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He’s not just talking about this, and the realization makes my eyes sting. I nod, biting my lip, so I won’t start crying again. He kisses me—open-mouthed, hungry, like he wants to devour all the space between us.

His hand moves down, closing firmly around my cock, and I gasp, the sound echoing off the tile.

His hand is so warm around my cock. I want more. I want all of him. The ache is so sharp in my belly that I feel like I might cry with it.

He studies my face while he strokes me. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” My cheeks go hotter. It’s the first time anyone’s said that to me, I think. If they did, they didn’t mean it like this.

I can’t look him in the eye, so I fixate on the marks across his chest. There are stories under every one of them.

Adrien’s thumb flicks over the ridge of my cockhead, smearing slick, and I yelp, both hands grabbing his shoulder.

“Sensitive boy,” he croons, voice melting into that coaxing, honeyed tone that instantly undoes me. “I’m the only one who’s touched you, aren’t I, baby? Tell me.”

“I-I-I—”

He growls, “If someone else touched you, sweetheart, I won’t be mad at you. Never at you. But I’ll fucking kill them. I’ll tear them the fuck apart—”

“No! It’s just—just you,” I promise him.

He lets out a breath. “Good. I’ll be your first and your last, then.”

“Yes,” I whisper, and it’s so quiet I’m not even sure he hears.

But he does.

He shifts me on his lap, so my back is against his chest, his arm holding me tight across my sternum while his other hand keeps pumping me, lazy and unhurried. Our skin sticks together at every point. I feel the length of him hard against my ass, even heavier and hotter than I could have expected. It should scare me, but instead I sink into him, letting his strength wrap around me.

“Good boy,” he whispers into my hair. His lips trace the curve of my ear, and he nips the earlobe softly. His palm is still working my cock, and it’s so much, I can barely breathe.

Then his hand leaves me.

I whimper at the loss, but before I can even think to beg for it back, his fingers trail down between my legs, cupping my balls, fondling them gently.

The next part happens so fast, I barely have time to process it—his hand moves even lower, and his finger slides over my hole, circling it. My whole body goes rigid.

“Shh,” he soothes. “Don’t get scared. Nothing bad ever happens here, remember?”

My breathing comes in ragged, shallow pants. I’ve never even touched myself there before—not on purpose, anyway. “Adrien—”

“Relax, baby,” he says, voice so low and tender that I could melt into it. He keeps his hand anchored over my chest, pinning me back against him. “I want to make you feel good. I want you to know how good it can be. I’d never hurt you.”

He kisses my jaw, then my temple, then my cheek, soft and steady, each one a silent promise.

He lets his lips linger, breathing me in, before murmuring, “Not here. Not yet.” He stands and, in one seamless motion, lifts me with him—my ass cradled in his hands, my legs hitched around his hips. He’s hard as an iron rod, pressed up between us.

He carries me down the hall, the bounce of each step making my dick throb and my heart pound. I try to focus on anything but the sensation of his bare skin flush against my own, but I’m too out of it, too wrung out from crying and too keyed up from his touch. The world outside my room and the hallway bathroom is different from what I imagined, with the walls empty and the only furniture in the small sitting area. The light is dim because Adrien keeps all the blinds drawn.

He pushes open a door at the end of the hall with his elbow, and just like that, we’re in his bedroom. Well, not his real bedroom, I remind myself. This one looks more like a blank slate than a room someone lives in.

He tosses me onto the center of the bed—not carelessly, but like he knows I’ll bounce and giggle from the sensation. I don’t, but I do land with a gasp, limbs sprawling, and before I can scramble upright, Adrien is climbing after me, crawling on hands and knees, looming over me like a wolf pinning a rabbit.

He shoves his face into my neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell like me,” he says, and his voice is raw with wanting. “You will always smell like me.”

He starts to kiss a line down my neck, pausing to bite at my collarbone, my shoulder, the soft spot right above my heart. Each one of his nips is followed by a kiss, as if he’s apologizing for the hunger. I can’t do anything but lie there, shivering with leftover adrenaline and anticipation.

He snakes one arm under my back, lifting me easily, and the other hand goes to the nightstand, opening the drawer and retrieving a bottle of lube—clear, thick, and expensive-looking.

“Ever used this before?” he asks, moving so that his face is close to mine, our foreheads almost touching.