Page 27

Instead, his eyes went unfocused, his mouth falling open as a heavy stream of pre-cum leaked from him, making my job even easier. The sight of prim and proper Vincent so utterly wrecked by something so basic had me grinning wickedly.

"Look at you," I murmured, squeezing us both together. "You like how my piercings feel, don't you? It's like nothing you've ever had before."

"Yes," Vincent admitted, trying to thrust up into my hand. "God, Luka, please."

I tightened my grip but maintained the torturously slow pace. "Please what? Use your words, Vince. Tell me exactly what you want."

The flush on his face deepened, spreading down his neck to his chest. Whether from arousal or embarrassment, I couldn't tell. Probably both.

"Faster," he managed, his voice strained. "I need—I need you to go faster."

I deliberately stopped moving altogether, my hand still wrapped around both of us, but completely still. "Is that how you ask for what you want? I think you can do better than that. "

"Please make me come, Luka," he said, his voice raw and honest despite his awareness. "I want to feel those piercings against me while you stroke us both. I want it hard and fast. Please."

The polite "please" combined with those filthy words nearly undid me on the spot. That calculated surrender was more arousing than blind passion could ever be.

"Since you asked so nicely," I purred, resuming my movements with increased speed and pressure.

But I wasn't going to give him just a standard frotting session. This was Vincent fucking Matthews, the man I'd been obsessing over for weeks, the man I'd killed for, the man I'd betrayed everything for. He deserved my A-game.

I shifted positions, adjusting so that the head of his cock dragged directly over my ladder of piercings. His eyes flew wide, back arching off the bed as the sensitive frenulum caught on each metal bar in succession.

"Holy fuck," he gasped, fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to bruise. "What are you—oh my god."

I grinned down at him, grinding deliberately slower to let him feel each individual ridge. "Like that, doc? Each one of these bars has a different texture. This one's smooth—" I positioned his cockhead against the lowest piercing, "—and this one's ribbed."

Vincent's vocabulary had apparently been reduced to profanity and desperate gasps. His hips bucked helplessly, seeking more of the sensation.

"You should see your face right now," I murmured, watching him come undone beneath me. "The perfectly controlled Dr. Matthews, falling apart because of my cock jewelry. Wonder what your colleagues would think. "

"Shut up," he managed, though the command lost its effect when delivered between desperate moans. "Just don't—don't stop."

I angled my hips to increase the pressure, creating a filthy rhythm that had him cursing like a sailor. Each thrust dragged his cockhead over my ladder of piercings. I kept my eyes on his face, noting every reaction, every shift in expression as pleasure built.

When I felt him getting close, I deliberately slowed again, drawing a frustrated groan from him. "Not yet," I whispered, enjoying his desperation. "Not until I say so."

"Luka," he protested, voice tight with need. "Please."

"Beg me," I demanded, my free hand sliding up to grip his jaw, holding him still so I could watch his face. "Let me hear how much you want it."

Vincent's eyes met mine, and I recognized that look. He was analyzing me even now, noting my responses, filing away information for later. The therapist never fully disappeared, even when he was coming undone.

"Please let me come. I need it. I need you. Please, Luka."

The way he maintained eye contact as he begged, the calculated vulnerability in his surrender… It was the hottest thing I'd ever seen.

"Fuck yes," I growled, resuming the faster pace, twisting my wrist slightly on each upstroke in a way that had him crying out. "That's it, gorgeous. Give me what's mine."

His eyes rolled back in his head as he came, his back arching off the bed. "Fuck, Luka! Fuck, I'm coming!"

Cum shot in thick ropes across his stomach and chest, some even hitting his chin. I kept stroking us both through it, watching intently as each pulse shot out of him, his cock jerking against mine. His warm release coated my fingers, making the slide even slicker .

"Holy shit," I growled, something primal taking over as I watched him fall apart. Mine. This was fucking mine. No one else got to see my prim and proper therapist like this, covered in his own cum, shaking and gasping my name.

The sight of him wrecked and marked pushed me over the edge. I came hard, adding my cum to the mess between us, deliberately aiming so our releases mixed on his skin. I wanted to mark him, wanted him to smell like me, like us, wanted everyone to know he'd been thoroughly fucked.

"Goddamn," I panted, riding the aftershocks, grinding against him until the pleasure tipped into something sharp. My limbs turned liquid, muscles useless as the high coursed through my bloodstream.

I collapsed beside him, my body still buzzing with aftershocks. My usual move would be to get up, clean off, maybe offer a fist bump or a casual "thanks for the ride" before leaving. Quick, dirty, uncomplicated. Just how I liked it.

But Vincent turned toward me, his expression soft and open in a way that made my chest tighten uncomfortably. He reached up, gently brushing sweat-dampened hair from my forehead, his fingers lingering against my temple.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

I froze, not knowing what to do with this. Sex, I understood. I was a fucking sex god. But this gentle touching combined with that analytical gaze? That wasn't something I knew how to handle.

"Fine," I said shortly, averting my eyes and shifting slightly away. "Just need to clean up."

Vincent nodded. "Let me get something."

He reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand. I took the tissues, focusing intently on the mechanical task of cleaning up the mess we'd made. It was easier than acknowledging the strange ache in my chest, the unfamiliar feeling of wanting to stay instead of leaving.

"I should probably let you get some rest," I said, already half sitting up, moving to swing my legs over the side of the bed. This was the part where I left, went back to the couch, put some distance between us before things got too... something.

"You could stay," Vincent offered, his voice deliberately casual as he tossed the used tissues into a small wastebasket beside the bed. "The bed's plenty big enough for both of us."

I glanced back at him, surprised. "You want me to stay?"

"If you want to," he said, giving me that perfect out, the space to say no without any pressure.

I hesitated, my mind flashing back to the other night when my hands had closed around his throat. I'd nearly strangled him during a nightmare.

I shook my head. "Bad idea, doc. You remember what happened last time? I could have killed you."

Vincent studied me. "How about a compromise?" he suggested, slipping into that calm therapist voice that somehow still managed to sound natural rather than clinical.

"I'm listening."

"You could stay and... watch over me instead?" he suggested. "If you're not sleeping, no nightmares, right?"

Watch over him. That's exactly what I wanted, what I'd been doing since the moment I saw him through my scope. Watching, protecting, seeing him when no one else did.

"I can do that," I agreed, trying to sound indifferent despite the relief flooding through me.

Vincent smiled, a small, knowing thing. "Good. Don't let the monsters get me." He turned over, giving me his back .

"I am the monster, Vince," I said quietly.

He glanced over his shoulder, his expression suddenly serious. "No, Luka. You're really not."

Something cracked in my chest, a fissure splitting through twenty-six years of certainty. My throat tightened around words I couldn't form. Monster was all I'd ever been: weapon, killer, asset. It formed the foundation of my entire identity. If I wasn't the monster, what the fuck was I?

Vincent's simple declaration rattled through my mind like a bullet ricocheting inside a metal box.

Four words challenging everything Prometheus had spent decades drilling into me.

Four words offering something I didn't dare name.

Absolution? Humanity? The possibility that the blood on my hands hadn't completely consumed whatever soul I might have had?

I swallowed hard, unprepared for how desperately I wanted to believe him.

"You don't know everything I've done," I finally managed.

"I know enough," he replied simply. "Monsters don't protect. Monsters don't hesitate. Monsters don't feel guilt."

I looked away, unable to face the gentle certainty in his expression. He was so fucking sure. So convinced there was something in me worth salvaging. It terrified me how badly I wanted him to be right.

I settled against the headboard, close enough to feel his warmth but not touching. Vincent's breathing slowed, deepened. His body relaxed into sleep with a trust I hadn't earned and didn't deserve.

I watched the rise and fall of his chest, counted each breath like a prayer. Memorized the curve of his shoulder, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the slight parting of his lips. This was my job now. To keep him safe. From the world. From Prometheus. From me .

Eventually, I found myself sliding down, lying beside him, drawn by some gravitational pull I couldn't resist. Carefully, I aligned my body with his, my chest against his back, my arm draped lightly over his waist. Just to better protect him, I told myself.

Just to be closer if any threats appeared.

As the night deepened, Vincent's steady breathing beneath my arm lulled me toward sleep despite my best intentions. I realized suddenly that I'd never been this close to anyone before. Not by choice. Not without ulterior motives or mission requirements. Just because I wanted to be near them.