He’s hard. And huge.
It occurs to me now that he was hard when I first saw him in the shower. He was thinking about something that turned him on. Me?
He strokes down his length with his free hand, his thumb on my tongue. “Have you ever sucked cock before?”
I shake my head no. I don’t dare close my mouth.
“Good.” He says it like a condemnation, but I hear approval, or I want to hear approval.
And then there’s no more time to think.
Leo shoves his cock into my mouth without preamble. Without hesitation. One heartbeat I’m waiting, dying of the wait, and the next he’s filling my mouth. Water drips from his skin onto my hair and my dress but I hardly feel it. I can’t feel anything but his hands twisting in my hair and the impossible length of him taking all the available space.
Choking me.
I gag on him and he pulls back with a biting laugh, reaching around to swipe a tear from my cheek. He pulls my head back so I can see him licking the salt off his thumb, and then he grips my hair for leverage to fuck my mouth.
To use it.
Like it belongs to him.
“Suck.”
I know in my heart that there are no second chances with this. No boundary he won’t cross if I screw this up. I scramble for anything to hold on to and find his hard thighs.
I suck.
I try my best to use my tongue. He’s hard but his skin is so soft. Experimentally I trail my tongue along the underside of his cock and his body bends forward, his grip loosening in my hair. I get more of his hand around the back of my head. Less of his cruel grip. Cruel or not, he controls me completely. I do it again and get a grunt that’s part pleasure and mostly pain, and somewhere, underneath the panic of trying not to gag on him and the startling lack of air, the intimacy of this becomes so clear it hurts.
“Swallow.”
Another flash of panic lights up the dark sky of me. If he’s going to come—
He’s not.
I swallow just in time to figure out that what he means is to take him deep. Too deep. It’s killing me. I can’t do this. He strokes into my throat with abandon and I’m fighting him, clawing at him—
Only I’m not clawing. I’m pulling him closer, my hands hooked around the backs of his legs, and nothing is more fucked up than this. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Except the way I want him. Except the way my whole body is reacting to being demeaned like this. Used like this. Hurt like this. My skin is on fire with the need to know him, to wring the truth out of him, to come out of this with more than a sacrifice. I’ll give myself to Leo to save my dad but I want to take part of him too.
Leo pulls out so abruptly that I fall forward, hands hitting the floor with a loud slap. I can’t catch my breath. I struggle for it, and struggle, and struggle. Finally it returns.
So does Leo.
He pulls me back to my knees with a hand under my jaw, his cock in his fist, stroking it while he looks into my eyes. Tears leak from the corners but I’m not crying. I’ll be crying soon if I don’t get to come. I’ll be crying soon if there’s nowhere for the slick need between my legs to go.
I inch closer to him and brush my lips over the head of his cock. He groans and gives me an inch. I swirl my tongue around it and he gives me another one. This is the most depraved begging I’ve ever done, and Leo is wound tight around it. He feeds me inch after inch until something in him snaps.
His hands go back to my hair and his muscles work under my palms. Working to hold him upright. Working to keep him standing. He says something that I don’t hear over the rush of blood in my ears, the beating fear that I’m choking, I’m choking, and then he surges forward and comes.
Hard.
I can either drown or swallow and instinct takes over. He tastes like salt and hurt. At some point it peaks and his hands gentle in my hair, both hands pulling me close, one sliding down to the back of my neck.
When he’s spent he pulls out, but he keeps his hands where they are. I rest my forehead against his thigh and breathe. The air has never felt so good in my lungs. Leo’s running his fingers through my hair in an absent way, like he’s still floating. A quiet warning sounds in the back of my mind. I know. I know. This isn’t over. I can’t take back what I’ve seen. I know. But I don’t want to let go.
His breathing settles. And the warning gets louder.
I stay on my knees.
15
Leo
I come back to my body. A cage of flesh and pain. My return is abrupt.
And it.
Is.
Agony.
I have my hands in her hair, her soft, spun-gold hair, and the way she’s touching me—like I didn’t just hold her by that hair and fuck her throat until tears ran down her cheeks, like I didn’t punish her for no other reason than I wanted to—is gentle and intimate and unbearable.
What am I doing? What the fuck have I been doing?
Anger and pain collide in a black, roaring storm and I wrench my hands away from her hair like they’ve been burned. They are burning. To touch Haley is to be flayed alive. She saw. She’s here. She fucking saw.
Haley scrambles backward, an animal caught in a hunter’s beam, and it should make me feel sorry for her but those huge, innocent eyes are oxygen to flame. A lit match to gasoline. I hate that she’s here. I hate that she saw. This rage is too large to be contained, too big for muscle and bone to keep in. I hear myself snarl and she startles, getting up to her feet, staying low. As if that could save her.
I’m beyond saving.
I’m so fucking pissed that it’s acid on open wounds, and at the middle is a secret, desperate humiliation that I will do anything to shake loose.
Haley is frozen, one hand up, showing me the whites in her eyes. “I’m sorry.” Her voice trembles. “I didn’t know—I’m sorry.”
I reach one hand out before she can run and coil my fingers through her hair, hard enough that she yelps, her face contorting with pain. “You’re not sorry enough.” My voice sounds nightmarish even to me, and Haley flinches at the sound. “The strap wasn’t enough to teach you your place, was it? No, it fucking wasn’t.” Haley comes with me when I leave the bathroom. She doesn’t have any choice. My grip is so tight in her hair that she can’t breathe. She struggles to get her feet under her.
“Leo.” It’s a begging gasp and it yanks at something far under the surface of me. Beneath the torn skin and the scrambled nerves. Deeper. Older. “Please.” In the bedroom I let her fall next to the bed. She gets up, eyes wide, the color drained from her face. I’m between her and the door. She could try to climb backward but there’s no way she makes it. Haley holds up both hands. “We could talk about it. You’re—” Fast breathing. Hard breathing. She’s cornered and ready to run. “You’re hurt—”
“No.” Haley snaps her lips closed, lifting her chin to keep her eyes on me. I’m so close I can feel her heartbeat through the air. This is how you hide the things that eat you alive. You crowd in. Take up all the space. No one can see your secrets if they’re hidden behind power and rage. “I’m not hurt. But I’m going to hurt you. You want to know what it’s like? I’ll show you. I’ll whip you hard enough to leave scars. Hard enough to bleed.”