Page 18 of A Mistake of Worth
“I can do it,” Henri stuttered. “I know it’s disgusting, I’ll—”
“Stop.” Michael’s tone brooked no argument. “Nothing about this is disgusting. Nothing about you is disgusting.” His lips brushed Henri’s ear. “Let go of my wrists.”
Henri’s fingers uncurled at the command, his mind spinning. This wasn’t—this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Michael’s fingers pressed inside, stretching and cleaning with the same care as washing his hair. Henri flushed, torn between shame and desire, wanting to hide yet craving more.
How could something shameful feel so good? Marc would never—
Another finger pressed in, and Henri’s confused thoughts scattered. Time seemed to blur, reality narrowing to Michael’s careful touches, the warm water, the gentle press and stretch of fingers. Henri found himself drifting, caught in this strange new tenderness.
Michael finished washing him thoroughly, his touches efficient but still gentle. When he was satisfied, he pressed a kiss to Henri’s shoulder. “Get out. Dry off and wait for me on the bed.”
Relief flooded Henri. This, he understood. Orders and compliance, these were familiar. He dried himself quickly, hanging the towel neatly back on the rack.
He moved to his suitcase, retrieving the lube he’d packed. The dildo stayed in its case, a silent reminder of Marc’s demands. Every trip Henri had taken, no matter how short, Marc expected video calls. Henri performing, slicked and ready, the lube andtoy were his tools for obedience. Henri may not have spoken to Marc since before he left for London, but he still expected Marc to call.
Marc’s demands would likely be humiliating…
His fingers lingered on the lube bottle. Excitement flickered, sharp and forbidden. Using it for Michael, not Marc, felt like stealing something precious. Heat stirred in his gut, his cock twitching at the thought.
Henri bent over the king-sized bed, the position achingly familiar, and reached back with slicked fingers.
He’d barely pressed one inside when Michael’s voice cut through the room. “What are you doing?”
Henri froze, confused. “Preparing for you?”
Michael shook his head, water still beading on his chest. “I told you to wait. I want to do this part.”
Henri’s mind stalled. He stayed frozen as Michael gently took the lube from his unresisting fingers.
“On the bed,” Michael ordered.
Henri moved automatically, starting to settle on his hands and knees until Michael caught his hip, flipping him onto his back. A knowing smirk played across Michael’s lips. “Oh no, baby. I want to see your face—every expression you make while I take you.”
“You do?” Henri blurted, stunned.
Michael raised an eyebrow at him. “Do your lovers only ever take you from behind?” He asked as he spread Henri’s legs wide, exposing him to Michael’s gaze.
“No! Of course not,” Henri lied, cursing himself. Marc despised seeing his face. The men Marc chose didn’t either.
The only ones he fucked face-to-face were the women he was ordered to take.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why apologize?” Michael settled between Henri’s legs, resting his calves on his hips.
“Because…” Henri faltered. “You don’t believe me?”
“Is that a question?”
Henri hid his face in his hands, panic rising. “I don’t know! I just—I’m sorry!”
Michael caught his wrists, pulling them away. “It’s alright, Henri. Everything’s alright.” He leaned over, fingers threading through Henri’s hair, kissing his temple. “Why did that bother you, sweetheart?”
Henri shook his head, jaw clenched, his eyes squeezed shut as an unfamiliar emotion swelled. Michael waited, laying gentle kisses along his face, his neck, his collarbone.
“Tell me,” Michael whispered against his jaw.
