Page 18 of Trick of the Flesh
Just silence thick enough to choke me.
But I know he hasn’t gone far. Miguel never leaves until he’s good and ready.
I drag my hands over my face, trying to rub away the heat. My palms come away damp. Sweat or tears, I can’t tell.Doesn’t matter.Either way, he got what he wanted. He’s breaking me down, moment by moment, and at this point I’m considering just letting go and giving in to what I want.
My body doesn’t get the memo that all of this is wrong, that our parents would freak out if they found out that their sons areattracted to each other.At least I know my dad would.My shorts cling uncomfortably to the evidence of it, and I press my thighs together hard like I can smother it, hide it. But the ghost of his touch lingers—his knee between mine, his hand hovering low. My skin hums like he branded me.
I hate him.But I hate myself more.
“Still here?”
No shit, Sherlock.Haven’t really been able to move.
The voice slides through the dark, lazy and cruel. I jolt, scrambling upright. My back hits the bark again, this time a different tree. I scan wildly around me, but I already know.
He steps out from behind the shadows like he’s always been part of them. The mask gleams, the neon slashes for eyes burning cold.
“Pathetic,” Miguel drawls. He moves slowly, like a wolf circling a rabbit that’s already tired of running. “Look at you, all shaken up. Can’t even stand up straight.”
“St-stop.” My voice cracks, pitiful.
He ignores it, of course. He always does.
Two strides and he’s close again, his shadow swallowing mine. He doesn’t touch me this time, not at first. He just leans, his presence caging me tighter than his arms could.
“You want to know what I see, Caleb?” His tone is soft and conversational, the kind of voice he could use asking for the salt at dinner. It makes every word worse. “I see a boy who’s starving. So desperate he doesn’t even know it. A hole waiting to be filled, a mouth waiting to be used.”
“Stop—” My plea comes thin, useless.
“Your body’s already begging.” His hand lifts, hovering just above my chest without making contact. The air between us is electric, dangerous. “Your cock’s begging. All that trembling? It’s not fear, Caleb. It’s need. Youneedme.”
I shake my head hard, my hair still sticking to my forehead. “You’re sick.”
He chuckles low. “Why? Because I know what I want? Then news flash, little brother, you’re just as sick as I am, because while I may say it out loud, you’re hiding it. Letting it fester. Destroying you from the inside out.”
The words gut me. I flinch like he struck me, because part of me knows it’s true.
“Come on, little brother.” He taunts. “Let it out. The sin tastes sweeter when it’s forbidden.”
My knees wobble and he notices.Of course he does.His hand finally lands—two fingers hooking under my chin, tilting my head up. The mask looms, faceless and merciless, the neon slashes staring down into me.
“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you’re hard forme.Say that youwantme.”
My throat locks. My pride claws desperately at the words, holding them in. I want to say it.
He tilts his head, studying me. Then he leans close enough that his hot breath ghosts through the mask against my cheek. “Beg me,” he says, quiet but sharp. “Beg me to touch you. To take you apart. To give you everything you’ve ever wanted from me.”
The sound that scrapes out of me is half-whimper, half-growl. My fists clench tight at my sides.No.
“I said beg.”
The command lands heavy, vibrating in my chest. My whole body aches to obey. To collapse, to give him what he wants.What I want.I can feel the plea clawing up my throat.Please, please, please?—
But I choke it back, biting down so hard my jaw aches.
His laugh is cruel and satisfied. “Still holding out.Fine.I like it better when you break slowly. Then I’ll just get to take mysweet time fucking you into your new normal. Me and you, Caleb.”
Then, just like before, he releases me. Steps back, casual, like none of it mattered. Like he didn’t just strip me bare without laying me flat.
