Page 57

“Harder,” he says.

“Say it again.”

“Harder. Fuck me harder. I want it. I should not want this but I do. I want it so fucking bad, it hurts.”

I give it to him. Rough. Deep. No blade, no blood, just my cock punching into him while he holds the sheet and says my name like it is the only clean word left in this house. Sweat runs down my chest onto his. The low light makes his green-gold eyes look wrecked.

I pull out, and he makes a sound like I took away his favorite item.

“Window,” I say. “Hands on the glass. I want the town to see who you belong to tonight.”

He looks at the glass the way he looked at the phone downstairs. For a second I think he is going to say no, but instead, he licks his mouth with anticipation.

“People will see.”

“That is the point. Walk,” I say.

He walks and his legs are not steady. He puts his palms on the window and drops his head between his arms. I stand behind him and look at the two of us in the faint reflection: my body against his, my hands on his hips, his ass tipped back because he already knows what I am going to do. The mountain is black. The town is lit. I roll a fresh condom on, spit on him again, and push back in, in one hard thrust.

He slams a hand harder against the glass and moans.

“Fuck. Cruz. That is deep.”

“Take it. Look down there. That is your town. In the day you own it. Tonight you are a man with my cock in his ass and both hands on his own window, and if anyone is in those trees, they can watch you take every fucking inch of me.”

I pull almost out and immediately drive back in. The sound is wet and ugly, but perfect. His cock is trapped against the cold pane and he gasps at that, hot skin on cold glass, and I reach around and stroke him anyway, slow and mean, just enough to keep him dripping.

“You are mine,” I tell him, close to his ear. “Not the mask. Me. This body. This ass. This mouth. I killed for this and I am not going to pretend I didn’t. You still asked me to stay. So stay on my cock and let the whole fucking mountain watch.”

“I am—fuck—don’t stop.”

“Say you want it harder.”

“I want it harder,” he pants.

I give it to him harder. His forehead drops to the glass; his breath fogs a circle on it. I fuck him through that fog and watch his mouth fall open in the reflection. I bite the place where his neck meets his shoulder, not enough to mark him for Monday, but enough that he swears.

“Don’t scream,” I say against his skin. “Kiss me.”

He turns his head and I take his mouth in a hot kiss, while I am still buried in him. It is sloppy. It is teeth, and when I let him go, he is shaking.

“I am going to come if you keep—”

“Not yet. You come when I say.”

I pull out and turn him so his back hits the glass. The pane is cold on his shoulders. I drop to my knees and suck his dick while he is still open and shaking from being fucked. He is wet at the head, slick from my hand, and I take him to the back of my throat and stay there until his knees buckle. He grabs my hair and fucks my mouth in short helpless thrusts, and I let him, looking up so he has to see who is on his knees.

“Your turn,” I say when I stand. “I stretched you, now you stretch me, and then you’re going to fuck me, so damn hard until the entire town hears you. Then I am going to finish inside you. That is the rest of the hour.”

He looks at me like he might still walk downstairs and pick up the phone. Then he nods.

I get on the bed on my back and pull my knees up. He stares at me open like that, and something in his face breaks and turns hungry.

“Lube,” he says.

He coats his fingers and pushes one into me, watching my mouth the whole time. He adds a second and scissors them, slow, exact, the way he does everything when he has decided not to run. I breathe out and take it all. He curls his fingers and my hips lift off the bed.

“Fuck. Right there,” I tell him.