Page 52 of Love Language

Marco kissed gently along his clavicle and Greg leaned into him despite the pain.

Marco. Marco. Marco was touching him. Taking care of him. Giving him everything that he needed.

Marco pulled back enough to sign. You’re beautiful. So gorgeous for me. I want to taste your tears. Give them to me and all this will end. Make me proud of you.

That’s right. Crying. He needed to cry, and then Marco would be pleased with him.

He could feel the emotions boiling up in him. Some sort of aching euphoria, a consuming wave that would wash away all his grief and leave him clean.

He just needed tears.

He gritted his teeth and lowered himself to his heels. His arms were starting to feel rubbery and his nipples were already so battered that they ached even as he decreased the pressure.

And that hook… He didn’t even have words for it. It was just so there. So hard inside him. Dragging him upward by his most vulnerable place in a direction that he just shouldn’t be pulled. He couldn’t think of it in any way but relentless, the dull pain a constant throb that intensified as he forced it further into himself to relieve the other points of pain.

He sought out Marco with his eyes, needing his Dom’s encouragement.

So good, sweetheart. I know you can do it.

The intensity, the torment, swirled around inside him and gained purpose. Focus.

For Marco he could do this.

He gripped the leather-wrapped chains again as Marco gave delicate licks down his chest. That was part of the mind fuck, how sweetly Marco was touching him even though he was the source and the purpose of all this torture.

Marco was on his knees, now, looking up at him with fire in his eyes. Cry for me, sweetheart. Give me your tears.

And then he took Greg’s cock in his mouth.

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was too much. Too good and too terrible.

He’d lost his erection when Marco first strung him up, then slowly regained it as he sank into the sensations.

Now he was horribly hard, writhing in bliss while the chains jerked and shook, and that relentless hook just pulled at him as he dangled on its axis.

Marco licked his tip and smoothed one hand down his legs, in no way relieving the muscles that were close to spasming.

It was sublime and impossible, sending his thoughts scattering as his body was pulled into too many sensations at once.

He kept his eyes fixed on that dark hair, though, needing that additional connection to the person who was now the center of his world.

Marco looked up at him, mouth still full of cock, his face deceptively soft and adoring. You can come anytime you want. But this will probably feel worse if you do. I’m still waiting for your tears.

Greg squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull that little bit of concentration back to doing his Dom’s bidding. Were there tears there? Surely, there must be.

He blinked a few times but felt nothing in his eyes. Why was this so hard?

Marco traced gentle hands over the quivering muscles in his thighs, the heaving gasps in his belly.

You’re doing good, for me baby. But you’re not giving me everything. Give yourself to me. Give me everything.

That was it. That was the key. It wasn’t about crying. It was about giving himself up. Submitting.

He let himself slip into that place where he wasn’t thinking, just reacting.

He pulled himself up when his body demanded, rested on his heels when he couldn’t take it, left himself horribly hanging between the two, and just accepted it.

Marco began sucking him in earnest, setting up a slow but constant rhythm that shook through him, each small movement echoed in those five points where Marco was tearing into him, tearing him open.