back of my thigh.

Divots form in the mattress where my knees shift. The cotton sheets cool the flush on my cheek, pinpricks bursting through the dew of sweat as Gabe repeats the motion on the other leg.

The large mirror in the corner confirms our positions. A sheathed dildo, resting lifeless on the bed. Me, ass up. Raw, exposed. Her, anchoring behind me. Shoulders back, chin confident. A pristine picture of submission and dominance.

She traps me with a molten gaze.

Everything tightens.

Her touch lingers on my ankle. When she replaces it with her mouth, I choke on air.

“Good?”

My answer hangs through a breath.

“G-good.”

Plush, wet lips travel the same path as her fingers. Kissing, suckling, licking, doting. I wrench my eyes shut, imagination running wild. My cock weeps.

Hands claw into the flesh of my ass. I reactively widen my stance. Begging.

“This is what you want?” She noses the contour line at the peak of my thigh.

“ God , yes.”

“Has anyone ever had you like this?”

“No.” I gasp. “Only you.”

“Can I be rough with you?”

I wiggle, seeking her touch. “You can be anything you want with me. Take it. Take me.”

The kisses reach the crest of the crease, splitting my lower half, and my pulse roars when she pulls me apart.

She hums. “Fuck, I could get used to seeing you like this.” A trail of warm saliva coasts down, coating the hole. It pulses with the pass of her finger. Astonishment brightens her husky tone. “You’re so…pink, Wade. So wet, so shiny.”

I moan at the praise and quiver when the harsh force of her spit lands on the opening and clench with each caress that stops to massage at the sensitive spot below.

A crack sounds as she slaps one cheek.

“ Oh ,” comes out. Plaintive. Heady.

“More?”

“More.”

Another finger joins in the travel past the slick crevice, this time with a hearty snicker. “Everyone knows you’re a slut, Wade” —the same fingers knead my perineum again— “but only I know what a needy slut you are for me.”

My face buries in the sheets, unable to control the nonsensical sounds exiting my mouth as she licks and licks, closer and closer to the greased hole. I simultaneously tense and go pliant at her hot breath blowing over the puckered opening.

I keen. Her tonguing my asshole has my head spinning. All I can say is fuck and Gabe, and both words are mashed together like boiled potatoes. Which is precisely the current state of my brain.

There’s a click. For the briefest second, I think maybe my mind is falling apart.

Cold lube glides over every overheated inch of flesh, spread by those perfect fucking fingers.

“Relax,” she rasps, the pad of her index finger experimenting with pressure against the opening. “It’ll hurt if you don’t.” She knuckles the space behind my balls, and I loosen with a jerk.

The tip slides in, and I wince, the rigid finger stretching the canal’s delicate tissue.

“ Ungh .”

“You’re doing so good,” she purrs, pressing in and retreating in languid strokes. Her encouragement has me tilting my hips back to suck her in deeper.

My thighs stutter when Gabe reaches the swollen dome of flesh inside me. I cling to reality with every rubbed circle. Pre-cum leaks from me like a faucet. One of my hands seeks out my anguished cock, wanting to jack myself into a frenzy.

Crack.

The impact of her smack on the other cheek ripples through my body.

“Hands where I can see them.”

“Fucking shi— please .” They obey, rising above my head, only to bunch the fabric in my fists.

“You’ll come like this,” she demands. “Without touching yourself.”

The slow strokes and circles speed up with the addition of more lube and another finger, changing my muffled sounds of pleasure to those of pure, frantic need.

“How’s that feel?”

“Full, so full ,” I drone.

My cock paces the surface of the mattress, tangling itself in a sticky web. I’m already teetering on the edge, and the orgasm whips through a white-hot flash. I topple and cry out for Gabe.

“I’m here,” she coos, kissing my hip and shoulder and stroking the sweaty, barbaric strands of my hair. “Can you be a good boy and give me another?”

I groan a yes while drooling into the mattress.

Still half-hard, I ball the sheets while a blurry Gabe prepares the toy, notching it through the o-ring of her strap-on and then lathering a generous amount of lube over its length. Her fingers glaze with some of the excess, and she uses it to coat my insides as prep.

No words, only inhuman, primitive noises flow from me.

“Want you to be loud, Wade.” She takes a deep breath, tapping the buzzing silicone head of her dildo against my lube-covered hole. “Let everyone know how greedy you are for me, for this dick.”

One easy push in, and I’m gone again, lost in the high doled out to me.

“You’re taking it so well.”

My hips pop back in answer to the rolling motion of hers, soft, happy noises escaping from where I bite the sheets.

“So, so well.”

Inch by inch, she takes and takes and takes, every withdrawal blending relief and loss and gluttonous desire together. Each plow, she asks if it’s too much, and each time, I deny it, savoring the delicious stretch. Overwhelmed by how the line of pain and ecstasy becomes less and less clear.

The fake cock bounces off my prostate on the way in and digs against it on the way out. This time, pleasure doesn’t build brick by brick. It appears suddenly and sneaks up like a phantom, ready to devour. I wrack through it, moaning a scream until my throat goes silent.

“Fuck.” Gabe falters. “I’m gonna come.”

The constant spearing goes uneven, and I break, coming so hard I can’t see. Coming and coming and fuck , it can’t be possible for me to still be coming. Hot, thick cum stripes between my chest and the bed below.

Her thighs judder against mine, nails clipping the skin of my ass. But she stays vibrating inside me, panting in the wake.

A dull rush of blood in my ears mutes her low, dulcet voice.

“Making you come” — she laughs through a huff— “is better than denying you orgasms. I might be addicted.”

The sound wraps me like a warm blanket on a chilly day, and I want to live in it. Live inside that laughter.

“You think you can handle another?”

My eyes flip open to her maniacal smile.

“ Can’t ,” I blubber through a groan.

“I know you can do it.” She soothes me with a hush, spread palms skimming over my backside. “Let me make you come again.”

Short respite complete, my leaky cock bobs against my abs. Ready for more.

“Okay.” I agree. I must be crazy.

“That was only half. Can I fill you up?” she says. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“I want you to.”

It’s true, and I mean it. I might be addicted, too.

Large spurts of lube add to the mix before she delves in. Gabe pores over the tender, overworked p-spot. Sweat pours down my back.

“The way your ass swallows the tip of this dick is obscene .” The last word gushes from her, erotic and awful. “Like those pretty sounds.”

Silky strokes crescendo into ravenous ones, sending me and my cock slobbering into the bedsheets. Every other breath hitches between my gruff, elongated inflections and lazy grunts.

She quakes and curls over me, puffing out a string of bad words while filling me to the hilt, leather and metal sandwiched between her hips and my bare ass. The pitch of her moan skips an octave with the next deep slam.

And just like that, I come, fierce and ruinous, like being set on fire, the load splattering every surface within a short distance.

Gabe whimpers my name, and every thread of my sanity unravels.

I shatter across the bed when she pulls out, wobbly knees no longer able to support me through the aftershocks. I’m numb and blind—no color but Gabe and no sensation except for her touch gathering me up like a pile of laundry before I lose consciousness.

I ebb in and out, experiencing a hazy angel armed with a hot, damp towel. The contact to every crook and cranny of my chest, my abs, my cock, my ass, is lush and needed. I black out when it stops and wake up to the thrumming of her heartbeat. Her naked hips and legs, shed of the harness, shift beneath me.

Weak and groggy, my head lifts from her skin.

Her fingers skate through my hair and down my back. I savor it with an indiscernible noise.

“You okay?”

A dopey chuckle sputters. “I think my mind exploded into bits and spilled out of my cock.”

She collects one of my hands and moves her lips over the knuckles, her whine regretful. “I was too rough, huh?”

“Far too rough.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs through a hum, her kisses like salve on open wounds. “Do you hate me?”

“My ass might tomorrow.”

We share a dazed giggle.

“But I could never.”

“Never? You hated my guts a couple months ago.”

“Untrue,” I rasp, nuzzling into her once more, the valley of her sternum a stunning fit for my cheek.

Her content sigh follows. “No?”

“No.” Air rustles through my nose. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

Slumber threatens me with a sharp knife, but I manage to get the words out.

“I’ve never hated you.” I notch my chin on her chest, needing her to know. Needing her to see me. “I hated how much I wanted you. Hated how I couldn’t have you. I hated how much you hated me. But never you.”

Tawny eyes gazing back soften, fingertips brushing through the hair on either side of my lax head. “Wanna know my secret?”

“Yes.”

“I still kinda hate you.” Her lips purse in the corners, sly and joking, before turning serious. “I hate that you hide yourself. Hate that I had no idea how incredible you are. Hate that no one has appreciated your gentle heart and thoughtful mind. I’m so lucky to know all these amazing parts of you, Wade.” She pecks my nose. “I promise I’m not taking it for granted.”

My heart soars. It flies so fucking high.

This. I wanted this.

Adoration and awe, tenderness, and teasing. The culmination of an intimacy that only vulnerability allows.

It’s what I chased every fling, with every other person I’d been with. And now that I have it, I want nothing else, with no one but her.

I wanna tell her— then the world —that I was too afraid to show so many sides of myself until she stripped me down. That only she can pull me apart and piece me back together. That she’s it for me.

The various parts—the playboy, the submissive, the intellectual, the athlete—stare at one another in a house of mirrors, debating.

It’ll be over in the New Year. What’s the point? one whispers. She’ll find someone else.

Instead, my eyes shut, casting away the voices, unready to leave this perfect moment for a spiral of pessimism.

“Sleepy baby boy,” Gabe sweetly mutters, pelting short kisses in my hair. “Mine, mine, mine.”

Thank God.

I cherish the confirmation and kiss her heart. “Mine,” I mutter back.

“Yours.”