Page 26 of Injustice and Absolution

In no time, I’m writhing in pleasure, moaning through another orgasm. Swiftly, Royce grabs me around my hips, lining his cock up with my entrance and pushing into me, extending my orgasm before it has a chance to wane again.

Then he fucks me like he owns me. Like he knows that when this is over, his cock will be the only one imprinted in my memory, for eternity. Like he’s exorcizing not just my body of my past experiences, but my entire goddamn soul.

And I welcome it. I want him to be the only man I know. The only one I remember.

My demon-slayer.

My savior.

My everything.

I watch him above me, his face contorted in painful bliss, and I know he’s close to coming.

“Come, Royce. I want all of you.”

I reach up, cupping his cheek, ready to comfort him through his release. Waiting to feel his warmth spread deep within my core.

Removing his eyes from mine, he severs our connection with a swift, icy blade. Grunting, he pulls out of me. Fisting his cock violently, he releases his seed onto my stomach. He remains there, his eyes not meeting mine until his balls are completely empty. His ample load swiftly grows cold on my skin. A dense cloud of unease surrounds me as Royce comes to rest on his back next to me.

We lie there, silent except for our quaking breath, waiting for our heart rates to return to a normal pace. Turning my head, I look at Royce, suddenly afraid my heart will never beat normally again.

His eyes remain trained on the sky above.

Look at me. Please.

For an eternity, I watch him until he finally moves. Still, he doesn’t look at me. Standing, he grabs his boxer briefs and pulls them on. He plucks his shirt off the rock next and tosses it to me.

“Clean yourself off,” he orders coldly.

But I don’t move. I’m frozen, locked in a state of self-preservation I’ve perfected over the years. When he notices I haven’t budged, he approaches me. Crouching at my side, he picks up his shirt and cleans all remnants of his cum from my stomach.

But not with a lover’s touch.

It’s cold. Detached.

Completely devoid of feeling.

Fuck this.

I latch onto his wrist, halting his movement.

“Royce.”

Glaring at him, he refuses to look at me.

I toss his arm from my grip as though I’m throwing away a piece of trash. Sitting up, I bookend his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me.

“Royce...”

The skin between his eyes furrows—but barely as he fights to keep his emotions hidden—the moment my eyes soften.

“Come back to me.”

He pulls his face out of my grip and puts distance between us again. Then he reaches down and picks up my clothing, bringing it to me.

“Get dressed.”

And I do, but not because he told me to. As I dress, I try to think of something else to say to him to snap him out of the sudden mood he’s settled into.

---