Page 18 of Vital Signs (Wayward Sons #7)

The moment could have turned awkward, but it didn't. Just another layer stripped away.

He was hard and flushed, cock swollen and slick. My mouth went dry.

"Fuck," I breathed. "Look at you."

I leaned forward, breath hot against him. This was Misha, exposed and waiting and letting me have this.

I used my tongue first, testing. When I dragged my tongue across the head, his hips bucked.

"Like that?" I pulled back just enough.

"Oui, fuck—don't stop." His hands tangled in my hair, grip firm. "More pressure. Suck me."

I took him in my mouth, sucking hard while my tongue worked the underside. Misha's moan went straight through me, sharp and wrecked. Would have made me hard if my body would cooperate. Instead, I just ached, frustrated heat coiling tighter.

"Good, that's—putain, Hunter—" French started breaking through. "Your fingers—need you to—"

I pulled off with a wet sound. "You want me inside you?"

"Oui, maintenant." Dark eyes, pupils blown. "Now."

I slicked my fingers, traced down.

"Yes, fuck—" His head snapped back as I pushed one finger in.

My mouth on his cock and my finger pressing deep made him shake. I added a second finger, working him open while I sucked harder.

"Oui, mon loup." He switched to French, words spilling out fast and low.

I crooked my fingers hard, pressed up. His whole body seized, back bowing off the bed.

"You like that?" He yanked my hair, forcing me to look up with his cock still in my mouth. "Getting off on it when I speak French."

My eyes rolled back.

I pulled off to gasp, "More. Keep talking."

"Greedy." He shoved me back down. French poured out harsh and commanding.

The meaning didn't matter. The sound alone wrecked me. I worked him harder, letting my teeth scrape just enough to make him hiss.

"Fuck—" He switched to French again, voice cracking. His grip went brutal in my hair, whole body coiling tight. "Close—"

I sucked harder, tongue working while my fingers twisted inside him. His body clenched hard as he came, hips jerking, thighs shaking around my head.

I kept going until he shoved me off, oversensitive.

I sat back, mouth wrecked, chin wet. The frustrated ache between my legs had turned sharp, humiliating. All that want with no way to release it.

"Come here." Misha hauled me up, kissed me rough and messy, then murmured something in French against my mouth.

I shuddered. Even not understanding, it still worked through me like a live wire. "Keep talking, or I'm going to lose it."

"Already lost it." His hand dropped between us, found me soft and useless. "Poor baby. All worked up with nowhere to put it."

"No." The word came out bitter, frustrated.

"That's okay." Misha traced patterns on my chest, following the dragon's scales. "We have all night, and there are so many ways to make you fall apart without your cock working properly."

My breath caught. "What—"

He leaned down, teeth grazing my ear. "I'm going to wreck you, mon loup. Going to take you apart until you're begging."

My whole body shuddered. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Touch me. Keep talking French. Just—" My jaw clenched. "Fuck, please."

"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 s?r." 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.

The orgasm ripped through me unlike anything before.

It came from somewhere deeper, tearing me open from the inside out.

Heat exploded low in my spine, spreading everywhere.

I could feel myself clenching around his fingers, every muscle seizing.

My back bowed off the bed, hands yanking his hair hard enough to hurt.

It went on forever. Each wave dragged me under, stealing breath and thought. I couldn't tell where the pleasure ended, and I began. Just sensation everywhere, inside and out.

"Voilà, c'est ca," Misha worked me through it, merciless. "Tout pour moi."

The French hit like aftershocks as pleasure finally, finally eased. When it stopped, I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. I was wrecked, used, his.

I lay there shaking. Fucked open. Nothing left but him.

Misha slowly withdrew his fingers, and I shuddered at the loss. He pressed kisses up my body before settling beside me.

I turned my head to look at him. His pupils were still blown, lips swollen from my cock, hair a mess from my hands. He looked as destroyed as I felt, and that knowledge settled something in my chest.

Beautiful, I thought, but couldn't say.

I pulled him closer, letting him settle half on top of me.

His heartbeat hammered against my ribs, as fast as mine.

For a long moment we just breathed together, skin to skin, neither of us willing to break whatever this was.

I threw my arm over my face instinctively, hiding.

My throat worked as I tried to swallow past the sudden tightness.

"Hey." He gently pulled my arm away from my face. "You okay?"

"Yeah." My voice came out rougher than usual, scraped raw. "Just... fuck. Didn't think I could anymore."

"Your body just needs different things now." Misha kissed my jaw, tender and careful. "But I can give you those things."

I pulled him closer with trembling arms, still unable to meet his eyes. The weight of what we'd just done was starting to settle. The vulnerability of letting him take me apart like that. Of trusting him with parts of myself I'd kept locked away.

The exhaustion was pulling me under, drugs and exertion and emotional overload all demanding their due. But before I could sleep, Misha spoke.

"We're fucked," he said quietly.

I forced my eyes open, finally meeting his gaze. "Yeah. Completely."

"You're still using. I'm still—" He stopped, started again. "This is going to end badly."

"Probably." I tightened my arms around him anyway, pulling him closer. "But not tonight."

"Not tonight," he agreed, settling against my chest.