Page 17 of Possession

I snort. I could have told him there would be no scissors in there. I would never be given a concealable weapon.

My amusement fades as I realize that I couldn’t actually have told him that. I would need words.

He finds a box of wound closure strips. He shows it to me. I nod.

I could do this myself, but I like having him do it. I didn’t like when he was jostling me because it was always unexpected, but this is different. This is … nice. I’m getting used to him touching me.

He does an okay patch job then covers the wound with a fresh bandage. His hands go to hover at the waistband of my black sweatpants.

“Um,” he murmurs, shifting on the mattress.

He’s already seen me naked. I’m often naked and have been seen that way by lots of people. It stopped meaning anything to me a long time ago.

But the increasingly sexual nature of my response to him makes this feel different. Between my long withdrawal from sex and the effects of both injury and drugs, that response has been sluggish. A subtle stirring. A heightened awareness of his body and mine. A faint aggression. Up to this point, I haven’t actually gotten hard, but if I let him keep touching me, I think I might.

I don’t know how I’ll react if that happens. I’m afraid it won’t be good. But I don’t want this to stop.

I lift my hips. Lucas’s eyes flick to mine then back to my waistband. His hands tremble as his fingers slide between the fabric and my skin. I’m hyperaware of the light brush of his fingers as he pulls my pants down.

My eyes are locked on Lucas—and his are locked on my cock where it lies against my hip. His attention sends heat spilling into my groin. Then he seems to shake himself. He clears his throat and goes to work

I hold myself still as Lucas cleans the wound, but that’s the only control I have over my body. My breathing shallows. Heat floods my groin. My cock starts to thicken.

As aggression stirs in my body, I know that I was right. It’s a bad thing. But I still don’t stop him. I should, but I don’t.

By the time Lucas has covered the wound with a fresh bandage, my dick is stiff enough that it’s starting to lift from my hip. Lucas stares at it like he doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t touch it, but his hands don’t leave my thigh either, evenonce he’s done working. In fact, his fingers flex there, sending fresh heat spilling into my groin.

I can see his chest rising and falling. His lips are parted.

His eyes flick to mine. I’m not ready for it, so I haven’t guarded my expression. I don’t know how I would anyway. I’m too upset to hide it, and I’m not used to hiding things. I haven’t needed to for a long time.

For some reason, seeing that I’m upset, Lucas relaxes. He shouldn’t. I’m very unsafe for him to be around right now. The stirring in my body is too strong, too unfamiliar. I don’t know how to interpret it except as aggression.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I usually snap when I start feeling anything like this.

When Lucas tugs at my waistband, I lift my hips so he can pull my pants up. The material grazes my sensitive cock. A sound breaks from me.

It startles Lucas. His hands jump away from me. I don’t like that. I growl a warning that he’s not to leave, but it has the opposite effect. He tries to dart away.

It is the exact wrong thing to do because it triggers my aggression. I lunge for him.

I catch a handful of his sweatshirt. He panics, twisting and pulling out of the garment before I can get a better grip. Abruptly freed, he hits the ground. I don’t even have to get all the way up to grab him around the middle and haul him back to the bed.

I tug him against me, his back to my front. I bury my face against the back of his head and try to think. I’m shaking against him. The conflict sent all the wrong signals to my body, and now my cock is fully hard and pressed against his ass.

Lucas is breathing harshly, his stomach jerking against my arm where it’s wrapped around him. He’s muttering, “Oh my god, oh my god.”

I growl at him to shut up. My control is fraying by the second. If he would just lie still, if he would just calm down, maybe I could think.

I’m not used to controlling myself. That’s a skill I’ve long since lost. I’m also not used to interacting with people or thinking about them except as threats.

What I’m used to is aggression from others and from myself. It’s the only way I know how to function.

But Lucas isn’t aggressive. And I don’t know why, but I don’t want to hurt him. I just want him to be here. I want him with me.

I don’t want to be alone again.

I shift my grip to better secure him—and feel the hard ridge of his erection.

---