Page 19 of A Mistake of Worth
Henri swallowed, trembling. “I’ve only ever had sex with men face-down. I’m sorry for lying.”
“Why would you lie about that?” Michael asked softly, still pressing gentle kisses along Henri’s jaw. His weight was grounding, rather than pinning. “And why haven’t you...?” He trailed off, thumb brushing Henri’s cheekbone.
Henri tried to turn his face away, but Michael caught his chin. “Look at me, baby.”
Henri met Michael’s concerned gaze. “It’s just how it’s always been,” he said, voice thin.
Michael studied him for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. “And the lying?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was—” Broken. Used. Damaged. “—inexperienced,” he finished weakly.
“Hey.” Michael’s hands framed Henri’s face, the touch both commanding and tender. “There’s nothing wrong with how much or little experience you have. But I need you to be honest with me. Can you do that?”
The question felt weighted, important. Henri nodded slowly.
“Good boy,” Michael murmured, and Henri felt the knot of tension in his stomach dissolve at the praise. “Now, I’m going to take care of you. Show you how good it can be, seeing each other like this.”
The honest concern in Michael’s voice, so different from Marc’s cold commands, made Henri’s eyes sting. He nodded again, not trusting his voice.
Michael smiled softly, his thumbs brushing over Henri’s cheekbones before he leaned down. Henri’s heart thundered in his chest—he hadn’t been kissed since Jessica, that one night at Stanford.
The memory hit hard. Marc dragged him to a Stanford party, where Jessica Tisch flirted shamelessly, touching Marc’s arm, batting her eyelashes. A lesser Tisch, pretty but not the prize Marc wanted. That was Melanie Kohler, her roommate, a true heiress.
Marc’s instructions were simple, whispered in Henri’s ear. Charm Jessica. Keep her distracted. Another of Marc’s games, using Henri as a pawn to clear the way for his real target. Two juniors manipulating freshman drama with cold precision.
Jessica pulled Henri into an empty hallway. Her kiss was sudden, tentative. Henri froze at first, heart pounding. But he was supposed to distract her. Did this count? He leaned in, reciprocating, his lips pressing back against hers. Soft, uncertain, but enough to keep her engaged.
Marc hadn’t explicitly said to kiss her. Just charm her. Keep her distracted. Henri’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer. The line blurred in his mind. This had to be fine. It was part of the game.
He broke away first, breathless. Marc would know. He’d smell her perfume, see the guilt on Henri’s face. Henri wiped his mouth, panic rising.
For weeks, nothing happened. Henri dared to hope Marc hadn’t noticed. He let himself breathe.
Then Jessica vanished. Expelled on fabricated drug charges. Whispers said planted evidence—enough coke and pills in her dorm to implicate her in dealing, not just using. Scales, baggies, the works. Her future, ruined.
Henri knew instantly. This was his punishment. Not fists or rage, but something calculated. Marc had eliminated the temptation, leaving Henri to carry the weight of her destruction.
Guilt settled in his bones. He’d crossed a line he hadn’t known existed. Later, Marc made it clear: Henri shared his body only when explicitly told. No exceptions. Another rule learned the hard way.
Before her, there had been only that one curious, experimental kiss with Marc when they were teenagers. Marc had never kissed him again.
But Michael’s lips were sure against his, confident and commanding. When Henri gasped, Michael took advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue plunging into Henri’s mouth. It was possessive, claiming. Michael’s hips rolled against his, their cocks sliding together, and Henri moaned.
This was nothing like what he knew, nothing like what he’d been trained for. Michael kissed like he was consuming him, like he was claiming every part of Henri, not just his body, but his breath, his sounds, his pleasure. Henri’s hands fluttered uncertainly before settling on Michael’s shoulders, holding on as the kiss grew more demanding.
This was kissing. This was what he’d been denied all these years.
Henri found himself chasing Michael’s mouth when he tried to pull away, wanting more of this newfound pleasure.
Michael chuckled against his lips, indulging him with another deep kiss before slowly beginning to trail his way down Henri’s body.
Each press of his lips felt like a brand. Along Henri’s jaw. Down his throat. Across his chest. Michael took his time. He mapped Henri’s abs with his tongue. He nipped at his hipbones.
When Michael settled between his spread thighs, Henri’s panic returned full force. “What are you doing?”
The question came out too sharp. Too afraid. Henri knew he’d given something away.
Michael’s eyes darkened. He draped Henri’s legs over his shoulders. “You’ve had selfish lovers,” he stated. No question in his voice.
