Page 17

William

The apartment was cold when we arrived. November nights could be brutal, and I hadn’t left the heat on. Or maybe the chill came from the man in front of me. He’d been in a dark, quiet mood the whole drive home.

“He’s wrong,” I whispered into the darkness. We hadn’t turned on a single light, as though in silent agreement that illuminating our problems would only make them worse. Ryan sighed, removing his coat and slinging it over a kitchen stool before striding in the direction of the dining room. The moon and city lights illuminated his way.

I bowed my head, bracing myself for what lay before me. Discarding my coat as well, I followed his trail.

He stood at the drink cart, staring out the window with his back to me.

“His ending doesn’t have to be ours,” I said, coming up beside him. “You can stay here as long as you want, take all the time you need before making any big decisions. Our home isn’t a cage, and I’ll never resent you.” Our home. I’d said it deliberately. Did he enjoy the sound of it?

Ryan glanced over at me, the blank stare I hated so much in place. Since he never talked to me, I relied on his expressions. For now it seemed he wanted to hide from me.

He uncorked the decanter of scotch, pouring a few fingers into a tumbler before swallowing it down with a wince. I’d seen him drink once before, when he’d taken a couple of sips directly from my glass. This felt different. This felt like preparation for something terrible.

He poured another, the sound of liquor spilling into the glass made my stomach tense.

“Ryan—”

He offered it to me, becoming more persistent when I shook my head. Red mahogany liquor swished around the tumbler as he shoved it into my chest.

I took it, holding his challenging gaze as I knocked it back in one go. He left me holding the glass, picking up a fresh one for himself before filling both tumblers halfway. Our eyes locked, his blazing with defiance.

“We don’t have to do this,” I said softly, but he’d already downed the contents by the time the last word got out. He exhaled the burn, then nudged the bottom of my glass until it reached my lips, not relenting until I’d ingested the last drop.

Ryan nodded his approval, then poured us another with twice the amount as the first two. This wasn’t the cheap stuff, it was potent and fast acting. My limbs were already loosening, my common sense gearing up to abandon me. The way Ryan’s eyes shone, like a star held under water, said he was experiencing the same. He wanted us reckless, I realized.

“Ryan, that’s enough,” I said when he helped himself to a fourth. He made a show of holding my stare as he inhaled it in one gulp. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth before setting both our tumblers aside.

“You don’t have to prove anything.” I assumed that was his intention. To prove he was no longer a victim to his trauma, that he could push past his limits. “I’ll take whatever you can give me. I’ll never ask for more.”

Ryan gave me a forlorn look similar to the one he’d given me at the gala. Like I’d said the saddest thing he’d ever heard.

He backed up so he could see all of me, his stance relaxing as he took a visual tour of my suited body. What I’d said hadn’t made a difference.

The temperature of the apartment didn’t bother me anymore. I was so hot I could practically feel steam rise from my skin. Maybe I’d imagined the cold.

Removing my jacket, I tossed it away from me, uncaring about where it landed. My bow tie went next. I popped the top two buttons on my shirt as I strode to the other side of the dining room, leaning a forearm against the floor-to-ceiling window. Dangerous carelessness threatened to take over me as the liquor passed through my bloodstream. I began asking myself questions like: would this be so bad? Began telling myself things like: we both just want a little comfort, that’s all.

My cock throbbed behind my zipper, and my head pounded to the beat of my heart. “I don’t know what you want from me, Ryan.” I shut my eyes at the ache building behind them. “I wish you could just tell me. Or show me.” Was that truly what I wished for?

The silence stretched long enough for me to regret not taking another drink. All I needed was one more to finish me off, to put me to bed and out of my current misery.

Shoes tapping against the floor made my chest tighten. Ryan’s steps were sure, unfaltering, and picking up speed as they headed for me. I was terrified of what would come next, even while wanting whatever it would be.

I kept my gaze fixed on the moon shining over the river, even when his footfalls quieted, even when his scent wrapped around me from behind. Ryan’s long, elegant fingers wrapped around my bicep, and I let out a sound of both shock and pained relief. He’d never grabbed ahold of me before, never gripped me as though he didn’t want to ever let go.

All sensation rushed to that location, to the flame his hand ignited below my shirt. The touch wasn’t much, yet I felt branded by him.

He pulled me around until I met his nervous but determined stare. He’d made up his mind to push himself tonight. I wondered how much of that could be blamed on the Rare Cask he’d just breezed through. I’d had enough myself that I was content to see how this played out, falling into his trap.

The antique grandfather clock struck twelve, the chime startling us both. A new day, a new beginning. A new opportunity to start over, to change our minds and make better decisions. Ryan watched me as if I were a specimen under his microscope, wondering what to do with me. I’d be his specimen, his pet project, his guinea pig… I’d be whatever he wanted me to be, so long as he touched me right then.

As if sensing my desperation for him, he raised an unsteady hand, the other hand fisted at his side. Starting at my brows, he mapped out my face, the trembling easing the more comfortable and confident he became. I wanted to shut my eyes, to focus all my attention on how his hands felt on me, but his caress was feather soft, so I needed the sight of him to know this wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

He took the most time with my lips, tracing the outline before grazing the groove below my nose. My mouth parted to release the pent up air, blowing aside a wisp of his hair. I considered pulling the rest free of his bun, but kept my hands to myself.

Ryan’s fingers tickled past my chin, and I lifted my head, clearing the path to my throat. The notch at my collarbone fascinated him, he swirled his finger there, seeming content to stay for a while.

“Why does your touch, your gaze, your anger, and even your spurts of joy always feel like… more?” I asked, my brows drawing together as I tried to answer my own question. “How is it that you own me so completely, and I haven’t even had all of you, yet?” The insertion of “yet” made me come off presumptuous. That wasn’t my intention, but maybe it was his. Maybe he wanted me uninhibited tonight. I looked at the remnants of scotch in the crystal decanter, my gaze hot and unafraid when it returned to him.

Both of his hands were on my face now, the backs of his fingers ghosting along the scruff I hadn’t shaved. I could’ve sworn I’d seen a glint in his eyes when it grew in, so I left it.

Ryan had a pattern of teasing his affection, keeping me on edge and wanting more. An addict receiving his dose in tiny increments. Just enough to keep me functioning, but never enough to leave me satisfied. I harbored a constant craving for more, the unfulfilled need made this intoxicated version of me want to snatch him up by the hair and punish him for what he did to me. For what he didn’t do to me. Even now, he taunted me without knowing it, unintentionally dangling himself from a string while I fought to enjoy it instead of reaching for him.

My mind hadn’t been completely obliterated by the alcohol, so my conscience shouldered its way through the procession of lust, inappropriate thoughts, and anticipation. I pushed down my carnal needs for a moment while I attempted to do the right thing.

“Ryan, I-I haven’t been honest with you.” My eyes rolled back as his blunt nails raked over my scalp, not quite digging in. “Your being here is about more than me wanting to help you. I’ve been selfish,” I whispered, ashamed of myself. “I am selfish—”

The delicate stroke of his lips against mine put an end to my momentary lapse into guilt.

Ryan cradled my head with the faintest touch of his fingers. His mouth trembled but parted, mine opening too as his tongue tentatively entered.

Like always, his kiss was soft and shy, his moan an extra shot of both. The spicy duet of vanilla and woody notes added a hint of masculine rebellion to his flavor. I lapped at the inside of his mouth, issuing my own low rumble as every nerve ending in me came alive.

He retreated a step, and something in me snapped, red clouded my vision at the thought of losing this. At the thought of losing him. I banded an arm around his waist, hauling him into my chest and deepening the kiss.

I clamped a hand over the back of his head, holding him to my mouth as I launched a full-frontal assault on him.

I spun us, pressing his back against the window as I lined my body up with his, slapping my palms on either side of him, caging him in. I was losing myself, losing all self-control, and a part of me begged for Ryan to stop me.

His fingers bunched into the collar of my shirt pulling me closer as his body vibrated beneath me. I got lost in him. Lost in taking his breath away, lost in my inability to find my own.

“Fuck,” I panted against his damp lips before sending my tongue in again, swiping it across his and dominating the moment. We were on fire, or maybe it was the world around us that burned, searing all our inhibitions to ash.

I jutted my hips forward, my throbbing erection rubbing along his zipper seam, searching for proof we were on the same page. As though my desperate search were a call to action, his own length began to rise to the occasion. I increased the friction, increased the pressure of the kiss, increased the grip of the hold I now had on his hair.

Something changed then. Ryan froze, then began pushing me away instead of pulling me in. He jerked his hips back sharply, shoving his back into the glass.

My senses weren’t returning fast enough, I still kissed at his mouth, following him after he’d retreated from me. It took a punch to my shoulder for me to jump away. Ryan slumped forward, catching himself with his palms on his knees.

“ Fuck , I… I…” Everything hurt. My head, my heart, my balls and my cock. I stumbled backward, throwing my hands out for something to break my fall. I bumped into the table, sending it and a few chairs screeching across the floor.

Ryan watched me from his bent position, his hair now wild and free, chest heaving.

I needed to say something, needed to do something to fix this, to help him, but I couldn’t even see straight. My arousal still had a hold of me, like the part of my brain in charge of my desire had malfunctioned.

“S-sorry. I’ll b-be right back,” I stammered, taking uncoordinated steps toward the archway. There was movement behind me, then something crashed to the floor. I whirled around to find Ryan near the head of the dining room table, anger bleeding from his eyes, a chair toppled over on its side.

I spun away again, needing to escape so I could handle the need raging through me. Between the alcohol, the months spent locked away with him here, and the rough encounter we’d just had, I thought I might explode.

Ahead of me, something hit the wall with an explosive crack, and glass shattered everywhere. I stared at the shards in disbelief, turning slowly to find Ryan by the drink cart, the other tumbler in his hand. But I wouldn’t give him what he wanted. I wouldn’t give him a fight.

I made for the entryway again, this time quickening my pace. I heard the whistle of the tumbler passing before it connected with the opposite wall. I ducked, covering my head to protect myself from the sharp projectile.

My own hostility took over. I whirled around to him and roared, “What do you want from me?!” I charged over to him. Ryan nearly tripped over the wheel of the cart to avoid being run down by me. “Tell me what you want,” I gritted out, placing my hands onto the sides of his head and shaking. “Tell me what the hell you want!” I could only remember being this upset once before in my life. And like then, the anger was mostly misplaced. “You can’t give me more, but you don’t want me to leave. Tell me what to do here, Ryan,” I pleaded.

He knocked my hands away to swoop in and kiss me. I froze for a split second before getting on board. Ryan had never kissed me with such passion before. Our unabated mutual lust rose to inferno levels, but he pushed me away before we got a chance to incinerate everything to the ground.

“I’m going to my room,” I said, my voice roughened by pent up arousal. “Don’t stop me.” I backed away a couple of steps while he panted heavily, his hair a halo of chaos around his face. He took a step forward, and I held up a hand to ward him off as shards of glass crunched beneath my shoes. “I can’t do this with you. Not tonight. Don’t—”

He was on me before I’d finished my warning, his hands fisted in my shirt as he slaughtered me with his kiss. I growled, fisting his tuxedo jacket to keep him on his feet as I used my larger body to back him up. We were against the window again, both of us manic, the kiss chaotic, animalistic, raw.

Ryan slapped at my chest, and I reared back instantly, my lips curling in rage. He was playing with me now, egging me on as though trying to force a different version of me to the surface.

He sagged against the glass, blood smeared his top lip. I touched my fingers to my own mouth, they were red when I pulled them away. I couldn’t say who bit who.

I was sweaty, exhausted, and horny as fuck. The effects of the alcohol deepened by the minute instead of fading. I needed to punch something, and I needed my cock in my fist ASAP. I attempted to leave again. This time Ryan flipped the whole table over, the crash of the centerpiece smashing activating my body’s emergency brake system.

I took in the destruction. “You’re making a habit of destroying my shit,” I said in a deceptively calm tone I didn’t recognize.

Ryan stepped out of the way of the table and debris, circling the chair he’d previously knocked over and retreating to the darkest corner of the room. He’d increased the distance I’d have to travel to get to him. He was a wreck, but beneath the blood and sweat and harsh breaths, he looked pleased with himself. He had me where he wanted me.

The voices taunted me as I stalked him. They wanted me to put him down. To bend him over and fuck him until he fell apart.

I unbuttoned the cuffs of my sleeves, rolling them up my forearms as I approached. The ticking of the grandfather clock added an ominous tone to the violent and sexually charged mood.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I said with a menacing edge, hauling him back into his corner when he tried to slip past me. His spine slammed into the wall. “It’s too late for that.” I ripped his jacket away from his shoulders, yanking it down his arms and casting it aside before tearing open his shirt. Buttons flew in every direction. “This is what you wanted, right?”

Ryan’s hiss of pain melted into a moan when I jerked his head back and dove in with teeth bared for his neck. He pushed at my chest again, and I bit down with enough pressure to still him, but not enough to break skin.

I sucked my mark into his flesh as he rose to his toes, keening at the back of his throat. “You’ll be irrevocably mine when I’m done with you,” I snarled, before latching onto a fresh patch of skin. He bucked into me, but I was stronger, and when he tugged at the neck of my shirt, I pinned both his wrists to the wall.

“This is how you wanted me, right?” I breathed close to his face, kicking his ankles apart so I could settle my cock against his. He turned his head away when I lowered to kiss him, my lips meeting his cheek. I bit down there too, stealing the kiss I wanted when he jerked his head back around. He tasted like blood, salt, and adrenaline, and I let go of his wrists to shred the tank top he wore down the middle.

Seeing his scars snapped me out of my craze. He covered himself with his hands and I grabbed hold of my aching head. “I’m sorry.” I turned to dash out of there, but he yanked me to a stop by the neck of my shirt.

I snarled in frustration, going at him again, ducking my head to seal my mouth over one nipple. He made a wounded sound, his feet slipping on the hardwood floor.

I lifted him by the hips, his legs automatically wrapping around me even though his hands were now pushing at my face. “Why are you fighting me?!” I no longer recognized myself. I rutted against him, undulating as though I were already inside him. “Tell me what you want?! Tell me! Do you want me to take it? Is that what you want?”

My blood iced over in my veins, the wrongness of this whole situation striking me like a bullet to my chest. Even the voices abandoned me to my insanity. An insanity they’d instigated along with Ryan. I was the one to blame, though. This was all on me.

His feet hit the floor, and I backed away in abject horror. “Is that… Is that what you want?” I peered down at the buttons and pieces of torn fabric on the floor, then at my hands in disgust. Ryan didn’t have to answer me, guilt covered his face in shades of red. Why would he want me to do something so vile? Why… The only reason I could think of made my stomach roll.

“Is that what they did to you?” I whispered, praying he said no. I wanted to fall to my knees and scream to the heavens, begging God to let the answer be no. My whole being, everything I was and used to be hung on by a thread as I waited for the answer I already knew.

I ransacked my memory for the words he’d written down on paper. It seemed like eons ago now. I went over all of them in my head.

Burned!

Stab!

Cut!

Drugged!

Slave!

Cold!

Hungry!

Chained!

Floor!

Beat!

Broken!

He hadn’t written down rape, and I’d held onto that delusion. I’d convinced myself his aversion to physical contact stemmed from another form of abuse. I’d told myself the only abuse he’d endured was on that page. Any or all of those eleven words were the reason. I let myself believe that because I knew I’d never recover from the truth.

Ryan busied himself with righting his shirt and fastening the only remaining button. It was enough to cover his scars, the most vulnerable and revealing part of himself. I didn’t miss the look on his face before he lowered it. Shame. I knew firsthand how it made the eyes dull, how it made the mouth lax and the breath leave you on a heartbreaking exhale.

I paced away from him, punching my fists through the air, screaming, needing to expel my rage somehow. I charged over to the buffet, swiping the decor on top of it to the floor. I ripped the portrait of A Dying Man’s Melody hanging on the wall above it, breaking it over my knee before throwing the pieces aside.

Ryan stood still in his dark corner while I destroyed everything I could put my hands on, adding to the pile of rubble. Between the two of us, the room had become a war zone.

My throat was as dry as scorched earth by the time I was through, the air burning in my lungs felt hotter than lava. I paced a tight circle, kicking debris out of my way. The spots clouding my vision began to clear, and I laced my hands behind my sweaty neck as I gazed up at the chandelier.

“I don’t know what to do,” I said, utterly dejected. “I could say I’m sorry for what happened to you, because I am. I’m so fucking sorry, Ryan. But it won’t fix it. No matter how many times I say it, it’ll never be enough.”

Davidson’s words came back to me, highlighting how naive I’d been.

“What are you, a shrink now?”

“No, I’m not,” I muttered to myself.

I took a step in Ryan’s direction. I needed to get to him. To hug and protect him, even though it was too late for the latter. He shrank back, molding his shoulders to the wall.

Kicking a chunk of the portrait out of my way, I walked over to the table, righting it before leaning against it. I scanned my useless brain for something to say, for encouraging words aimed to soothe. I thought about what happened here tonight, thought about all the nights we kissed in spite of our fears and pain. Thought about what Ryan had been trying to do through those kisses. He’d been trying to repair himself. Trying to find the beauty in something that had only ever caused him pain.

Had he never been touched from a place of kindness after having been sold? Had he never experienced pleasure in his own body? Did he only associate sex and intimacy with brutality and non-consent? I’d hoped somewhere along the way, someone in the sick and twisted world he’d lived in handled him with care. But it seemed nothing but savagery had tarnished every corner of his life.

As I watched him curl in on himself with his hands drawn protectively to his chest, I decided to do something about it. To take a different route, one that hopefully led to his heart. To the damaged bits of it. I’d educate him.

“Sex can be stimulating,” I started through a scratchy throat, “invigorating, exhilarating, and about a dozen other things. When done right, and with the right person, the experience can even feel spiritual.” I checked to see if I was scaring him. His hands slowly drifted to his sides.

“Sometimes the right person isn’t always the person you’re in love with. It could mean someone who cares about you, someone who respects you. Someone who’s just as concerned with your pleasure as they are with theirs. Although, I hear sex with a soulmate can feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven. That the connection goes way beyond two bodies coming together. They say the experience can be so life affirming it reduces you to tears.” I huffed. “I read that in a magazine once. I’ll have to take their word for it. I’ve had plenty of sex, but I’ve never been in love. Sounds amazing though, doesn’t it? To feel that much for someone else? For the orgasm to be secondary to the strengthening of a bond?” Did he hear the wistfulness in my tone? The longing?

“Sex used to be my form of escapism. Something I used to take my mind off of my pain, or if I needed to shut down the voices haunting me.” I tapped a finger to my temple. “My first time wasn’t as romantic as the movies would have you believe it’ll be. It hurt a little at first. And sometimes, if I go too long without bottoming, it can feel like the first time all over again.”

I wasn’t sure if I was helping matters, or making it worse. I was rambling again, but I spoke from the heart. Hopefully that made sense through the mess I was making of things.

“But the pain of first-times gives way to a euphoric, all-consuming and spellbinding gratification. The touch of your own hand can do the same.” I scooted higher onto the table, leaning back on my palms. “Granted, jerking off can sometimes feel like you’re only taking the edge off your desire. Killing the flames but still choking on the smoke. I got that horrible metaphor from a magazine too. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good, though. It has its own appeal.”

I couldn’t make out his face as it was hidden in the dark, but I could see everything from his neck down clearly. His feet shuffled a fraction closer.

“No always means no, Ryan. And just because that wasn’t your reality then, it doesn’t mean that it isn’t now. You don’t need to be afraid or ashamed of your arousal, and when you’re ready, just know that sex can be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever taken part in. And if you’re never ready, that’s okay too. Sex doesn’t need to be the measuring stick used to determine if you’re whole. To determine if you’re worthy. You already are.” I pressed my lips together to keep them from quivering.

I wanted to give him something. I wanted to show him what it could look and feel like if he ever chose to explore his own body.

Hopping down from the table, I used a shoe covered foot to herd the broken glass near me into a neat pile several feet away. Then I returned to my spot and began to strip, painstakingly slow. I kicked off one shoe, waiting for some sign that he couldn’t handle this before removing the other.

“Sometimes I get so turned on when I’m around you,” I said nervously. What if I scared him further? What if my honesty made him terrified to be near me? Ryan eased forward another inch, his chin now exposed to the moonlight.

I unbuttoned my pants, taking my time to lower the zipper. He took another step toward me. “Sometimes jerking off once isn’t enough. Sometimes it takes a couple orgasms before I can be in the same room with you.” I shoved my pants down, kicking out of them and cupping myself through my boxer briefs. Ryan hadn’t retreated, so I continued.

“Anything can set me off. Like watching you struggle with a note during our violin lessons. You do this cute thing where you scrunch up your face, and you stare at the instrument like it’s your mortal enemy.” My cock grew heavier, firming up as I spoke.

“See?” I whispered, gesturing to the imprint of it beneath the tight cotton. The lower half of his face was exposed now. “This is what you do to me, Ryan.” My cockhead reached for the waistband of my underwear.

“Sometimes it’s the way the tips of your ears heat when you’re embarrassed, or the way you slam your door when you’re tired of my rambling, or when you just need to be alone. You’re mercurial, and I fantasize about having you through each and every one of your moods.” I swallowed. “I come the moment my hand touches my dick on those occasions.” I started on the third button of my shirt, the top two already undone.

“The way you run, so efficient and graceful. The way you eat like you haven’t eaten in days. With so much gusto and… hunger. The way your curls are tighter around the nape of your neck, but looser near your crown. The way you never seem to think about a haircut, or fuss about the clothes I buy you, or the bath products I choose for your bathroom. You’re low maintenance. Your outer beauty means nothing to you, but it means so much to me because it matches your inner beauty.”

I hesitated after undoing the final button, but then I reminded myself he’d seen my back before and hadn’t made a big deal out of it. I peeled my shirt away, my chest filling with arrogant pride when the volume of his breathing increased.

“I want to show you what you do to me, Ryan,” I whispered. “I want to show you how an orgasm, how self-pleasure, should look and feel. Let me redefine this for you.”

I peeled my boxer briefs off, then stretched out on the center of the table, planting my feet flat on it. Spitting into my palm, I wrapped it around the base of my shaft and stroked upward. My other hand gripped the edge of the table as I let out a needy moan.

I continued to work myself in an unhurried rhythm, raising my head at the sound of Ryan’s footsteps. He emerged from the shadows, stepping into the moonlight, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears and curiosity.

“Fuck,” I bit out letting my head fall back, a desperate need to come blurring my vision. I felt the muscles in my neck grow taut as my body jerked and clenched all over.

Chair legs scraped along the floor, and I glanced between my spread legs to see Ryan seating himself at the head of the table. He watched with intrigue, splaying his palms flat on the wooden surface as I beat my dick.

“I won’t l-last long,” I bit out, hand pumping faster as my balls drew close to my body, “with you s-staring at me like that.” I swiped a thumb over my sticky slit, swirling a finger over the sensitive tip before jerking just the top half of my cock. The fingers of my other hand dug into the underside of the table.

“Lick your lips,” I ordered. Ryan’s gaze flew to my face, eyes widening. “Lick those luscious lips for me. Yes, that’s it,” I praised when he obeyed. He blushed, then went back to obsessing over my dick, his eyes went wide when a rope of precum squirted out.

“It feels… so… good ,” I said, my voice rough with lust. Ryan sat like a man before a feast, and the sight made me even hotter. Sweat glistened all over my body, and I dug my heels into the table as my climax began to take shape.

Spitting on my middle finger, I relaxed my body enough to squeeze the thick digit inside my hole, hissing at the burn as I plunged it in and out of me. “Fuck…” I groaned, striking my prostate over and over again.

Ryan’s stare bounced between my face, my ass, and the painful erection I damn near strangled. I tugged my finger free, crying out from the loss of it before wetting my index finger and shoving them both in. I arched off the table, whipping my fist up and down my cock as I came all over myself. I barked out something unintelligible, toes curling as I forced a third finger in, feeling the ache but not giving a damn.

I played with myself through the aftershocks, my bicep getting a workout as my asshole clenched around my fingers.

My body dropped to the table when it was over, limbs falling in every direction and I blinked slowly, struggling to see past the fireworks my orgasm set off.

Ryan pushed up from his chair, strolling the length of the table, drinking in every available inch of me, his fingers dragging along the edge of the surface as he went.

I felt his gaze like a soft wind along my feet, then up my calves and thighs. I wondered for a split second how he perceived my scars in this moment, but inwardly sighed with relief when the sight of them didn’t make him falter.

He paused near my hip, captivated by the mess dripping down my groin. Some of it slid down my ball sack as well. A final drop dribbled through my slit as he watched. I pinched my cockhead, helping the thick, pearly white bead of cum erupt over the tip.

Ryan reached a quivering hand toward it, then pulled back.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, sated and drowsy. “You can touch me if you want.”

He scanned my upper half, and I resisted tensing up under his perusal. Going back to my cock, which now relaxed on its side, softening, Ryan reached his fingers out again. They traveled up from my hip, then through the trimmed hair surrounding my pubic area.

“Your fingers were made to torture me.” I shuddered under his touch. I was spared the overstimulation when he stopped before reaching my dick. He coated a finger with my release, examining it before bringing it to his nose for a sniff. He then sampled it with the very tip of his tongue.

“It’s an acquired taste,” I breathed as he explored the flavor of it.

Ryan scooped up a bigger helping this time, sending two fingers to the back of his throat before pulling them away clean. His eyelids fluttered, his expression starved.

“Fuck, Ryan,” I groaned.

He flushed, drying the digits off on his shirt. Doing so disturbed the flaps, exposing the hard bulge at the front of his pants. He followed my gaze to it, then tugged the long hem back into place.

“Touch it,” I said, my tongue thick, mouth dry. Between the scotch, the destructive rage, the mind-blowing orgasm, and hurricane of emotions that’d wreaked havoc on me, it was a wonder I could keep my eyes open at all. For this, I would. For him, I’d do anything. “It can’t hurt you. Your cock isn’t your enemy, Ryan.”

He took several steps back, his breathing ragged when a quick glance down showed he hadn’t outrun his erection. It had followed him. It always would. He had to deal with this.

“It’s okay,” I crooned, slowly sitting up, swinging my legs over the table. I wanted to go to him, to calm him with my touch, but that would’ve only made things worse. I rapped my knuckles on the table in a slow rhythm, counting with each tap until he relaxed.

I didn’t ask him to touch himself again. Pressuring him wasn’t my goal, and I no longer wanted to live in a fantasy world where I alone could fix him. “It’s okay.”

Ryan chewed on his lip, but then he pressed a hand into his hip before drifting it over to his cock at a snail’s pace. He kept his eyes on me. They widened in time with his mouth parting. I curled my fingers over the edge of the table.

His loose, shaky grasp on himself tightened as he snaked his hand up and down his shaft. Within seconds he climaxed, cheeks warming and body bowing on a soundless gasp. Ryan threw his free hand out to grab one of the dining room chairs, using it for support as his orgasm ripped through him.

He dropped his chin to his chest, features tightening like he was in pain. I didn’t know how much longer I could sit by and watch him hurting from experiencing something that should’ve felt good.

Please, don’t let him be angry when this is over. Please, don’t let him be ashamed. I waited on pins and needles for him to regain his control, hoping this wouldn’t cause a setback.

Ryan straightened, his hair clinging to his sweaty face. He blinked his watery eyes and a tear fell, stabbing me straight in the heart, but then his mouth trembled into a smile.

“You did it,” I breathed, breaking into an emotional smile too.

His smile faded, and so did mine. Where did we go from here? And would we go there together?

“What is this?” I whispered. “This thing between us.” More pointedly I asked, “Who am I to you?” I knew who he was to me, although I couldn’t say it. How I felt about him, and why, would scare him off.

I feared I was nothing more than a starting point for him. A place he’d found safety and comfort in before transitioning to something, or somewhere else. He wouldn’t be wrong for feeling that way. That should’ve always been the purpose. I’m the one who’d blurred lines. Who’d crossed them altogether. But now that I had, I didn’t want to lose him.

Ryan strode from the dining room. I let him go, remembering how much he enjoyed time alone after dealing with something new. I’d deal with my unrealistic expectations on my own, some other time.

I needed to get cleaned up and get some sleep. I was so tired, though, and the ache in my chest made it hard to move. I slumped onto the table, rolling to my back, the firm surface sparking a twinge in my shoulder. Just a few minutes. I’ll close my eyes for just a few minutes.

The muted notes of Ryan’s violin captured me before sleep had set in all the way. He played near the window, the city serving as his muse.

I’d never heard the piece he played before. Must have been something he’d been practicing in private. It didn’t occur to me to think about why he’d chosen to play it now, or here with me as his audience. By morning, it dawned on me that it was his way of saying thank you. I’d realized it was a breathtaking, haunting goodbye.