Page 74 of A Mistake of Worth
Henri steadied him, guiding him into place—kneeling again, straddling Henri’s thighs without settling his weight. Their bodies were close, almost touching, but not quite.
Across from them, Marc leaned forward on the opposite couch. He’d been lounging, lazy, but now his eyes glinted with sharp interest.
“Spread him,” he said. “Spread him as you do for me. Let me see how pretty he looks with his pink hole glistening.”
David stiffened at the words, embarrassment flashing over his flushed face.
Henri stayed silent. He slicked his fingers—the quiet snap of the lube cap loud in the cabin—and steadied David’s hip with his other hand. His thumb circled slowly, grounding, before he pressed the first finger in with all the care Marc loathed.
David shivered. His body clenched tight, breath catching high in his throat. Henri watched every flicker: the drawn mouth, the twitch of his jaw, the shallow rise of his chest. He gave him every scrap of attention Marc never had.
“You’re okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Breathe.”
A second finger slid in beside the first, stretching him with patient pressure. Henri curled them forward just enough.
David gasped. His head dipped, lashes low, lips parting on a sound closer to want than fear.
Henri stilled. “There?” he asked.
David nodded, breath hitching. His pupils were blown wide, his body softening under Henri’s hands. The tremor that ran through him wasn’t panic. It was release—the drop Henri knew too well.
Then the word came, almost lost.
“Please.” A raw whisper, shaped more by need than thought. “Please, I want you.”
Henri looked at him. Really looked. Submission, yes, but not hollow. Need threaded through it, dragging him under.
Heat rushed through Henri’s chest, sharp and aching.
“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.
David nodded again, quicker this time. Henri could feel the shift in his breathing, the warmth radiating off his skin in waves.
And then Marc cut in.
“Louder.”
The word was calm. Unhurried. But it rolled through David with ice.
Marc hadn’t moved from the opposite couch. He had leaned back again, legs wide, cock in hand, stroking himself with lazy disinterest. But his eyes, fixed, unblinking, were hungry.
“You want to be fucked, sweetheart?” Marc’s voice dripped indulgent cruelty. “Say it as though you mean it.”
David’s spine stiffened. His hands curled against Henri’s chest. But his gaze remained locked with Henri’s.
His voice cracked, but he forced it out. “Please... I want you to fuck me.”
Marc’s mouth curved. “Good boy. That’s more like it.” His grip shifted, thumb dragging slow over the head of his cock as he stroked. Still lazy, but his eyes burned as he watched.
“Turn him around. I want to watch his little cock bounce.”
Henri didn’t move at once. He pulled David in instead, chest to chest, holding him for one breath longer than Marc allowed. His hand slid between them, cupping David’s cock and balls. Small, yes, but hard and so responsive.
David trembled at the touch. His lashes fluttered, his throat worked around a sound he didn’t voice, and he nodded.
Henri guided him back carefully, turning him slowly, keeping his balance steady. David climbed onto his thighs again. This time facing forward. Facing Marc.
His palms pressed to Henri’s legs for support, back bowed as he tried to line himself up. The posture left nothing hidden. Every inch was on display.
