Page 33 of This Might Hurt

ANDREW

The comforting heat around my cock disappears as Jude lifts his head, just a shape in the dim light. “No,” I whisper, pleading. “I can—” I slap my open palms hard against my forehead, because this can’t fucking be happening. “I can do it. Please try again.”

Even though it’s still disgustingly warm in this room, my half-stripped body feels cold and shameful when he sits up.

Fuck me. The few times I was given blowjobs in college this didn’t happen.

Only now, when it matters more than anything ever has in my life.

I scrub my arm roughly across my watery eyes, still half asleep. “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

He doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t touch me or tell me it’s okay. Face burning, I struggle to sit up and pull my pants back on. I don’t know how we’ll carry out the rest of my plan without me ever making eye contact again, but I’ll figure something out.

The dangerous shadow of his body abruptly lunges forward and tackles me back onto the bed so hard my head bounces and I cry out in startled pain.

His whole weight sits on my chest, both of us breathing hard as he presses his nose into the soft skin under my ear while his hand cradles the other side of my head.

He blows out a long exhale against my neck, then inhales deeply, and I realize he wants me to copy him.

We breathe out at the same time, then in and out again, until my head clears.

I let my eyes drift shut, retreating to the closer, safer darkness behind my eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. ”

I can sense the shape of it, this feeling that I have no purpose but to take what I’m given.

I’m just a pet, bred for nothing. Whatever I want is mine, but no one will ever want anything from me in return.

I’m supposed to get hard on someone’s tongue, come for him, give him my ass, no more than that.

I can feel my body sinking deeper and deeper into a sick kind of apathy.

If I could explain myself, maybe he would understand.

Maybe, like every other time, he could tell me what to do. But I can’t.

“Be quiet,” he murmurs, nuzzling the side of my face.

I can feel his sharp jaw, the end-of-day stubble, the soft, sweaty hair by his ear.

He presses in harder, then nips my earlobe, licks behind it.

It feels like being scented by a dog, the ones that can sniff your skin and tell you there's cancer eating away your insides. Perhaps he’ll find the sickness in me; perhaps he already did, the first time our eyes met.

I go still, gripping his firm bicep, and let the strange, unstoppable force of him wash over me.

After what has to be a full five minutes of his face in my neck, my hair, his mouth on my skin, he sits up on my chest and looks down at me.

The faint glow from the window catches eerily in his eyes as he tilts his head.

I wait for answers, or for him to give up, but he just whispers, “Pinch me hard if you need to stop.”

I frown at him, feeling frayed and panicky. “Why—”

He catches my jaw firmly and studies my eyes, then curls the fingers of his other hand and presses two knuckles against my teeth.

“Come on,” he breathes. My jaw loosens obediently without the input of my brain, and suddenly every corner of my mouth is full of his lean, strong fingers.

I jerk, gagging, my teeth digging deep into his skin, but he doesn’t ease off.

The corner of his mouth tips up when I stop struggling and stare at him through watering eyes. “That’s why.”

My jaw starts to ache as he sits there, watching.

I think he’s waiting to see if I tap out.

Maybe I should. Maybe I want to. But there’s an intense heat uncoiling in my belly that slips lower with each breath, into my cock, my thighs.

I can’t remember the last time my body felt much of anything, not just pleasure or pain, but hot or cold or my heartbeat or the will to live.

I stir my hips under him, shivering, and something triumphant flashes in his feral eyes.

“Have you ever had a cock in your mouth before?” he murmurs, somehow working his knuckles deeper.

Tears drip down my temples into my hair when I shake my head, and I can feel drool leaking from the corners of my mouth. This time he bares his teeth in a wide, genuine smile. “That’s because no one realizes good boys suck cock the best.”

I gape at him as he pulls his fingers out carefully and wipes drool off my chin with his thumb. “Do you regret this yet?” He runs spit-slick fingers roughly through my hair.

My jaw hurts. My arms are trapped, so I can’t wipe my eyes or do anything to make myself look less disgusting.

I barely know where I am except for this animal presence crouching on top of me.

I turn my face into his palm, the only light I can find, and close my eyes.

“Take whatever you want,” I breathe. “Anything. Just don’t let me go. ”

There’s a long moment of silence, but I don’t open my eyes.

He blows out a shaky breath, and I feel the weight of his forehead against my hair.

“Hey. Do you hear yourself? Shit.” His fingers tighten around my head.

“Look at me, Andrew.” I obey. It’s too dark and he’s too close, but I can see a glint of light caught in his eyes.

“Don’t say that shit to me or I’ll fucking believe you. I’m not okay. I’ll eat you alive.”

I shift my weight and bury my forehead in the comforting slope of his neck.

The scent I remember fills my nose, the most elemental version of him.

Like coming home. And I can sense to my relief that he’s not generous, that he’ll take and take until he knows he has every piece of me.

“You’re the only reason I stayed. You can fucking have me. ”

He gives a strange, sobbing moan against my jaw, then pushes me back against the pillows with a hand splayed on my chest. The air in the room changes, so sharp it sits like a blade along my skin.

I thought we had reached the bottom, but now I realize I’ve dragged us somewhere even deeper.

I’m scared. But I’ve never felt such a pure, clean fear.

His thumb presses in the hollow of my throat. “Open your mouth.”

I stretch my sore jaw automatically, expecting his knuckles again. Instead, he hooks a finger behind my bottom teeth, leans forward, and spits on my tongue. A ragged, needy sound breaks in my chest as I stare at him, wide-eyed. I can feel his thighs tighten around my ribs.

He coaxes my jaw shut, then strokes the line of my throat. “Swallow it.”

When he feels my Adam’s apple bob, his face softens, like I did something right and for the first time it truly mattered to someone. “Perfect boy.”

Then he’s gone, my body feeling strangely weightless as he scrambles backward off the bed and yanks his own shorts down, kicking them away.

He waits in the middle of the room, made of clean, naked angles in the half-dark, with his hands spread like an invitation.

The faint glow highlights the shape of his glistening cock, standing tall and bobbing when he moves.

It’s no bigger than mine, but it looks fucking enormous when I’m supposed to fit it in my mouth.

My back protests as I sit up and fumble my pants the rest of the way off into the tangled covers.

I hesitantly grope out my own cock, half hard now and so desperate for sensation that the brush of my fingers makes me gasp.

Unsure if I’m allowed, I wrap my fist around it and stroke quickly, skin slapping between my unsteady breaths.

When I remember myself and look up, Jude is watching me through lidded, amused eyes as he cradles his junk in one hand with no effort to stimulate himself. Because I guess that’s my job. Jesus.

My numb legs almost collapse when I stand up.

The room is so small that it only takes one step to bring us face to face, our chests almost touching and the tip of his cock resting slick against my bare hip.

I meet his eyes, a little lower than mine, and search them like I’m trying to understand in what way I belong to him now.

After a long moment, he jerks his chin wordlessly.

Not sure what to do, I crouch down and let my knees drop to the thick rug. “Shit,” I murmur. The cock in his fingers certainly doesn’t look any smaller up close. His balls sway when he bounces it and chuckles. Fingers smooth in my hair, gentle but firm.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down until it’s cupping the back of my head. “I’m not gonna hurt you unless you ask me to.”

Shaking my head, I reach up and smooth a hand along his leg. Stroking the soft skin on the inside of his thigh feels like the most sexual thing that’s happened tonight. “Please, not this time.” I have no capacity in my brain right now to figure out if there will be more times.

“I know. Good boy.” His fingers toy with my ear, my jaw, my cheek, absently and possessively, like I’m an object. I want to close my eyes and sit in this forever. I kind of want to cry. Then his thumb is back along my lower lip, prodding at my teeth until I open. “Lick it first.”

Heart thumping, I dig my fingers into his skin.

He keeps his thumb hooked gently in the corner of my mouth, more drool leaking out as I lean in and drag my tongue up his slit, gathering his clean, musky taste.

I feel him rock forward, his toes digging into the carpet as he sucks in a sharp breath.

His shaft is so wet, like he must have been leaking in his sleep before we even started, so I concentrate on cleaning it up in slow, careful strokes all the way down to his balls.

No one ever gave me a job that I haven’t performed to the highest standard, and I’m not stopping now.

I can hear his breath fracturing and his hips fighting not to move.