Page 79 of Nothing To Lose
He finally meets my gaze, and the pain in his eyes guts me. “I can’t let them carry this for me. I can’t leave this mess behind. I need to take care of them one last time.”
“Isaac…”
“I’m thankful,” he says, voice cracking. “That I get to spend this time with you. Whatever time I’ve got left. But we have to be honest about what’s coming. I’m going away. For a long time. And when it happens, I don’t want to owe anyone anything. I want to leave knowing I did right by the people I care about.”
I sit beside him and reach for his hand. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“But I will be alone,” he whispers. “In there. For years. Maybe decades. The only thing that scares me more than that is leaving you out here without me.”
Tears blur my vision. I climb into his lap and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “You are not allowed to give up. Do you hear me?”
He buries his face in my shoulder. “I’m so tired, kitten.”
“I know,” I say, pressing my lips to his temple. “But I’m not letting you go without a fight. And I’m not letting you push me away just to make it easier.”
His arms tighten around me. And for the first time in days, I feel him breathe. Really breathe.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you, too.”
He kisses me then. It’s slow and desperate and full of everything we can’t say. And I let him. I drown in it, letting myself get lost in the way only he can make me feel.
He’s the first to strip me out of my shirt, then I remove his, relishing how it feels to be skin on skin. It’s like there’s an aura around us. A glowing sort of energy that rises from our skin and reacts with every touch.
With strong arms, he lifts me so I’m propped on the edge of the table. I slip my pants and briefs off, while he stands and pushes his down. With his hand around his cock, he sits back down and looks at me like I’m something to be devoured.
My fingers white knuckle the edge of the table as he takes me into his mouth, hard and deep. My cries echo off the walls as my body trembles, too overcome to hold back. I spill into his mouth excruciatingly fast. But I can’t let that be it. I want more, I want to be as close to him as possible.
“Fuck me, please,” I whimper before he’s sucked the final pulses of my orgasm. “Now. I need you,” I cry, desperate.
In a move that drives the air from my chest and makes my brain stem vibrate, Isaac spits a mouthful of my cum into his hand and spreads it over the head of his cock. He spits more directly on my hole, laying me back across the table, knocking all of his careful notes to the ground. He stretches me to two fingers, but I’m too impatient and cry for him to please just do it now.
He adds more spit, watching it drip down between us, and then he’s there, pushing inside me in a slow, deep thrust that hurts in so many ways. It hurts physically. It hurts my heart. It hurts so good.
Isaac tries to roll into me softly in short, easy thrusts, but I can’t stand it. I don’t know what this need is that’s taken over me. It’s not even about sex. It’s about holding him inside me, about being closer than any two people can get.
I rock off the table, squeezing his hips with my thighs to hold on, and he falls back down to the chair with me on his lap. There’s no lift and drop or bouncing. I’m not riding him as much as I’m rocking back and forth, grinding with him inside me. He wraps his arms around my waist, and I wrap mine around his neck, and we hold each other tightly, just rocking together like that until we’re sweating and it’s almost painful not to fuck.
Only then, with our mouths fused together, do we start to really move. The entire room heats. Humidity builds. We pant and moan and cry and writhe. Isaac moves my body up and down his shaft, thrusting up into me, rocking me down on every thrust.
By the time he comes, shaking and crying out that he loves me, I’m fully hard again. Isaac stands, holding me in his arms with his cock still inside me, and carries me to the bedroom.
There’s lube, but not enough prep, Isaac is as needy and demanding as I was. He lays over the end of the bed, ass out, and I take him from behind with one knee up and the other on the floor. I try to take him slow at first, but he’s not having it. He pushes back, rolling his body like some kind of exotic dancer, slamming his ass down on my cock. It’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to need me to do anything, because I’m too transfixed watching him fuck himself on my cock. When he gets tired, I brace a hand on his shoulder and give him a few slow, hard thrusts before jack-hammering into him until he’s moaning out a long, extended garbled yell.
It’s still not enough. He pushes me back on the bed and climbs on top of me, tears in his eyes as he takes his pleasure from me.
I let him love me like it’s the last time. I let him hold me like I’m the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Because maybe I am.
And maybe, for now, that’s enough.
* * *
My father doesn’t looksurprised to see me.
His office is warm. Comfortable. Polished oak and ivory walls. A man’s space. No room for emotion.
