Page 80 of Lust

“What’s wrong?”

Being so captivated by the experience, I’d momentarily forgotten what happened just before. And as the realization hits me, I look away.

“You don’t know how hard it was to keep from coming in here,” he says. “Knowing how much pain you were in. I can’t imagine how so much pain can fit inside this body of yours. God, Luke…”

I feel so vulnerable, so exposed. Like he didn’t just hear my pain, but witnessed those memories in my mind.

“I was right,” I say. “Those memories were getting in my way somehow.”

“What happened?”

I sit up, still unable to make eye contact. “It was like I was paying a price for not feeling so many powerful emotions at times when I just wanted to break down.”

I turn to him and notice his wrists; there are red marks around them.

“What are these?” I ask, taking his hands to assess them.

He looks to the floor. “When it got bad, I had to keep myself from coming down here. There was some rope bound around some old boards upstairs, so I knotted it around my wrists to distract myself. If I hadn’t, I would have broken the damn door down and forced you to stop.”

The wounds are deep, and in a few places, he’s drawn blood. “Oh God, Brad. Was it that bad?”

He hesitates, then says, “There was a moment toward the end where it sounded like you were dying. It was blood-curdling.”

Now it’s not just embarrassment that he’s heard me like that; there’s guilt too. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you to go. You shouldn’t have had to hear that.”

“I wanted to be here, and I’m glad I was. It was like someone was hacking my arm off with a handsaw, so I had to restrain myself. But I would have rather that than leave you.”

My heart warms. Doesn’t surprise me. It’s the kind of guy I’ve learned he is.

“Luke…Luke, please look at me.”

He pulls his hand out of my grasp and runs his finger under my chin. Just like I did with those memories, I force myself to face him.

“You have nothing to feel guilty about. That was so brave. I don’t know that I could have done that even with half the shit I’ve dealt with in my life.”

I thought if our gazes met, I’d feel ashamed of what he saw, but I feel his sympathy, this tender side of him. I never would have wanted anyone to see me like that, but if someone had to, I’m glad it’s him.

I raise my hand to his face, stroking gently. He closes his eyes, and as he rests his face against my palm, he takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, his expression has relaxed.

I kiss him, hoping to soothe what remains of his worry for me. He doesn’t resist me, lets my tongue slip between his lips before his greets me.

Despite how much energy it took to have the Moment, as we kiss, my strength returns. I push against his chest, guiding him onto his back and straddling his waist.

Brad feels just as greedy for my kiss and touch. His hand slides under my shirt, running up my abs, around to my back.

A wave of inspiration overtakes me. I know what I want from Brad.

“Can I—I want to fuck you, Brad.”

Since we started messing around, I’ve been so obsessed with getting him inside me that, though it crossed my mind, I never fixated on it the way I am now. Maybe it’s because seeing him so distressed by my pain, I just want to put him at ease the way he’s put me at ease all those times he’s taken this ass.

“Please let me fuck you,” I beg, and fighting to speak between kisses, he says, “You can…do whatever…the fuck you want to me.”

He’s all fucking mine.

It’s not something I take for granted.

We remove each other’s clothes, our lips and bodies parting just as long as they have to until we’re naked. He fetches a packet of lube from his pants pocket.

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