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I crush my lips to his, exchanging open-mouthed, wild kisses. Michael meets me at every turn, his tongue sparring with mine.
I’ve never felt this needed or craved by anyone. And I’m forever hooked on it.
“Make me come, babe. Keep working that tight ass around me,” I snarl at him, feeling my cock throb inside his wet warmth.
I let go of his hair and grab his shaft, beating him with purpose. He lets out a long cry, and then I feel his cum dripping on my fingers—his hole is doing its best to milk me. And damn, I give it one, two, three hard thrusts before it sucks all the jizz out of my balls. I roar and bite his shoulder, groaning on his skin, leaving only a bruise this time. My hips keep jerking, cum spurting out, fingers holding painfully tight on his hand and ecstasy flooding my veins.
I drop my head on the pillow near his head, and all my weight on him, enjoying the feel of his smaller body under mine for a few seconds before trying to shift. But Michael’s hand on my thigh stops me.
“Stay,” he sighs. I relax back against him, turn my nose in his hair, and breathe deeply. After a minute, my cock is turning soft, and I feel cum dripping on my balls. As I pull out of him and move on my side, a moan escapes him when more cum leaks out. I smirk and push it back inside him where it belongs with two fingers.
His satisfied, sinful grin brings a foreign flush of pleasure through my chest. And I find myself content to simply drink in the sight of him. Still prone and gloriously naked, legs spread and back glistening with sweat, with my fingers lazily pumping between his cheeks. The swell of his ass jiggles every time my knuckles go deep, and I slide down and give it a hard, unforgiving bite before going back to my pillow.
“You savage!” Michael chides, but he’s looking at me with what I can only read as adoration.
His fingers rub against the scars marring my chest—the oldest caused by the years in captivity, the newest by some sneaky donor. His touch is light and soothing.
“We need to disinfect your cuts,” he says.
“Later,” I breathe out, letting our heavy breaths lull me to sleep.
“You all got branded because of me, didn’t you?” Michael suddenly says, making my shuttering eyes slide open.
His gaze is on the red number two on my inner wrist.
“Because I escaped,” he adds.
“Your escape just expedited the inevitable.”
“Still… I should have been branded too.” He sighs.
“Is that guilt I hear? Because that’s the most useless emotion people feel. Especially for events or behavior outside of your control. And we all endured much worse than a burn, trust me.”
“Is it wrong of me to feel disappointed about not been branded?” he asks after a while, looking down at my chest. “I don’t remember almost anything about the horror we experienced. And instead of feeling relieved about it—and about being adopted and having an ordinary-ish life—I’m upset. I’m pissed at losing years with you. All of you. Years I spent not understanding a part of myself. Alone. All my life I’ve felt out of place.”
“Your place is with me. Always has been.” I pin him with a firm stare.
“I meant it… before,” he whispers hoarsely.
“That you like to be filled with my cum?” I thrust my fingers harder in the drenched hole, and he cries. “I know, piglet.”
“No. I mean, yes, I like everything you do to me.” He huffs, pushing my hand away and sitting on the bed. “But I’m talking about the fact that…” He takes a big breath. “I love you.”
“I know.” I copy his body posture. “I’m a psychopath, but I know what love is—a deep caring for the existence of another. A feeling of strong affection toward a person who is the object of romantic thoughts,” I recite drily, as I remember reading it on Wiktionary. He swallows and nods at me before turning his face away to stare at the bed sheets.
I stand up and go to the wardrobe. From the highest shelf, I retrieve a worn black box and carry it to the bed. I sit next to Michael again and place the box on the opposite side. My fingers grab the lid. The color there has faded, ruined by excessive use.
“Love is not for me. Because what I feel for you is damn consuming. A wild inferno. Endless obsession, laced with darkly possessive, bloody, claiming thoughts, which easily turn into eviscerating murderous images at the idea of losing you.” I put all the conviction I can master in my every word. Then I open the box and take out the shabby, patched stuffed animal.
Michael gasps with shock. One hand covers his mouth, while the other comes toward the little pink piggy in my palm. His fingers lightly brush one tiny trotter before jerking back, almost as if burned.
“So it’s true. All of it.” A watery smile appears on his face. “I knew it was already. It just, it feels so distant. Like it happened in another life…” His words trail off.
His hand curls around the piggy and he stares at it for a long time, stroking gently over the missing eyes, round ratty nose, and what’s left of the green button.
“You’ve always been my piglet.” I tell him.
Michael suddenly jumps on me. His arms hook strongly behind my neck, his legs wrapping around my waist like a vise.
