Page 20 of Primal Bond

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the thoughts, but they persisted. The scent was like a trigger, a Pavlovian response he couldn’t control.

It’s just conditioning,he told himself.Like some sick, twisted version of a dog drooling at the sound of a bell.

His fingers clenched the bedding, his knuckles turning white. He could still see Zanik in his mind’s eye — muscular, imposing, yet strangely vulnerable in those unguarded moments. The way Zanik’s eyes had softened, just for a heartbeat, when they talked about memories.

Finn groaned again, rolling onto his back. His body thrummed with a weird energy, his mind a chaotic whirlwind. There was no way he could sleep like this, not with every nerve in his body alight with tension.

He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. Before he was kidnapped, he had been just a regular, healthy young man. His body had been a source of simple, uncomplicated pleasure.

He remembered the ease with which he’d brought himself off, as easy as breathing. The natural, unashamed enjoyment of his own touch, his own needs… All of it had seemed so normal, so human.

But then Rivek had happened. Finn’s body had been torn from him, twisted into something unrecognizable. The slavers had turned every touch into a violation, every caress into an act of violence. He had been nothing but a tool, a commodity to be used and discarded.

The thought of anyone touching him had become repulsive, a source of deep, abiding dread. Even his own hands had felt like the hands of a stranger, unwanted and unwelcome.

Ever since then, he had shut down, his body a battleground of fear and revulsion. He couldn’t stand the idea of anyone — himself included — touching him. His own needs had withered away, replaced by a numbness that had seemed almost merciful.

Now, though, something long-buried was stirring.

It was painful, like pins and needles after sitting too long. Finn could feel it, a flicker of life that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

It scared him.

He didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know if he could trust it. His body felt alien, like it belonged to someone else. The idea of reclaiming it, of feeling pleasure again, seemed both tantalizing and terrifying.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sensations, but they wouldn’t be ignored. His skin felt too tight, too hot, as if it were straining against something unseen. There was an urge, a need, building inside him that he couldn’t quite understand. It was as if his body was waking up from a long, dark sleep, and the awakening was both painful and exhilarating.

He felt like he was betraying himself, betraying the part of him that had survived by shutting down, by refusing to feel.

His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out, to touch, to feel. But he was scared. Scared of what it would mean, scared of the memories it might bring back.

Still, the flicker of life persisted, refusing to be snuffed out. And Finn, despite everything, found himself unable to ignore it.

He took a deep breath, hesitating before letting his hand drift down to the waistband of his pants. He swallowed hard, nerves and anticipation warring within him. Slowly, he slipped his hand inside, his fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin.

He was surprised to find that his cock responded just like it used to. It hardened under his touch, a familiar and yet foreign sensation. Finn squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push past the memories.

He needed this. He needed to feel like his old self again, even if just for a moment.

His mind drifted back to the fantasies that had once brought him so much pleasure. Hot dominant types from the military,older men with gruff voices and strong hands. He imagined them manhandling him, taking control, their deep voices rumbling praises as they wrecked him.

Good boy,they would growl, their voice gravelly and authoritative.You’re doing so well for me.

Praise. At least that was one difference between fantasy and harsh reality. No-one on Rivek's ship had ever said a nice word to him.

Finn’s breath hitched, his hand moving more confidently now, stroking himself with a growing rhythm. He imagined being pinned against a wall, the starchy texture of a uniform pressing into his back, a strong hand gripping his hip. In his fantasy, a man's breath was hot against his ear, whispering filthy praises that sent shivers down his spine.

Such a good boy,the fantasy continued, the words a balm to Finn’s wounded soul.You like this, don’t you? Being praised, being taken…

But as his hand moved faster, the connection wavered. The fantasies, once an instant ticket to release, now felt distant, like echoes of a past he couldn’t fully grasp. He was half there, his body responding, but his mind lagged behind, trapped in the shadows.

Finn’s frustration grew, his movements becoming more desperate, more erratic. He tried to force the fantasies to work, tried to cling to the images of those strong, commanding men.

But it wasn’t enough. The pleasure built, but it never reached that peak, never tipped him over the edge.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, willing himself to feel, to let go... But it was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands.

Finally, with a frustrated growl, Finn stopped, his hand falling away. He lay there, panting, feeling more lost than ever. The denied release was a cruel reminder of how much he had changed.

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