American Prince

He kept his hand on my throat, but his head dropped as he gave himself over to the feeling of fucking me, his strokes going deep and mean, hard enough to jar my shoulder every single time, hard enough to loosen the dressing on my wound. “Fuck,” he said to himself. “This is what I needed. Goddammit, hold still—” my hips were thrusting against the bag again, my climax only the barest breath away “—hold the fuck still like I want you to.”

That’s all it took, that stark confirmation that he was indeed using me, that right now to him I was just a tight hole that couldn’t fight back, and I came, rubbing against the bag, a horny teenager just like he’d said, and not a man with multiple confirmed kills and a garage full of sports cars. It was Colchester inside me, Colchester gripping my throat, Colchester showing me the side of him filled with limitless cruelty and selfish, animal strength. Colchester, Ash, my captain, staking my body with his cock like a conqueror, like a king.

And my climax went on and on and on, thick lines of ejaculate spattering the bag, and Ash kept my body curved towards him so he could watch it all from over my shoulder, as if I was putting on a show for him. And once I’d emptied myself, he pressed me back over the bag and let loose, as if my orgasm both angered and aroused him beyond measure. Almost all his weight was draped over me, I could feel the muscles in his thighs and abdomen and chest all working in concert to drive those powerful hips into me, all working to bury that cock deep and hard and fast. It was all I could do to breathe, all I could do to keep ragged, guttural groans from spilling out of my throat; it was his massive frame folded over mine and also that massive cock, unrelenting and greedy and unsatisfied, determined to wring everything it wanted from me before it finished.

Ash seemed lost to himself too, his jabs and cutting remarks from earlier now gone, just irregular grunts and the inexorable invasion of his dick as he speared me over and over again.

And then, without warning, his teeth sank into my shoulder and he exploded in a flurry of sadistic thrusts that left me with tears searing my eyelids. I could feel the scorch of his semen as he pumped himself into me, the hot spurts of him, and I could also feel the fresh blood trickling warm down my chest from the gunshot, and through my tears, a strange giddiness arrived. Colchester—Ash—had just fucked me to within an inch of my life, just spilled himself inside me at the same moment blood spilled out of me, like he was a vampire or a fairy queen or a wolf. I’d waited four years for this, and it had been more deadly and brutal and beautiful than I ever could have hoped.

We laid there for a moment, Ash still draped over me, and then—impossibly—he began moving inside me again. Still fucking hard.

“I hope you didn’t think it was that easy,” he murmured in my ear. He shifted his weight and tilted my body up, and I could feel the thin smears of blood from my leaking wound across my stomach as he positioned my body. The blood didn’t bother me and it certainly didn’t seem to bother him, not with the way he held his fingers up to the moonlight to look at it.

More shifting and moving and then my rapidly swelling cock encountered a warm palm full of Vaseline. His fingers closed around me and my eyes fluttered closed of their own accord and he suspended me between two realities—the reality of his thick cock stroking me from the inside and the reality of his slick fist, tighter and meaner than I liked to handle myself, but somehow even more perfect for that exact reason.

“I’m going to—” I broke off, it already happening, Ash’s dark laugh echoing in my ears as he kept jerking me through my climax. A few minutes later, he came again with a low growl and pulled out after his contractions slowed. I thought that was the end, but when I saw—even more impossibly—that he was still hard, I knew it wasn’t. He rolled me onto my back and eagerly tugged off my boots and pants, and then entered me again.

“You like being fucked like this?” he asked, pressing our chests and stomachs together so that my cock was squeezed between the flat muscles of our bellies. Whenever he peeled himself away, there were smears of blood and precum across the ridges of his perfectly sculpted abdomen.

We both groaned at the sight of the blood. “Yes,” I managed.

Oh God, there was no way I could get it up again, no way I could come, but it was going to happen, I could already feel it. Ash bent his head down to nip at my jaw, and I turned my face to look at him with feverish eyes. He was only half-monster now, and there in his face I could see my Achilles again, the man who danced with me, and was it wrong of me that I craved both? The man who danced and the man who bruised me?

And then he stilled, just for a moment, one hand coming up to press against the side of my cheek. “You’re beautiful in the moonlight,” he said quietly.

And he wrapped his arms underneath me and cradled me as he fucked me, his warm, firm lips finding mine and kissing the breath right out of my lungs, and when we came, we came softly and painfully, our fingers digging into each other’s backs and our teeth in each other’s necks.

I’d never been religious or spiritual until that moment. It was the first time I felt like there could be a god, and if there was a god, he or she had created humanity for exactly this reason, for exactly this sticky, breathless, erotic, painful moment.

Ash cleaned me up afterward, redressing the shoulder wound that had opened, giving me a second dose of morphine, using extra gauze and alcohol to clean off the blood and cum that had stained us both. “Of course it had to be bloody,” I murmured, the new morphine already swimming through my veins.