Page 72 of A Mistake of Worth
Henri was already stirring. David’s weight in his lap had been enough to wake a low ache, his body betraying him even as his mind recoiled. Now, with careful fingers slipping under fabric to free him and offering a few tentative strokes, he hardened fully.
He closed his eyes for half a second, gathering the frayed edges of his control.
Don’t think about Marc.
Don’t look at him.
Don’t let him in.
If he did, if the truth of who was watching sank in, his body would fold in on itself. He’d soften. Marc would see. Punishment would follow.
So he focused on David. On the warmth of his breath. The nervous brush of his lips.
David’s mouth closed around him. Warm, uncertain. The kind of touch that asked for patience, not dominance. Henri stroked him slowly, thumb behind his ear, fingertips tracing the curve of his jaw whenever he could reach.
“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, barely audible. “That’s it. Take your time.”
And David did.
He moved with quiet determination, as though he could take something back in the rhythm. Mouth stretching, breath catching, saliva slipping down Henri’s cock in wet sounds that were almost too intimate to bear.
Henri didn’t guide him. Just held him, letting him choose the pace.
It was tender, almost unbearably so. Which was why Henri wasn’t surprised when Marc cut in..
“Grip his hair.”
Henri stilled.
Marc’s tone was light, almost bored. “Do it.”
Henri’s hand tightened in David’s hair. Not yanking. Not cruel. Just enough to show obedience.
“Now fuck his mouth.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
Henri moved. Slowly at first, shallow thrusts, careful not to push too far. But Marc’s disdain sharpened in the next word.
“Harder.”
The snap of command carried a lash.
Henri drove deeper, and David gagged around him. Hands clutched at Henri’s thighs, nails pressing into skin, shoulders tensing with each forced slide. His eyes squeezed shut.
Henri closed his too, hoping that not seeing might soften the reality. It didn’t. His grip stayed steady in David’s hair, guiding, controlling.
“Open your eyes, Henri. I want you to see what you’re doing to him,” Marc said, lazy drawl gone, now edged with satisfaction.
Henri opened his eyes.
And watched.
Watched tears spill from the corners of David’s eyes, trailing down flushed cheeks. Watched his mouth stretch, red and wet and trembling, yet opening for more. And beneath the humiliation, Henri saw it: David’s hips shifting, his cock straining against lace, the faintest moan swallowed around Henri’s length.
Pleasure. Real. Unmistakable.
Henri’s chest tightened with relief. David wasn’t breaking. He was yielding, wanting. But the thought twisted darker. If Marc caught that hunger, he would bleed it dry until there was nothing left of him.
