Page 13 of If Cain Were Able

“You’re such a cunt,” I seethe, pushing my hips up, knowing he’ll exploit that weakness.

“And you’re getting close,” he says with a wink, making me want to punch him in his smug fucking face. “Don’t fight it, Kitten. The first one’s free. We’ll call it getting reacquainted,” he says, pumping his hips to match my rhythm as we fuck his fist together.

His cock slides against mine, creating the most delicious friction. The hornier I get, the emptier I feel physically. As if my body never missed a beat with him, my hole is pulsing in search of his cock.

And I hate myself for it.

And it’s a lot easier to hate those around you when it flows so freely inside of yourself, so I aim a deadly strike at his inflated ego.

“My last partner had my balls empty in less than sixty seconds,” I taunt. It’s meant to be a barb thrown at him, but the mention of Taylor still hurts. And I’m no better than I was when Tay was mine. He’d be disgusted if he knew I was using him to bait a different lover…the same lover that left me broken.

“My guess is he didn’t have to worry about your fractured sternum,” Cain says, getting pissed at the insult to his prowess.

But he rises to the challenge, and when he lies flat on his stomach and draws my dick into his mouth, I’m certain I’ve died and gone to heaven.

“Oh, fuck, Cain,” I groan, my hands flying to the back of his head.

He slurps and sucks with no finesse.

But it doesn’t matter.

Knowing he’s aware of my surgical limitations helps me relax. Knowing it’s Cain of all people between my legs has me soaring above the clouds. And knowing he wants me to come has me spilling into his waiting mouth a few seconds later.

His dark eyes flash from his position as he wipes his bottom lip.

“Next time we’ll set a timer so we can see who holds the record.”

God, how I’ve missed this. Missed him.

Allowing Cain back into my bed is the worst thing I could possibly do, but I’m powerless to stop it.

“I believe you told my nurse that if I wanted help fucking myself, I knew where to find you,” he says, climbing back to his knees.

Sweat breaks out on the nape of my neck.

“I might’ve said something along those lines,” I admit.

“Then get to fucking,” Cain says, wrapping my left hand around his shaft.

I’ve never forgotten the heady feeling of bringing this god to orgasm. Of commanding his body for the briefest of seconds as he loses himself to pleasure. Those few moments seem suspended in time when he lowers his guard and allows someone else to be in control. It’s hard not to imagine the life we could have had if he knew how to do this outside the bedroom, but that’s a pipe dream if ever there was one.

“Since I can’t use my mouth yet, grab the lube,” I tell him. “It’s in the nightstand drawer.”

He leans over in a move that makes me wince because I know how badly it would hurt if I were to do the same thing, but when he sits up, he’s holding…

Oh, shit.

I try to grab the pictures out of his hand, but he pulls back. The sudden movement sends a bolt of lightning through my chest.

“Please don’t look at those,” I plead.

Unsurprisingly, he flips through them, ignoring me completely.

“Christ, Patrick. How old is this kid?” Cain asks, flipping one of the photos of Taylor around…as if I needed the visual to know whom he’s talking about.

It’s my favorite picture of him. Taylor is wearing a white cropped sweatshirt with a red rhinestone heart on it, the lower half of his abs on display, red booty shorts, and white knee-high socks. He’s sitting on my kitchen counter with his knees spread wide and his hands on the counter between them. He’s winking at me and making kissy lips, and he’s utterly radiant as his blond hair falls across one eye.

Cain and I never had safe words, but if we did, I’d use one now just to make him stop looking.