Page 35 of Natural-Born Cullers

“Yeah.” Gray searched his eyes, for who also played in there sometimes. “Hurt looks so damn fucking good on both of you….”

Jack frowned, but it was lost as Gray roughed a brutal kiss at his lips, then bit at it, drawing blood, and—

Fuck.

Gray sought Jack’s tongue—sharing the thick pool of blood lacing his.

Yeah, this right here. This was what he needed. “Fucking up.” He chased another kiss, that taste of blood.

Jack choked into it, then huffed as Gray pulled him to his feet and forced him over to the bed. The whip marks on his feet instantly seemed to kick in, no doubt driving nails up his calves, into his thighs, and he cried out as he started to limp and lose his jogging bottoms in the mix.

Gray forced him down a moment later, Jack’s back hitting the bed, body slightly angled with the cuffs he wore, and Gray grabbed his ankle and twisted him onto it fully.

He straddled Jack the next moment, suit trouser against hard cock, and Jack huffed, nearly doubling again. Gray found his throat a moment later, holding him down, then he grabbed the choker and fastened it around the D-ring in the headboard. A gag came out from a drawer the next moment, and Jack’s cry was cut short just before Gray shifted off him and undid his cuffs. One hand bound above his head, Jack grunted into the gag as a second metal cuff circled his other. It left him bound and naked on the bed.

And there it was—the beauty behind torture didn’t come on the cry, but in how the body writhed and twisted against taking it, how it fell into exhaustion during taking it, any sense of routine obliterated, reaching a point where even most psychopaths turned away and lost trace of their mark.

Drip… fucking stunning drop.

Gray reared up against the headboard, one hand on the wall, the other on his cock topping his suit trousers, and he eased into Jack’s mouth, all his heat caught between gag and teeth before he found the back of Jack’s throat a breath later.

Fuck. It was a visualisation that couldn’t be beaten: a man bound to his bed, a cock slipping between lip and gag, powerless to do anythingbuttake it.

It brought sex down to pure domination of one man over another, of one man holding another down and fucking him purely because man was ultimately the rougher, tougher sex, and there was no thrill alive to rival holding another man down and taking him. Wrong… right, it still burned at Gray’s core, and he’d always own it. It was where that dominance took him that would always put Jack in threat, because Gray could easily fuck him over broken wing, bone piercing Jack’s body with each length Gray made him take, blood slicking bodies in the safe… insanity of…

Drip… fucking drop.

Too close to coming, Gray snarled and pulled free. Then he wrapped leather cuffs around Jack’s ankles and pulled his legs apart before he stepped back from the bed and looked down at him.

Jack’s cock lay sedate in the onslaught of release that had already owned his body. Despite the heavy breathing, the heat, Jack was more than close to calling no more.

Gray drifted a touch down Jack’s side, circling his tattoo once… twice, all the vibrant blues, greens and silvers that took all colour from the bedroom, and he cocked a brow. Mumbling into the gag, Jack dropped his head back on the bed, as if forcing relaxation, as if forcing some life into his body to counter exactly how dark Gray’s intent seemed to be going.

He was close, but not close enough to crying no.

Gray eased open a drawer, and he settled back between Jack’s thighs a moment later. Jack went quiet, his body so tense, and all the colour to routine instantly faded away from him, leaving him lost in the black-and-white landscape.

Tick…

Fucking stop.

Gray stilled for a moment. “Where’s your head going, stunner?” He ran his tongue along Jack’s abs, then looked down his body, how he was almost lost in the shadows, out of reach. “The quiet you’re keeping….” Gray shuddered, wiping a hand over his mouth. “You’re not playing the victim now.” Like the blood on his tongue, Gray tasted real fear in the perspiration. He frowned. “You worried you won’t leave here?”

Jack kept his breathing so light, and it was there, how that look at Gray…. Gray would always scare the hell out of him in these moments, that Graywouldtake it too far.

Drip…

Fucking stop.

Vince.

Vince had stepped into Gray’s territory, and he did it again now. For all the years Jack had stepped into the fast lane with Gray to burn out routine and lie safe for a while after the heat, Vince had twisted it. He’d proven how all of Gray’s safety found in the heat could lose Jack, could… had left Jack broken with no way out except in a body bag.

And it was there: the question on why Martin didn’t step in now. But the answer stayed in Jack’s eyes, how Jack trusted Gray, something Vince had never owned of Jack’s. Jack knew how ropes and bondage would take all of Martin’s control away, his trust…. So no… drip… fucking drop under Gray…. So Jack kept him away; he’d kept him mostly away from Vince, needing Martin to be at his best when Jack stumbled away from his worst, and the beauty behind Jack’s protection of Martin despite his own hurt and fear was….

Gray eased down over him, and a nip went at Jack’s lip as the gag acted more like a bit between his teeth.

“You’re fucking perfection right now. You know that, right?”A kiss at his cheek caught Jack’s tear. “Just fucking perfection, stunner.” And he made sure Jack shared the grief that Gray caught on his tongue in new ways as he roughed a kiss at his lips.

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