Page 51 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
Sebastian hunched over the desk, his fingers attempting to burrow through the edges, and I wondered how much more it would take for me to be satisfied. For me to feel like our pain was balanced. Against my will flashes of us making love against the fridge at the lake house played like a movie reel in my mind. Right after I’d pulled the deed down that hung to it by a magnet. The deed that said the lake house was mine.Ours.
I inched toward him on shaky legs as the next reel played. A scene of him reading Macbeth to me by the fire until I drifted to sleep with his fingers inside of me, lazily probing. I’d still hear him in my dreams, because he didn’t stop, reading or probing, until he too could no longer resist the call of sleep. He’d shift my body with such care and reverence until I lay with his body curled around me protectively from behind. Warmed from the raging flames in front of me and his fire burning behind me. I scratched my ear, still feeling the tickle from his sleep-sighs brush against it. “Do you want me to not survive, Sebastian?”
He got upright to allow me close to him. “I would never want that,” he whispered desperately, releasing my hair from its confines, memorizing the way it fell to my shoulders. “I may not be a perfect man…” His emotions strangled the rest of his sentence.
“You’re not even a good one,” I cried with little conviction left for my tirade of cruelty. “But I want you anyway. We’re soulmates. Aren’t we supposed to fight for the ones our very essence is assigned to?” Even as his starved but conflicted expression devoured me, and his hands went through my hair, his doleful eyes told me we’d lost the battle. I wanted to plead, to promise that it would only be hard for a short amount of time, but easy for so much longer. But it’d be in vain.
I remembered something my mother told me once. The doctors had tried everything to heal Dad and at some point all the chemo and medications were killing him faster than the cancer. He didn’t want to give up, and Mom never fought him even though it could’ve made a difference in how much longer we had him. She’d said, “Sometimes, you’ve gotta let people live out their own choices even when you know it’s wrong. Sometimes, they need to see for themselves that it won’t work. They need to be able to say they tried.” She’d said it could be a dangerous thing to get in that way of that.
Sebastian needed to try, and I at least needed one more night. I slipped out of my jacket.
He dropped his hands in a panic. “We can’t.”
“This is it, isn’t it? One last time before you leave this place. Why you brought me here, whether you’ll admit it or not. This is it for us.” I reached for his tie.
“I’m not feeling gentle tonight, Phoenix,” he warned, securing my wrists.
We were in a dark, cold room, barren aside from a slab of wood, shattered glass and assurances. “I’m not afraid of your ugliness, Sebastian.”
“Well, I am. No,” he said through a locked jaw and lips that barely moved.
I tore my wrists from his grasp and pushed at his chest for all the good it did. I pounded the side of my fists against him. “You’re a coward.” The hits wouldn’t stop. “You want me to leave so you can sit here and martyr yourself some more?” I screamed. He intercepted a fist mid-flight, tugging me flush against him. “Let go of me.” We tussled. I got a hand loose and landed an uncoordinated blow to his face, splitting his lip.
“Damn it!” He slammed me to the desk, and I coughed to keep from choking on my wind. I kicked, cursed, bared my teeth as he restrained my arms. A drop of blood ran down to his scruffed chin like sap from a tree. His tongue chased it; his weight pressed down on me as we panted, his face so close to mine he was out of focus. Then his mouth came crashing down on my lips. “Fuck!” He pulled back, touching the other side of his bottom lip. The taste of copper washed over my tongue. His lips curled over his teeth, and his nostrils blew in and out, and with a cry he tore at my shirt while I tore at his.
He grappled at my pants with urgent fingers, and I removed the one remaining sleeve from my shirt that lay in tatters somewhere. “Don’t hold back,” I breathed, raising my ass so he could slide my pants down.
He smelled of scotch, and his hair that I typically teased as being posh hung raggedly over his forehead. I sat up, struggling to get his open shirt cuff over his watch.
Digging through the desk drawer, his turbulent eyes held mine at gunpoint. “Tell me to stop.” The sound of a cap popping and a zipper coming down sliced through the room.
“Never.” I fell back, and he threw my legs over his shoulders, positioning himself.
“Last chance,” he said, and the tears poured from me, clogging my ears.Last chance.Last time.He entered me like a battering ram, one that kept hitting, unaware that it’d already gained entry. We clawed, bit, plucked strands of hair from between fingers. We cried, made vows in between sanity and spurts of delusion that couldn’t be kept. We fought, mostly me, and when he banged my arms to the hardened wood, all I could do was take it, take him, and hope to not be washed away by his perfect storm.
His face contorted from anger to pain. Blurred from love to hate and back again. “You’re mine,” he lied, I tasted the truth on his lips. The goodbye.
My knees were to my ears, my erection ached and wept, and his dick burrowed, hard and infiltrating. Teasing along the edges of my heart. “Why?” I asked in despair over and over.
“Fuck. Don’t make me give this up.” He snatched me up from the desk and ran me into the wall behind it, plastering his palms flat on either side of me. He stood motionless with me pinned to his cock, breathing so hard condensation gathered along my neck. I flexed my legs around his hips and arched myself to fuck down onto him, and he grunted and begged into my ear before latching onto my thoat with a growl.
“Ah! God…” I came between us, fucking myself on him until I was lifeless. Until he had to catch my legs as they slipped from him. He licked, sucked, and kissed me until my skin felt ablaze. Until I came again. Until he stumbled backward, his ass landing on the edge of the desk, and then he fucked me still. Watching my semi-hard dick bob up and down as he picked me up by the waist like a ragdoll and slammed me back onto his lap repeatedly. “It’s...too much, Bash. Mmmm…”
“No!” The tip of his tongue came out to swipe the remnants of blood from his gnarled upper lip. He eyed me like a predator, sweat breaking free of every pore, every muscle swelling along with his tall, fat cock. “It’s not enough. Never enough.”
He took me on my hands and knees on top of the desk. He rimmed me as I dragged myself across the floor toward the open study door, chasing my hole with his mouth from behind.
He stayed inside me all night. His stamina fueled by residual jealousy, sorrow, and loneliness.
We were battered and bloodied. There were more bruises than orgasms and every second felt borrowed. Stolen. We were criminals. We were toxic.We were fearless for the last time.We were beautiful for the last time too.
Chapter 17
Phoenix
“He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like.”
~Socrates
