Page 14 of Your Devoted Monster
The sensation hit Ezra like a live wire. His hips jerked up involuntarily before Gabriel's weight stopped them. The leather was still wet with his spit, slick and filthy. The texture of the tread caught on oversensitive skin when Gabriel’s heel twisted, ground down harder.
Ezra looked up—had to see,neededto see—and Gabriel was towering above him, all sharp angles and shadows. His face cold, controlled. But those amber-ringed eyes burned with heat, with hunger, with something like pride as he watched Ezra shatter.
The perspective made Ezra dizzy, Gabriel impossibly tall from this angle, looming like a god while Ezra was pinned and helpless beneath his boot.
Gabriel ground his heel down one more time—sharp, precise, unforgiving.
The orgasm hit like a sledgehammer to the skull: sudden, violent, completely out of his control. Ezra's whole body convulsed, back arching off the concrete despite his trapped arms, as he came sobbing and shaking, painting his own stomach white. More than that, painting Gabriel's boot too, adding to the mess Ezra had already made with his mouth, come splashing across expensive leather.
The humiliation and pleasure mixed into something he'd never felt before, something that rewrote his brain even more thoroughly than everything else tonight had.
His,his last coherent thought supplied before he drowned in sensation.I'm his.
Gabriel lifted his boot slowly, deliberately, and Ezra whimpered at the loss of pressure. Gabriel looked down at the mess—come and spit and tears on leather that probably cost more than Ezra's rent—and made a sound that might have been amusement.
"Now you've really ruined them." Gabriel's voice was dry, observational. He nudged Ezra's thigh with the toe of his boot, casual. “You’re going to have to clean them again. Later."
The promise in that word—later—sent a shiver through Ezra's oversensitive body.
But Gabriel didn't let him float in the aftermath, didn't give him time to process or recover or think. Before Ezra could even catch his breath, before his vision had fully cleared, Gabriel's boot kicked his thighs apart, spreading him open on the concrete.
"No rest," Gabriel said, and there was something almost gentle in his voice. Almost. He dropped to his knees between Ezra's spread legs. "We're not done. Not even close."
Ezra tried to focus through the post-orgasm haze, the floating feeling, tried to track Gabriel's movements. Watched Gabriel's face as he pushed two fingers into him without warning or prep.
The slide was easy. Obscene. Still wet, still slick from tonight's earlier disappointment—the guy whose name Ezra had already forgotten, the placeholder, the pale imitation.
Gabriel's expression darkened as he felt it. His jaw clenched.
“You’re still full of him," Gabriel said, voice low and dangerous. He added a third finger roughly, making Ezra gasp. "Some nobody's come inside you."
Kyle? Keith?,Ezra's brain supplied helpfully, though he couldn't remember why that mattered anymore. Everything before Gabriel had shown up felt like a dream. A boring, colorless, disappointing dream.
"All of them." Gabriel's fingers worked deeper, finding that spot that made Ezra see stars even through the overstimulation, even through the ache. "All those pathetic attempts. Thinking they could give you what you need."
He crooked his fingers just right and Ezra's back arched involuntarily, a broken whine escaping his throat.
"But you were already mine." Gabriel's eyes locked with his, intense and certain. "From the moment you stabbed me. The moment you fought back. You've been mine the whole time."
Ezra wanted to argue, wanted to point out the insanity of that logic, wanted to say something, anything. But Gabriel twisted his fingers and all that came out was a broken whine. His body was betraying him, cock trying to fill again despite having just come, despite the ache in his shoulders, despite everything.
Impossible. He couldn't. Too much.
But his body didn't care about impossible.
Gabriel pulled his fingers out, leaving Ezra empty and clenching around nothing.
Ezra's vision was swimming, everything soft at the edges like looking through frosted glass. But he could see Gabriel's hand moving. Could track it as it traveled up, up, toward Ezra's stomach where his release was cooling on his skin.
Gabriel's eyes locked with his—those amber-ringed eyes that had haunted Ezra's nightmares for three years, that he'd searched for in every disappointing hookup. That gaze was sharp enough to cut even through the haze, holding him in place better than any restraint as Gabriel's fingers dragged through the mess on Ezra's stomach. Collecting it.
His brain was too scrambled to process anything except the way Gabriel's gaze never wavered as he brought that hand to his own cock.
The first stroke made Gabriel's eyelids flutter, just slightly. Using Ezra's come to slick himself. Making Ezra watch.
Gabriel positioned himself, hooking Ezra's legs over his shoulders, folding him nearly in half. The angle made Ezra feel small, helpless, completely at Gabriel's mercy.
Three years ago, Gabriel had held a knife. Had tried to open Ezra up, cut into him, make him into art. And Ezra had fought like hell to keep him out. Had stabbed Gabriel to stop him from penetrating, violating, splitting him open. Had run rather than let Gabriel inside him in any way.
