Page 27 of A Mistake of Worth
Then he felt it: a shift. Henri’s hips twitched again, but this time for a different reason.
Michael stilled.
Henri’s breathing had changed. Shallower, softer. A flush crept over his cheeks, and Michael realized with something close to awe that Henri was hard again. Despite everything.
Henri began to pull away, face going crimson. “I’m sorry. You’re just... you’re so close. I didn’t mean to, it’s not...” he stammered, mortified.
Michael silenced him with a hand on his jaw, gently turning his face. “Stop apologizing,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
He kissed Henri’s temple, then slid a hand between them, wrapping steady fingers around Henri’s cock. His grip was gentle, his strokes unhurried.
“Imagine it’s me inside you,” he whispered into Henri’s ear.
Henri gasped, his body shuddering. The blush deepened on his chest and cheeks, the flush of arousal curling around something warmer. Trust.
Michael kissed him, slow and possessive, until Henri melted into it. The toy was still buzzing, buried deep inside, but Henri didn’t flinch now. He arched into Michael’s hand, moaning softly against his mouth, letting go in a way he hadn’t been able to with Marc’s eyes on him.
Then, finally, the toy stopped.
Henri’s body sagged, trembling from the inside out. His chest heaved against Michael’s.
Michael broke the kiss, breath unsteady, and reached between Henri’s legs. He eased the toy out with slow, careful hands. Henri whimpered at the motion, muscles twitching and clenching in small, involuntary spasms.
Michael stared at the thing in his hand—cold, obscene, wrong in every way—and threw it hard across the room. The crack against the wall was sharp and final.
Henri gave a wet, shaking laugh that ended on a breathless sob. “God,” he managed, collapsing back against the pillows. “That felt amazing.”
His body went limp in Michael’s arms, all tension finally gone. He was flushed, raw, and wrecked.
Michael cupped the back of Henri’s neck, thumb brushing the damp skin there. “You okay?” he asked quietly, tracing slow, grounding lines down his spine.
Henri nodded, turning his face into Michael’s throat. His breath came slow and steady now. “Yes,” he whispered. “Now I am.”
He lifted his head, eyes still wet but focused. “Please,” he said, voice cracking a little. “Fuck me.”
Michael slid down the bed, settling between Henri’s thighs, and ran both hands along his hips. The skin there was hot beneath his palms, still trembling. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
Henri nodded, jaw tight, breath catching when Michael lined up and began to press in. Slow. Careful. He guided himself deeper until he was fully sheathed, giving Henri time to adjust, watching every flicker of his face.
Henri exhaled with a soft sound that was almost a sob. “It’s okay,” he said, fingers curling against Michael’s shoulders. “I’m okay.”
Michael stayed still for a moment longer, just breathing with him, feeling Henri’s heartbeat stutter and then find rhythmagain beneath his chest. When Henri’s hips tilted, seeking more, Michael moved.
It wasn’t frantic, just steady and real. Flesh against flesh. No audience. No control but what they chose together.
Henri clung to him, nails pressing lightly into his skin as the pace built. His body opened, movements meeting Michael’s with quiet urgency. The air filled with the sound of their breathing, the slick slide of skin, the low, rough noises neither tried to hold back.
Henri’s head fell back. “Please,” he gasped, the word no longer desperate but full of want. “Don’t stop.”
Michael buried his face against Henri’s neck and obeyed, thrusts growing deeper, more deliberate. Each motion drove the last of the tension out of Henri’s body. The tremors changed—pleasure, not panic.
When Henri came, it was sudden and full-bodied, a cry torn straight from his throat. He clenched hard around Michael, shaking, and Michael held him through it, fucking him slowly through the aftershocks until Henri went slack beneath him.
Michael followed with a low groan, pressing deep and staying there, every muscle in his body strung tight as release ripped through him. The heat spread slow and thick inside Henri, grounding him both in the same breathless quiet.
They stayed like that for a long time. Just breathing. Michael’s forehead rested against Henri’s, their skin damp and sticky, their bodies still joined.
When Michael finally pulled back, he did it carefully, keeping one arm around Henri’s waist. Henri swayed, unsteady, but didn’t pull away.
