Page 46 of Vital Signs

"There it is." His teeth found my throat. "Begging already."

He bit down on my chest, following the dragon with teeth and tongue. When he reached my soft cock, Misha dragged his tongue up the shaft, spit making everything slick. I gasped, hips jerking despite staying soft.

I could still feel everything. Every touch burned sharper through the frustrated need, chemicals dulling some things while making others razor-sharp.

"Bon." He took me in his mouth. "Let's see how long before you get hard enough to be useful."

What followed was torture. Misha's mouth and hands and every filthy French word drove me toward something my body couldn't reach. My cock would twitch, start to fill, then go soft again. Over and over until I wanted to punch something.

My hands twisted in the sheets while my jaw ached from clenching. Every failed attempt became another reminder of what the drugs had taken.

Misha pulled off. We locked eyes, both knowing I wasn't getting there like this.

"There's another way," he said. "If you can handle it."

I went still. I knew exactly what he meant. "I've never—"

"I know." His smile turned sharp. "Gonna be fun breaking you in."

My throat went dry. This was insane. Letting someone who'd been playing me since day one have me like that. But the drugs stripped away every defense, leaving me raw and honest.

And fuck if I didn't want it anyway.

I nodded. "Yeah. Do it."

"Bien sûr." The French rolled off his tongue, nothing soft about it. "Of course you want it."

He went back to my cock, working what little response he could get while slicking his fingers. When I twitched half-hard, Misha traced lower, circling my hole.

"Relax," he ordered. "Or this'll hurt."

More French came, low and commanding. I dragged air in through clenched teeth, every breath a choke. This was new territory. I'd never been touched there. Never been this exposed.

Misha worked one finger in slow but steady. No hesitation. Like he owned this too. His mouth stayed on my cock, and the intense sensation made me curse.

"Look at you," he murmured, working deeper. "Taking it so well. Knew you'd be good at this."

His finger pressed deeper, searching, and then—

The sensation hit white-hot, not dick-deep but bone-deep, like he'd found a fuse inside me and lit it. This came from somewhere I'd never felt, making my whole body seize. My cock actually firmed, the combination overriding the chemical block.

"Fuck," I gasped, grabbing his hair. "Misha, that's—shit—"

"Found it." He didn't wait, just added another finger, crooking them hard. "Knew you'd love getting fucked like this."

"Yes, God, don't stop—"

He didn't. He worked me with his fingers and mouth in rhythm. French spilled out between, harsh and demanding. Commands I couldn't understand but felt everywhere.

The build was different this time. Not the quick spike I knew. This started deep, spreading outward, shaking me apart from the inside.

I was still only half-hard. But with his fingers hitting that spot over and over, it didn't matter. He was pushing me toward something the drugs couldn't block.

"Misha, I'm—fuck, I can't—"

"Oui, tu peux." His fingers curled harder, relentlessly. "Montre-moi. Viens."

I didn't know the words but didn't need to. My body understood the command.