Page 21 of A Mistake of Worth
“You watching me?” Michael’s tone was a dark growl. “Good. Keep watching. I want you to see what’s about to ruin you.”
“Yes,” Henri whispered, lost in the heat. His voice trembled, but there was no hesitation.
“Do you have a condom?” Michael asked, his voice rough, cock nudging closer to Henri’s entrance.
“No,” Henri admitted, pulse hammering in his ears. “But I’m clean. Tested. I swear.” The unspoken truth—Marc’s rigid insistence on regular testing—burned his throat, a bitter reminder of the control he’d never escape.
Michael’s eyes flickered with conflict, searching Henri’s face. “Henri.”
“Please,” Henri begged, voice cracking. “I want to feel you. Need you to fill me. Need this to be mine.” His words spilled out, raw, desperate. He’d never chosen this, never chosen anyone. Until now.
Michael cursed softly, restraint shattering. “I’m clean too,” he growled, sliding between Henri’s thighs. His cock pressed against Henri’s rim, teasing, circling, drawing a shudder from deep in Henri’s core. “Eyes on me,” Michael ordered, and pushed in.
The stretch seared through Henri, stealing his breath. A groan ripped from his chest as Michael’s thickness filled him, relentless, unyielding, yet deliberate. Henri’s hands clawed at the sheets, fingers twisting in the fabric until Michael caught them, prying them free. He pinned Henri’s wrists above his head, their fingers interlacing tightly. Michael’s grip was firm, commanding, but not cruel. Henri’s body yielded, every nerve alight, knowing who held control—and craving it.
“You feel fucking incredible,” Michael ground out, hips rolling in slow, deep thrusts. Each movement sent waves of pleasure crashing through Henri, his body trembling under the weight of sensation. “Perfect for me.”
The praise hit Henri hard, tightening his throat. It wasn’t Marc’s cold demands or the brutal indifference of others. Michael saw him. Wanted him. Henri arched into each thrust, chasing the connection, memorizing the heat of Michael’s gaze, the care in every deliberate roll of his hips. This was his. For once, his.
Michael’s rhythm turned punishing, each stroke precise, finding that spot inside Henri that ignited bursts of pleasure behind his eyes. Henri’s cock throbbed against his stomach, leaking, untouched, as Michael drove deeper. Henri’s moans broke free, raw and unrestrained, sounds he’d never dared make before. Michael’s eyes never left his face, drinking in every gasp, every shudder.
Henri tried to turn away, overwhelmed by the intensity, the vulnerability of being seen. Michael’s grip tightened on his wrists. “No hiding,” he growled, voice thick with heat. “I want every sound, every look. Give it to me.”
Henri’s control unraveled. Pleasure consumed him, unlike anything he’d known. Marc’s men had taken, pounded, left his throat raw, his body aching. But Michael’s thrusts were deliberate, each one stoking a fire that burned away years of shame. Henri’s body sang, every nerve sparking, his choice to be here—with Michael—making the pleasure sharper, sweeter. He wanted to etch this into his bones, to hold it against the darkness waiting back in PDC.
“Michael,” Henri choked out, back bowing, hips straining against Michael’s hold. His body trembled, teetering on the edge of something vast.
“Let go for me, baby,” Michael coaxed, voice tight with his own need. “Cum on my cock. I want to feel you break.”
Henri’s orgasm hit with a cry, his body clenching hard around Michael. Pleasure tore through him, white-hot, shaking him apart. His cock pulsed, spilling across his stomach, untouched, as waves of release wracked him. Michael’s curse was low, vicious, his thrusts faltering as Henri’s body gripped him tight.
“Say yes,” Michael groaned, hips snapping faster, desperate. “Say yes, and I’ll fill you up.”
“Yes,” Henri gasped, the word pure surrender. No one had ever asked. No one had cared. But Michael did, and Henriwanted every second of this, every drop, to carry with him when Marc’s shadow loomed again.
Michael’s mouth crashed into his, rough, hungry, swallowing Henri’s whimpers. His thrusts turned erratic, deep, and then he spilled inside, heat flooding Henri’s core. It wasn’t pain to endure, not this time. It was warmth, connection, something Henri chose. Something that made him feel claimed, not owned. He clung to Michael’s shoulders, memorizing the weight, the heat, the way Michael’s breath hitched against his lips.
When it was over, Michael stayed inside, collapsing against him. Their fingers untangled slowly, hands lingering. He rolled them to the side, pulling Henri against his chest. His hand traced slow circles on Henri’s sweat-damp skin, grounding him as their breathing synced.
Henri melted into the embrace, his usual post-sex tension gone. No sharp orders to clean up. No cold dismissal. Just Michael’s warmth, the gentle press of lips against his temple. Henri closed his eyes, committing every sensation to memory—the ache in his muscles, the heat of Michael’s body, the tenderness in his touch. This was his to keep, a shield against Marc’s inevitable punishment.
“You’re incredible,” Michael murmured, nuzzling behind his ear. The words sent warmth spreading through Henri’s chest, soft and real.
This was dangerous, Henri knew. This softness, this tenderness, it wasn’t something he was meant to have. But tonight, he could pretend it was his. Tomorrow, he would think about Marc, about consequences, about the reality waiting for him. But this memory, Michael’s gentle hands, his careful attention, the way he’d made Henri feel precious, Henri would carry it forever. Would pull it out in the dark moments when he needed to remember what tenderness felt like.
Michael pressed another kiss to his forehead. “Let me stay,” he murmured against Henri’s skin. Not quite a command, but close enough.
Henri nodded without hesitation, sinking deeper into Michael’s embrace. “Yes,” he whispered, letting his eyes drift closed. For the first time in years, he felt... safe.
A sharp chime shattered the peace. Not just any notification sound. Marc’s specific tone, the one Henri had assigned years ago, so he’d never miss a message. The one that made his stomach drop no matter where he was or what he was doing.
Henri’s eyes snapped open, his body going rigid.
The chime sounded again. Insistent. Demanding.
And again.
Henri scrambled for the nightstand, Michael’s arms falling away as he clawed for his phone. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. His stomach dropped as the reality of what he’d just done crashed over him. He’d let Michael take him, touch him, kiss him, things that belonged to Marc. Every gentle caress, every tender word, every moment of pleasure he’d stolen.
