Page 35 of Playing with Fire

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Teach me more."

“Want to know what I’m imagining right now?” Xavier asked. "I'm imagining you naked, spread out on this bed. Wax dripping onto your chest, your stomach, maybe even that pretty cock of yours. Watching you twist and writhe while I mark you all over. Making you remember who you belong to with every fucking drop."

My cock was fully hard now, straining painfully against my zipper, a wet spot forming where the head pressed against my boxers. I whimpered and squirmed in the chair. I'd never thought about wax like that before, never imagined my nervous habit could become something so filthy. But now I couldn't stop picturing it.

"Won't that hurt?" I asked, my voice strangely small.

Not that it mattered. I'd let Xavier hurt me however he wanted. I'd let him cut pieces off of me if he want. It was completely fucked up, how devoted to Xavier I was, even knowing what he was capable of.

Xavier stepped in closer, his presence curling around me like smoke. "Pain's relative. And completely up to me." His fingers traced over my wrist, studying the cooled wax on my skin. "Besides, you trust me to hurt you exactly how you need, don't you? To find that perfect edge where agony becomes ecstasy."

The question hit deep, like he'd reached right inside me and grabbed hold of something I barely understood myself. Something that had been building since that first night in his bed—since I admitted, out loud, how completely I was his.

"Yeah," I murmured, voice barely there.

His lips curled. "Good boy." The praise sent a rush of heat straight to my cock, making it jerk against my jeans. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're desperate for me... and you'll be even more beautiful when I'm done with you."

Before reaching for the candle, Xavier cupped my face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. His thumbs traced over my cheekbones, eyes studying mine with an intensity that had nothing to do with dominance or control.

"You're goddamn perfect, you know that?" he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual edge. "Not just when you're falling apart under me. Just... you. Looking at me like I'm something worth believing in instead of the monster everyone else sees."

The words hit me harder than any command could have. This wasn't Xavier the predator speaking. This was just Xavier, showing me something raw and bleeding beneath all the carefully constructed layers. In the days since the fire, these glimpses of vulnerability had become more frequent, as if our physical intimacy was gradually dismantling walls he'd built long before I knew him.

"Off," he said, tugging at my jeans.

My hands went to my belt before my brain could catch up. Two years of friendship, and all it took was that tone in his voice to turn me into an eager, dripping mess. A voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like my father whispered that I should be ashamed, that I was damned for wanting this, but I pushed it away. Xavier saw me—really saw me—in ways no one else ever had.

"Jesus, are you hard already?" His eyes went dark as I wiggled out of my jeans, my erection obvious and straining.

I hesitated with my jeans down around my knees. "Should... should I not be?"

"Are you kidding?" Xavier's laugh was dark honey. "I fucking love how responsive you are. How that pretty cock gets hard just from me telling you what to do." His fingers hooked on my boxers. "These too."

I pushed them down with shaking hands, my face burning as my cock sprang free, the head flushed an angry red and already leaking pre-cum. The soft fabric of his hoodie fell to mid-thigh, and something about wearing nothing but his clothes made everything feel more intense, more depraved. I almost didn’t want to take it off, but Xavier insisted.

“Everything off. Fire play is best done naked for safety.”

I raised my arms, letting him pull the hoodie over my head. The cool air hit my bare chest, making my nipples harden instantly. The intimacy of being completely naked when Xavier was still fully dressed made my cock twitch against my stomach.

I moved to the bed, settling against his black sheets, the contrast of the dark fabric against my skin making me feel more exposed.

Xavier's fingers traced my throat, his touch possessive yet strangely hesitant. "I've never wanted to be careful with anyone before. Never cared if I broke my toys."

"But you worry about me?" I asked, searching his face.

"With you..." His expression shifted, unguarded in a way I rarely saw. "With you, I want to fucking break you open and keep you safe at the same time. I want to hear you scream and then hold you while you shake apart. It's... confusing as hell."

The conflict in his eyes made my breath catch. "I trust you," I said simply, the words carrying more weight than any elaborate reassurance could have.

His expression settled, resolve replacing uncertainty. "Then let me show you how beautiful pain can be when it's given with care. How suffering becomes worship when it's done right."

His hands cupped my face and then he was kissing me, all teeth and tongue and possessive hunger. I melted into it, letting him lick into my mouth like he owned it. Like he owned all of me. His hands skimmed down my sides, steadying me, grounding me, until I was putty in his hands, my cock leaking steadily against my stomach.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured, his voice rough as he surveyed my naked body. "All spread out on my bed like a goddamn sacrifice."

His hands spread possessively across my stomach, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh in a way that made me gasp. "So fucking perfect," he murmured, bending to press biting kisses against my skin. "Love how soft you are here. How you let me mark you. How you'll carry the bruises for days, reminding you who you belong to."

I tried to stay still, to be good, but every touch sent sparks through my body straight to my aching cock. Xavier took his time, mapping every inch with lips and teeth, marking his territory. When he bit down hard on the curve of my belly, I couldn't help the way my hips jerked up, a desperate moan escaping my throat.

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