Page 10 of Forever Not Yours

Who was this Bastien and what had he done to the man I knew? Any second now, I would wake up with a hard-on and realise I’d just had a very wet dream. The haze in my head was overwhelming. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

“Spread,” I barked, my voice sounding weird, disembodied, but he did as he was told, opening up for me and moaning softly as I pushed my finger inside him. More spit. Further in. I nudged his legs wider apart with my knees and took a second to admire him on all fours, balls hanging low, my hand marks on his skin. I gave him another swift slap.

“Stay still,” I demanded. He couldn’t, shivering and jerking everywhere as my finger went in past the first knuckle, and out again. Two this time. More spit.

Dirty. Filthy. Just the way I liked it, despite the very loud voice at the back of my head yelling insults and demanding my sanity return. I swatted the voice away as well.

Pulling my fingers out, I replaced them with my thumb, fought his muscles as he made noises that egged me on. I swore at him; he swore back. My belt pulled open, zip down, I tugged my jeans over my arse so I could get my cock out. I was rock-hard. Our mutual slanging match increased in intensity and volume as I gave in to the madness and stood up so I could lose the jeans completely.

“Fuck you,” I hissed out as his gentle laughter filled the air.

“Fuck you right back, Jakey.”

This was me, and this was him, making another deliciously desperate noise as I grabbed his hips and put him where I wanted him. Right there, ready for me, that gorgeous pink hole clenching as I pinched my foreskin together with my fingertips and held it against his opening, which I lubricated with another generous amount of spit.

I was expecting a slow push. Instead, he seemed to eat me up, allowed me access as I entered him, warm heat against my bare skin.

Sanity. What? Never heard of it.

It was just him and me, and in that moment, nothing would have stopped either of us.

I rammed fully in with a roar, another well-placed slap on his thigh as I nudged out. Slammed back in to the tune of his panting and joined him in our symphony, a song made of noises and words, a language that made no sense but which we both understood. A song of love, of lust…of absolute madness.

I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him up, clamping my mouth on the bare skin as my hips jerked, in and out, while he reached behind him and around my back, fusing us together as I fucked him hard, fast, just like he’d ordered. I bit into his shoulder, my fingers moving up his neck, to his chin and his mouth, demanding he suck them.

I caught a glimpse of his dick when he grabbed it and frantically started jerking himself off—a vision strong enough to make me lose it. I was everywhere and nowhere at once, my vision having descended intothat blankness where the world was only white, my ears deaf to the roaring noise around me. Everything and nothing.

My orgasm tore through me like a tornado, a thing of destruction that ripped my heart straight out of my chest.

Then a sudden silence that shook me to the core.

I didn’t fully come back around at first, just existing, trying to find my stability on the mattress. Find my breath.

Him? Curled up on the bed. Arms around his chest. Eyes closed.

It seemed like forever, a lifetime of me just kneeling there, looking down at him.

“Can you hold me?” he whispered.

I didn’t. Couldn’t. I tumbled backwards, staggering to my feet on the cold floor, and stared at the outline of him on the bed in sheer disbelief.

This was me, and him, and whatever was left of us would never be the same. This was the end. The final part. The space and time where my life would irrevocably change, and there was nothing I could ever do to undo what I’d just done.

I should have picked him up, apologised with everything I had, tried to do some damage control. Anything. All of it.

Instead, I retreated from the scene of the crime, locked myself in the bathroom and cried until there was nothing left of me. Nothing at all.

Iwoke up curled up in the sheets, a dull ache in my backside. My arse hurt. My arms hurt. Every inch of my skin feltsore and abused.

I couldn’t even blame anyone else, because it was all self-inflicted. Me. My brain. My incredibly bad ideas.

Then the reality hit me square in the face, something that made me sit up straight, patting down the mattress next to me like I couldn’t actually trust my eyesight.

My eyes were fine. And the room was empty.

I should have panicked, shouted his name and called him on my phone. I had his number saved, of course, but I could’ve dialled it from memory. I knew that number by heart. Always had.

Through some kind of weird avoidance at grasping reality mixed with my usual self-preservation instinct, I got up, changed the sensor in my arm, pricked my finger as backup and dosed up my insulin pump, watching my hands shake as I fitted it.

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