Page 53 of Fragile Facade
I let go of his hips and wrap my fingers around his throat from behind. Pulling him off the wall until his back is against my chest, I graze my teeth over the shell of his ear. “Where are you, Soren? One foot in Hell or head in the clouds?”
He coughs to clear his throat, making his ass clench around my cock, his body moving to take some control back. His hips move forward, and I look down to watch my cock slide out of his ass all the way to the tip. Not bloody yet…
“With you at my back?” he asks, bracing his hands against the wall to get more leverage. “I’m in the goddamn gutter. Never sank so low before.”
Atta boy. I smirk behind him.
“Maybe you’ll end up with Brady.”
“Dare you to try.”
When I thrust forward, his laugh comes back. When I fuck him hard and fast, his laugh transcends into something like vile music, and when I growl against his nape, letting possession wash through me, he laughs to call me out on it. Then he breaks my fucking dick by slamming his ass back so hard I’m shoved backwards. My heel catches on Brady’s skull, and I fall to my ass, agitated and riotous to do something about it.
Soren doesn’t let me.
He plants his foot on my chest to pin me down. When I look up at him, I see everything about him that gave him his narcissist diagnosis. His unreasonably high sense of self, his attention-seeking behaviour, his lack of remorse, his gaslighting skills, and his need for admiration. He’s doing such a good job of hiding his vulnerabilities that I slump down, giving him control just to see what he’ll do with it.
“You don’t get to be behind me,” he snaps, straddling my body and lowering until his ass hits my thighs. “No one does.” He looks at my cock, slick and shiny. “You’ll fucking look at me while I fuck you. No more hiding.” He spits, but he doesn’t rub it in. He lifts up, lines up, and shakes his head at me as he lowers down. “It’s funny that you still think you’re winning.”
Goddammit. When I’m all the way inside him, on my back like a submissive bastard, I shake all over for three different reasons. One, because it feels so empowering to have him fuck himself on my cock. Two, because his eyes are on mine, degrading me and fucking me, using me and wanting me. Three, because this is the first time in my life I’ve been ridden. I’m so much of a control freak that I can’t even give it up in the bedroom with docile partners, but something about how he’s fucking my cock doesn’t feel like I’m losing the control. More like I’m taking it without him realizing it. It’s deceptive, which makes it sexy, and when I remember to breathe, it comes out as a raspy moan. I don’t want him to see my thought process, so I smirk at him, plant my hands beside Brady’s outstretched knee, and lift my ass off the floor to fuck him from the bottom.
Even the race to come is a competition. I’m conflicted about winning because I want to take pleasure from him without giving it in return, but I want to be able to gloat about getting him off. The tightness around my cock and the slick glide from so much spit is pushing me close to the edge, but it’s when he looks down at me with pure authority in his eyes that I have to clench all my muscles to prevent myself from ending this too early.
I’m on my back. He’s above me. It’s a power exchange I never thought I’d enjoy… but fuck, he looks good up there. Hefeelsgood there. So good I’m afraid I’m going to want it again and again. Can’t have that, so I sit up abruptly, wrap my arm around his back, and flip our positions until he’s flat on top of Brady’s thighs. Jesus Christ, this dead fucker is everywhere!
He laughs again, but it’s cynical this time. “I’m not fucking close enough,” he screams at me. “Take me closer!”
To death.
His legs wrap around my hips like he can force me to fuck him half to death. I grin and revel in it, thrusting into him and bringing my hands up between our bodies. Looking him straight in his energized blue eyes, I cinch his throat with both hands, press my thumbs to his windpipe, and dig my fingertips into his pulse points.
His face turns red almost immediately, but it’s not bothering me now. With his lips popped open and his hands clutching at my wrists, he smirks through his suffocation, eyes rolling back. A subtle nod accompanies his pleasure, and I nudge forward until he’s right between my legs.
“Tell me when you get close enough to knock.”
Using my grip on his neck, I fuck him for real. For the first time. Because everything before this exact moment has been a game. We’re not playing anymore; we’re chasing—a high, a darkness, a level of madness that only comes from glimpsing the afterlife. I thought I’d be his Grim Reaper, but instead, I’m his hellhound.
Everything about his body is tight. His muscles are clenched, making his ass squeeze my cock hard and unforgiving. I rock into him, barely noticing the dead kid’s shin bones beneath my own. When Soren’s fingers dig into my wrists even harder, I let up my thumbs to give him a single breath of air.
“Not yet,” he rasps. “Not close enough.”
The urge to kiss him whips through me ferociously. His slick lips and red cheeks are tempting, but his wide and almost afraid eyes are ecstasy. I slow my hips but deepen my thrusts, making Soren’s body slide over Brady every time I fuck into him. He moans, the sound coming out gagged and strained, and when I look at him again, he gives me the nod I’ve been waiting for. He’s there, ready to knock on Death’s door and slam it back in her face, and that’s a moment I want to taste.
I bend forward in a rush and slam my mouth against his as he ruptures into agonized bliss. He groans straight into my mouth, the taste of deliverance and desperation so potent it makes me shiver.
“Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Ahhh.” He lets go of my wrists to let me choke him harder, grabbing my ass to keep me buried deep inside him and gripping his own cock with the other hand. He strangles my cock like my hands are strangling him, and pleasure shoots up my spine to give me a head rush. “Fuck…” Between our bodies, his cum coats our abs. “I’m knocking,” he pants. “Don’t stop.”
I won’t stop, but my cock has no respect for his brush with Death. As he holds me still, only the constriction of his spasming ass adding a firm massage, I can’t hold myself back any longer. This is it, the moment he dreams about. Death and pleasure, the mingling of danger and desire, a desperate need so strong he’s been chasing it for half his life. Soren’s stifled moan sets me off, and I thrust my hips once, twice, and deepen the messy kiss as I fill his ass with cum. Because this is my moment, too. The one I dream about. The ability to leash a madman to my control and be the one to dictate his dance with mortality. It’s the power my ego craves and the authority I need to feel in charge.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan against his open lips as he nears death. I shiver and hold my breath, pumping my release into him so deep that he’ll be full of me for the rest of the night and all of tomorrow.
“Kill…” He bites my lip, and I’m barely coherent enough to release my grip on his throat. As soon as I do, he sucks in air, coughs right against my mouth, and then pulls my face to his to drag out the moment and take the air straight from my lungs.
This is different. It’s almost gratitude. Him thanking me for taking him to her door, and me thanking him for granting me this level of power. It’s so honest and raw that my cock pulses one more time, a trembling aftershock to my already explosive orgasm. It’s a fragile moment because it’s softness in a sense we don’t often show—it’s emotion expressed without a word spoken, like his music.
With one final kiss, I brace for it. The end.
He pauses, lips against mine and his eyelashes hitting my cheeks as he closes his eyes for a beat. One. Two. Three…
