Page 89 of My Lovely Tragedy
“Please,” he cries out and bucks up against me using his grip on my waist. I watch his muscles flex and bunch, rolling with the strain. I trace their outline.
He flinches and keens, and more tears roll from the corners of his closed eyes. I reach up to catch one on my thumb and suck it into my mouth. Brooklyn watches through half-closed lids, bottom lip quivering.
“Please, Tobias.I can’t,” he pleads.
“What can’t you do?”
“I can’tstand it!” he screams, bucking up again and nearly dislodging me. I bear down, grabbing him around the knees to steady him. Then, I rub circles around the skin of his inner legs, just above the bone.
“This is what you wanted…” I rasp, voice cracked and burning under the pressure of it all.
“Make me forget.Please. Please, make me forget.Just—” I tear my shirt off, scattering buttons as they rip apart. It falls somewhere beside me, the soaked fabric lost amongst the darkness. It’s all dark—every inch surrounding us, but Brooklyn’s light is blinding. Brighter than all the rest, making the shadows so muchmore.
And for the first time since I knew… I’m terrified of it.
I drop down on top of him, cutting off his inconsolable pleas with the press of my lips to his chin. I pepper kisses along his cheek, down his sharp jaw, over the bridge of his nose, and settle against his paper-thin eyelids, wet with pools of tears.
He whimpers, and my nose burns. The sensation travels up the bridge, where it settles along the surface of my eyes. I let myself feel it. I don’t blink it away. I don’t swallow it down.
I allow the tears—his and mine—to flow freely down my face and onto his. His lips part to catch them, and I follow his path, dragging my tongue over his cheekbone, needing salt and Brooklyn burned into the muscle.
His arms jerk between us, nails scraping. I hiss at the burn and fall into it. He captures my neck and pulls me down with a strength that surprises me. I grunt as he severs every last breath of space. Not an inch of him isn’t melded against me, and it’swonderful.
The first rotation of his hips makes me jerk, the air punched from my lungs. Confusion and desire swirl and blur together in my mind, becoming everything and all I can think of.
Just this.
Feeling and aching andsoaring with it. With him.
I drag my own pelvis over his, a sharp scrape of bone colliding. Stars burst forward, and Brooklyn mewls. Fingers scramble and scratch, burning along my neck, against my scalp. He rips strands out as our lengths slide together in a wave of euphoria that shatters every possibility known to man.
It’s not possible—it can’t be. To feel this way, to be so consumed with it.
With a single person. Now everything I know and all I care to feel for the rest of my life.
Words are impossible to form with every grind of our bodies. Our touch is never severed, but when he rises up slightly, to meet me in his distress, the fire burns a little hotter. Blazing as hot as the sun.
I bury into the slickness of his neck, smearing his sweat across my face, my lips, lathering my tongue in it. Feeling his pulse hammering against the muscle, against my pursed lips.
Breathing.
He is alive.
This is real.
Brooklyn yanks at my hair, clawing down my neck and over my bare shoulders. He cards through the hairs against my chest, ripping those out too as he drags down, shoving his way between our bodies. An impossible feat he manages, even with his chains restricting movement.
They’re heavy, and they hurt, but I welcome the throb because it’s him.
I will let him kill me, right now, if I could die feeling like this—seeing him so devoured.
He drags the backs of his hands over my abdomen, through the trail of hair there, across my hips and around to my backside. My breath comes out heavier at the drugging sensation of his hands on me, his arms around me. It blows back into my face with a vengeance, and the heat travels straight to my groin, making my erection twitch almost painfully. Brooklyn gasps and throws his head back, deeper into the cushion. His moan reverberates into me, and I move a little faster, desperate to hear it again.
Air stutters, garbled and breathless, and my fingers find purchase in his golden strands. I tug and pull, scraping my nails over his scalp until thumbs find their place along his face, fingers curled around his ears. Holding his head between my hands, his face directly in front of mine.
I force my eyelids to open more than a crack, towatch him.To commit this very moment to memory and splash its essence over the walls of my mind so I can replay him, like this, forever.
I hope you follow me into the afterlife, my belovedcorvus.
