SEVENTEEN
Wild horses thundered through the room, trampling him. The stars overhead winked down upon him, as the thundering sounds separated into two distinct thuds. Music blasting loud enough to shake the walls. And his own heart, trying to escape his chest and run about free range.
Kit blinked and tried to focus on the ceiling but a soft tickling on his shoulder distracted him. He was soaked with sweat and lying on the mat in his makeshift gym. Check. He’d zoned out. Check. But…this felt so very different than the times he’d gone dark in the past. He remembered incredible searing pain, pleasure—unbearable pleasure that destroyed him.
“Are you okay?” The words were spoken from a great distance. The voice husky and familiar. Something moved inside him. Sliding from him. Kit clenched up, his whole body going stiff at the touch of wet fingers trailing across his thigh. Soft kisses on his shoulder…kisses…he was being kissed…and Beastly had…Micah…Micah had—“Chris? Chris? Look at me, are you okay?”
Cataclysmic! He was cataclysmic. He couldn’t feel his toes. What the hell? Gentle fingers gripped his chin, and Kit opened his eyes to find Micah’s terrified gaze staring down upon him. He smiled. At least, he tried to smile. It felt like he smiled, and Beastly blew out a relieved breath and collapsed onto Kit tucking his head into Kit’s neck.
So this was sex? This was after sex cuddling? This was…strange. His ass hurt. His thighs felt like he’d been lifting weights for hours. He couldn’t make his fingers move. Except they were moving. Stroking Micah’s head and his shoulder. Softly. As if he belonged—
Kit rolled away and found his pants. He dragged them on and tied the string. He had to move. To think. To…drink…he needed drink and…the music…he could see Beastly’s reflection in a mirror. He lay on his hip, still dressed, his jeans bulged at the front. There was a wet spot near the zipper…he’d not…he’d…Kit had come. Beastly…Micah had made his body…he’d…orgasmed.
He tried not to look at the man on the mat, with his tousled wild hair that was long enough to look like a mane around his unshaven face. All golden in the ballroom lighting. He needed to find his center before he looked at Micah.
The music went first. He killed the power to the stereo system and leaned against the wall listening to the unnatural quiet of the house. He could hear Micah shift behind him. He groaned and Kit looked up at the mirror in time to see him gain his feet and turn his back on Kit.
The stitches from earlier in the week stood out in the golden expanse of flesh. Bloody claw marks marred his shoulder. Kit realized he’d made those marks. When he’d come. Beastly—Micah had made Kit—hurt him. He’d hurt Micah when Micah had tried so hard not to do the same to him.
Fuck. Fuck. Kit flexed his fingers looking at his nails for blood. He didn’t find any. Micah didn’t seem to notice the scratches. He leaned against one of the windows and pressed his forehead against the glass. Kit opened the mini-fridge under the bar and by passed the water bottles going straight for the alcohol. Beer. Men liked a beer after sex right?
He popped the tops on two and squared his shoulders. Walking across the room on silent feet he touched the cold bottle to Micah’s back, right about where he’d used the man as a pincushion. Micah jumped and turned to face him, knocking the bottle from his hand. It clattered on the floor and rolled away, spilling beer as it went.
“Sorry, Kit. Fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” Beastly said, flinging his hands out to grab Kit as if he too were about to fall…or run away. “You walk so fucking softly. It’s unnerving. I’m used to hearing the stomp of boots.”
Kit took a drink from the bottle. He couldn’t form any actual coherent thoughts yet, but he wasn’t running. Not this time. He drank while Micah watched him, from the tilt of the bottle to his lips, down his throat as he swallowed. Kit could hear Micah swallow in response.
He offered the rest of the drink and held it to Beastly’s lips as they’d done the water bottles. While Beastly backed away from him, and straight into a wall. As if he was afraid. Kit followed him, slowly, offering the beer again. This time Micah accepted. Kit let him take the bottle but he stood where he was. Looking down into Micah’s upturned face.
The shock that he was taller hit him then. He’d known on some level that he would be, but he’d never stood toe to toe with the man before. Or really any man. Kit knew he was tall. He knew he was weirdly shaped. Tall and thin with big hands and feet that looked out of proportion with the rest of him. As if he were supposed to be…different. More masculine. Something.
The strange wasn’t something he cared to dwell upon. His hair and skin set him apart enough. As did his eyes.
Micah was perfect. Kit knew his stats from his files. Six feet tall and a bit over two hundred pounds. All muscle. His shoulders were broad, his arms defined and…manly. Kit snaked a hand out to brush Micah’s bicep. Micah flinched, but stayed perfectly still while Kit amused himself. They finished the beer. Sharing sips until it was gone. Micah seemed perfectly happy to lean against the wall and let Kit rub his upper arm. Almost as if he didn’t want to do anything to send Kit running.
Kit skimmed his fingers down Micah’s arm to his hand. He locked his fingers with Micah’s and leaned into him. Not running! Micah grunted and let Kit nuzzle his neck. There were no words. Kit didn’t want words right now. He didn’t want to analyze this. He didn’t want to justify. Or examine. Or define. Or explain. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings. He just wanted to feel something. And Micah felt good. Everything about Micah felt good.
Not physically. Well, yes, physically. Micah—to use Micah’s words—turned him on. Micah looking at him. Micah touching him. Micah letting him kick him in the head. Micah flipping him on his back. Micah on top of him. Kissing him. Touching him. Opening him up like a fucking book and reading him. Micah leaning against the wall afraid to touch him now…that did it. That made Kit all kinds of hot in ways he didn’t know he could get hot.
He’d come. Earth shattering, universe destroying, hot molten eruptions, were less cataclysmic than what Micah had done to him. And now he leaned against the wall as if he was made of glass and Kit was the one holding the hammer.
He wouldn’t hurt him. Not on purpose. Kit would rather gouge his own eyes out than hurt Micah. He wanted to make him feel exactly what he’d done to Kit. He wanted him to know.
Micah flinched again when Kit shifted sides of his neck. He twined his fingers with Kit’s. The other shoulder flexing under Kit’s touch as if he clenched his hand around the beer bottle. Kit traced the vein that popped out down to his wrist and slid his fingers into Micah’s fist, knocking the bottle to the floor. Micah relaxed beneath his touch. He angled his head back and let Kit lift his arms above his head while Kit sucked at his pulse making him groan.
Still, no words. Kit found the very tip of the scar under Micah’s jaw and traced it with his tongue. Micah held his breath and Kit remembered what he’d said before. He had no feeling there. He only thought he had feeling there.
Kit had spent most of his life feeling nothing. What if he was like that? What if he only thought he was feeling something now? He closed his eyes to the thought and licked the scar from his jawline through the two-day stubble up to his cheek and back to his mouth.
When Kit opened his eyes, Micah’s eyes were all he saw. Brown eyes, clear, with no flecks, not a chocolate color or a lighter shade, just brown. And filled with something that Kit didn’t understand. Micah’s jaw locked, the power he wielded all afternoon slipped away as Kit held him pressed against the wall.
Was this how he liked it? Was this why he’d let his partner use him? Why he’d allowed someone to control him against character? Kit could use that against him. He could control Micah with very little effort. One hand around his dick and Micah would…
Kit released his hands. He’d been controlled. He’d never do that to another person. Ever. He wanted Micah. But he wanted Micah to want him. Not just be there because Kit commanded.
He understood now why Micah had backed off over lunch. Kit had all the power here. He was right. They weren’t equals.
That saying, the one about wanting something and letting it go. He’d have to let Micah go. He couldn’t keep him. He couldn’t force him to stay when Kit could never go. But right now he had to know.
He licked Micah’s lips and stroked his fingers down his powerful chest. Not so out of shape. Just not back to fighting speed. Letting his fingers linger over Micah’s nipples, he kissed him and pinched him. Feeling the huff of hot air that meant he’d caught Micah by surprise. The kiss was soft, a brush of tongues. Nothing like earlier. Micah was teetering on that edge. He’d suffered for what he’d done to Kit. Too long. He needed to be released.
Kit slid his fingers along Micah’s abs and smiled at his gasps of breath. He traced the line of hair that fascinated him, downward to snag the button tab on Micah’s jeans. He twisted the fabric until the button popped free, and as Micah sucked in a deep breath, he eased the zipper down. Kit opened his mouth to kiss away the protest he saw forming in Micah’s eyes. He’d give him this. Because he’d given Kit everything.
Micah gripped him behind his head, much like he’d asked of Kit earlier. Fingers snaked under the remains of his ponytail to hold his mouth exactly where Kit wanted it. Planted firmly over Micah’s licking his tongue and his teeth. Sucking the little sounds that came from his throat, swallowing his words as if he’d get his own back that way. All the while he pulled on the length of hard flesh the pulsed in his hands.
Micah liked a firm grip. Kit figured that out the first time he’d jacked him. Hard and fast would get him off in a second. Kit didn’t want it to be hard or fast and he didn’t want him to come in his hand again. Micah didn’t catch him before he fell to his knees. The surprise in his eyes would become denial in a second. Kit didn’t give him time to get that far in his thought process. He wanted Micah off balance. He wanted Micah exactly how Micah had him. Out of control.
Micah wasn’t exactly huge. Not like the guy in that movie. He was long with a bit of a curve off to one side. And red. Aggressively, angrily, red. The vein that ran from his base to his tip was purple and standing out. His breathing stopping and starting in harsh bursts. Kit gripped him tightly, he didn’t stroke him or fondle him. He held him and looked up at Micah for permission. Micah didn’t speak. He couldn’t even catch his breath. He laid one hand flat against the wall, and reached for Kit with the other.
Kit waited for him to push him away. He waited for…something. He wasn’t sure what he waited for.
It was his turn to flinch at the gentle caress to his jaw. Kit had been so busy watching, he hadn’t seen Micah’s fingers slide past his chin. He didn’t hold him. Not like he’d wanted Kit to hold him. He flicked his thumb over Kit’s lips and arched his hips.
Kit sighed. God yes, that’s what he wanted. Permission to taste. Permission to know this man in the only way he ever could know this man. He wanted to give him pleasure. To give him back…he opened his mouth at Micah’s insistence, flicking his tongue against the tip of his thumb. Brown eyes burned from high above him and Kit drew the thumb into his mouth in imitation of what he wanted to do for Micah. Licking him and sucking him while the real thing dripped a clear fluid and grew redder and angrier at being denied.
Micah trembled, his whole body shaking from holding back. Kit bit his thumb and ejected it from his mouth. He took Micah’s hand, and like Micah had done earlier, he placed his hand at the back of his head.
Hard fingers curled against his skull, pulling Kit forward. The push pull of the dance they’d done earlier. Micah giving and Kit taking. It was Kit’s turn to give.
He opened his mouth, tongue out to catch the drip and lick the flared underside of Micah’s dickhead. Micah’s knees gave, but he held himself up and still while Kit licked a circle around the tip and then carefully, took him deep into his mouth.
He knew it wouldn’t be long. He knew Micah was dancing on the edge. He’d known before he even touched him. He sucked hard on the tip, tasting the salty tang of Micah on his tongue. Swallowing his excretions as if he were dying of thirst and Micah was his life water. God, Micah. He’d known. Of course, somehow he’d known. The flavor. The texture. The pulse of his entire being in Kit’s mouth.
Kit couldn’t stop looking at him as he sucked him in a little deeper. Micah would pull back and Kit would take more each time. Letting Micah set the pace and the depth of thrust. Once, twice, five times, and he had Micah panting. His body went still, his penis grew taut in Kit’s mouth. The vein like fire under his tongue as it throbbed.
He didn’t need Micah to say, “I’m coming,” to know he was in the throes of ecstasy. He knew. He could taste the difference. He didn’t need Micah to pull him away. He wouldn’t let Micah pull away. He wanted this. Just once in his life. To know that he’d brought a lover to pleasure. To know the taste and feel and look and sound of Micah as he came to orgasm. To feel what he felt.
Micah swore and cried out, pushing deeper into Kit’s mouth as thick scalding semen spurted into his mouth and across his tongue. Kit gagged, pulling back enough to control his reflex. Micah leaned over him, both hands holding his head, keeping him from going down, fighting the need to plunge. He felt Micah’s control even as he lost control. He felt his fingers dig into his scalp. He’d not draw blood as Kit had, but he needed…to hurt. Kit felt his body pull tight in response. Not like before. But like the other night when he’d reacted. His balls felt tight. His spine tingled. He let go of Micah’s dick and reached behind his head to cover Micah’s hands with his own. He wanted him to squeeze harder. He wanted…Micah’s whole body went stiff. He shook, every muscle, every bit of him, his eyes rolling back in this head as a thick spurt hit Kit in the back of his throat, flooding him with cum, so much cum he couldn’t swallow it all. Micah didn’t stop. He held Kit tight, fighting everything as he came, long and hard into Kit’s mouth. While Kit’s bones rattled in his flesh right along with him.
Almost as if Micah was in pain, he fisted Kit’s hair and dragged him off. Still holding him, he slid down the wall until he crouched on the floor in front of Kit. He looked as lost as Kit felt when he pulled Kit to him. Mouth open, he forced his way into Kit’s mouth, tongue licking at the remainder of cum in his mouth, sucking it into his own mouth. He kissed Kit, hard, dirty, pulling him until Kit straddled him again, and their bodies were pressed tight together. He breathed Kit’s name. He told Kit he loved him. Kit didn’t answer. He let him forget he’d said it. He let him take the taste away. He let him pretend there could be some future for them.
When he could breathe again he laid his head on Micah’s shoulder and watched the snow fall outside the window, a sparkling winter light against the growing dark. Micah held him tight, letting Kit run his fingers through his hair and talk about things that didn’t matter. Was he hungry? No. Did he want to shower? No. Did he want to lie there watching the snow fall? No. But he nodded with each question. They’d watch the snow fall for a while and then shower and Micah would go find food again. And then they’d play the new game until Micah lost.
It was a nice fantasy. Best fantasy he’d ever had. Of a life he craved more than anything else. If Beastly asked him to go for a ride in his car Kit knew it would all be a lie. He held on now with every ounce of strength he had and watched the dark descend outside the window.