Page 155 of Dead Vengeance

It’s this precarious life, these constant steps backwards, constant loss, always playing catch up.

He feels it as strongly as I do. The fear that it will all be taken away. That if we don’t throw ourselves into this wholly, completely, it might be gone tomorrow.

All while knowing that… we can’t.

Knowing that the same things holding us back from the start are still there. And will always be there. That this is too, too fleeting.

I dig my fingers into his shoulders, pull him against me, as if I could hold him forever if I just tried hard enough. I don’t even know why or what makes me say it, but I hear myself promise him, “I’m staying with you, okay? I’m not letting anything come between us. It’s just going to be us, together.”

It’s not because I can control any of it. Not because it’s real. It’s just because I want it. I want it more than anything. A normal life. I just want him.

His lips shake against mine. His head dips, and I pull back to look at him. I get one glimpse of the tears on his cheeks, his eyes pressed tight, then he reaches past me and slams the water off.

For one horrifying second, I think I’ve fucked this. I’ve upset him, and it’s over.

But he snatches up the coconut oil, takes my hand and leads me to the door, throwing it open. Then he grabs me. He picks me up, hands curved beneath my ass, kissing me, stumbling backwards to my bedroom.

The flat is so small it’s barely two steps across the hallway and I’m being thrown down on my bed, the door kicked closed behind me. I’m soaking wet. He’s soaking wet, and I couldn’t care less. He’s on top of me, dripping, kissing me. And I want him so badly.

I shuffle down beneath him, use my knees to push him over the top of me, then his dick is deep in my mouth, right where it belongs. A deep groan falls from him, so satisfying, but not half as satisfying and entrancing as the sensation of my mouth on his cock because, like magic, I can feel it too.

It’s weirdly like giving myself a blow job, except with all the pleasure of sharing sex with Archer. All the gorgeous unpredictability of not having known how much he would really like being on top of me. The way he reacts to my fingers digging into his ass and gives me exactly what I want, thrusting deeper into my mouth.

I try to let him know how much I love that, how much I want it, by making sex noises that I hope to fuck are turning him on, but it’s not easy. He thrusts harder, faster, fisting my hair, and I can barely make a proper sound with his cock fucking down my throat. I wrench him in, begging him with my fingers, more, more, because while I love being throat-fucked by him, I also do feel like I’m throat-fucking him, and this is insane. It’s too good.

I reach a tentative hand down for my dick, shuddering when I make contact. It’s more again, and I’m half expecting Archer to say no to me, tell me to wait.

His voice comes firm and commanding. “Keep going. I want to watch.” He’s straddling me now, high on his knees, supporting me with one strong arm. He’s stretched out so long and so beautiful when he turns his head to look down at me.

I tighten my hand around my dick, stroke down, and as I do, he sinks his cock into my mouth in perfect rhythm with the movement. Fucking hell, it feels good. I try to let out a gasp, only to have it stopped with his enormous cock.

Who needs air? I am so happy to die like this.

“Don’t stop,” he rasps.

So… maybe I won’t die just yet. Not if he’s enjoying this as much as I am.

I let my hand shift back to the crown, trying not to lose control completely, but I don’t think many people could understand what it is to simultaneously experience a blow job and a hand job, and I think I really might explode. I want to close my eyes to try to keep it under some sort of wraps, but Archer is too beautiful. He’s stupidly gorgeous, and the way his slim waist shifts forward with each thrust, the way his abs contract, the way his lip curls with filthy satisfaction at every stifled moan I try to get out… I want him to come all over me. I want him to soak me in it. I want him to do everything imaginable to me.

But I also don’t want him to stop this. All I want right now is for his pleasure to be equal to mine.

I press into my hand a little harder at the thought of it, and Archer lets out a gasp. “Fuck, Liam.”

My god. He’s not feeling it too… is he?

Tightening my hand, I fuck into my fist, and, “Fuck! Liam, fuck!”

Oh my god. What is even happening?

I do it again, crunching my abs, concentrating hard, trying to stop myself coming too fast. I barely catch it on the edge, the orgasm so close, when Archer snaps, as if he can’t take anymore either. He wrenches his dick from my mouth, throwing me back onto my pillows. He drops down, my cock landing in his mouth with one swift movement.

My fingers twist into the quilt, shouts of pleasure racking out of me, the bliss of the moment blocking out every sound and sensation beyond sex until he slips his finger in, and my entire body arches off the bed. He’s already coated his fingers in oil, and it’s smooth and delicious and world-changing.

He works me, devours me, then, after a time, shoulders trembling, he pauses and meets my gaze, his eyes hooded with the intensity of his pleasure. “Are you… um… is this sex magic?”

I knew it was working for him. I knew it. “Yeah,” I laugh. “It is. Are you okay with…”

“Fuck, yes,” he whispers. The second finger slides home, his teeth landing on my chest, sucking my nipple between them, biting so hard I shout out. I scrape my fingers over his back, needing more and more and more of him, wanting my marks all over his beautiful body. He’s mine now. Mine today. Mine forever.