Blood to Dust(61)

“What are you doing, Delaware?”

“I don’t have a condom here,” he says, dodging my question, spreading my ass cheeks with his firm fingers. Embarrassment tickles at the pit of my stomach. I’ve never done this before. Not willingly, anyway. Godfrey sodomized me, but I wasn’t there when it happened. I blanked out. Now, I’m here completely, ready to feel it.

I get over my doubts and worries by reminding myself that it’s Nate Vela. Or Christopher Delaware. I’d let both versions of him do anything they wanted to me. Hell, I’d even let Beat tap it any time of the day.

“That could be a problem.” I feign innocence, my teeth crushing gritty, salty sand from the floor. Nate digs one finger into my *, borrowing my wetness and rubbing it against my anal rim in circles.

“I’m clean,” he continues. “Checked myself when I got out of prison, and haven’t been with anyone on the outside.”

That’s a surprise, unless you really know Nate. Women don’t interest him.

Storms do.

“And on the inside?”

He smacks my ass hard, a slap that lands on my left ass cheek and makes my face crash against the floor. The boom of his palm on my skin ricochets between the palm trees, and a red sting follows.

“Watch it, Cockburn.”

I chuckle, knowing that this guy is way too intelligent to be a homophobe. I love when he hurts me. Pain feels different under his touch.

With him, we’re sharing, not distributing.

With him, pain is just another way to feel.

He spreads my ass again and places his hot tongue on the flesh between my ass and sex, giving me a thorough, warm lick. I shiver, feeling my erect nipples grinding against the concrete, and lift my ass to his face, asking for more.

Sinking his head into the pool, he comes up with his mouth to my * and starts f*cking me with his tongue. Thrusting his hotness between my folds hard and fast from behind, his nose buried in my ass. I whine in need, my hips bucking, rocking, circling, searching. His square jaw scratches my thighs, the stubble burning my skin in a way that’s almost too painful if it weren’t for the cold water splashing over them with every move of his head. After a few minutes, his mouth moves north to my ass crack. His tongue swirls around my hole, and I’m quaking all over, jerking into his face every time he presses his tongue hard against my skin, applying pressure on my sensitive spot.

I’m soaked. So soaked.

“I’m clean too,” I cry into the ground. Before Nate, I hadn’t had sex in a long time, and had visited a clinic since. I feel his hands ghosting my waist as he drags me back down into the water, his mouth on my shoulder.

“You’re a delicate flower I’d like to smash to pieces, Pea. But only with permission.” He pushes his boxers down and off. I see them floating beside us.

“Smash me,” I groan.

And he does.

He smashes me.

The first thing I notice is not that he slams into my ass—not starting with the tip—going all the way in, but the fact that my face hits the edge of the pool and my lip splits open. The exact same place Seb left me bleeding. But the experience is anything but similar. I suck on my own blood and shriek in a mix of pain and pleasure as he guides my face up, his palm on my neck, so my head is flush against his chest.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Not in this way.”

Slam.

“Fuck, Prescott, f*ck.”

Slam.

“You’re killing me.”

Slam.

“And I’m loving it.”

Slam.

Words so beautiful, spoken in such an ugly place, under the same stars that are watching the people who want us dead. He drives into me like he’s trying to mold us into one, and with every thrust, I’m beginning to believe that it can actually happen. My heart cracks open a little more with every push.

I’m falling in love with this guy.

I’m going to kill two people with this guy.

Soon, this guy will hate me when he figures out that I have no way to pay him and fulfill my commitment to him. That I lied to him about the money, and kept the truth from him when he asked me about other things, too.

Slam.

Slam.

Slam.

We need to hurry up and go our separate ways before it backfires on us both. Nate Vela is not an easy guy to read, but our ending is still written in the sky. It reads heartbreak and death.

Slam.

“I’m coming,” he says, and I arch my back in response. I would have probably come too, had I not been so occupied with my stupid feelings for him.

“Are you close?” he produces a guttural hiss through his teeth. I shake my head, no.

“Come inside me, Nate.”

He slams into me a few more times before stilling, and I feel his warm release pouring into me. We stay like this for a few moments—him standing on the pool’s floor, holding my ass against his groin, his favorite position, before he spins me to face him and nails my back to the wall. My ass is sore and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to sit down for at least a couple of months.

“Did I hurt you, Cockburn?” His full eyes cut to my split lip, and I’m filled with horror, because I can actually feel the tears stinging the backs of my eyeballs again.

I’m taking this partnership way too far.

“No. Well, yeah, it hurt, but I still enjoyed it.”