Page 27 of Trick of the Flesh
“Oh my God,” I gasp, shaking, my eyes squeezing shut.
“No,” he says when he pulls back, lips wet, voice rough. “Eyes open, Caleb. Don’t hide from me. You’re too fucking beautiful like this.”
I force myself to look, and the sight of him—mouth slick, eyes burning—nearly undoes me.
When he pulls away completely, I whimper, the loss sharp. But then he’s reaching for the lube on the nightstand like he’s planned this.
“Spread your legs,” he says softly. Not a demand—an invitation.
My whole body flushes, but I obey. The cool air against my skin makes me shiver.
“Good boy,” he praises, slicking his fingers. “Now breathe. I’ll go slow.”
The first press of his finger is foreign and stretching, but his free hand never leaves me—stroking my thigh, rubbing circles on my hip, keeping me tethered to him.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, easing deeper. “So fucking tight, Caleb. But you’re gonna take me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper, breathless. “I want it—I want you.”
Another finger joins the first, the stretch sharper this time. I whimper, but his hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together.
“That’s it. Squeeze my hand. Don’t hold your breath, you need to breathe. You have no idea how sexy you are like this. I’m so hard right now, and I can’t wait to be inside you.”
The word "sexy" makes my throat ache. I blink hard, but the tears still come.
Miguel notices instantly. He stills, leaning over me. “Hey. Talk to me. Is it too much?”
I shake my head quickly, tears spilling. “No—it’s not that. I just… I’ve never felt—” My voice breaks. “Like I was enough. And you—you’re making me feel like I am.”
His expression softens, a crack in his usual sharp grin. He presses his forehead to mine, whispering, “That’s because you are enough. You’re everything to me. Always have been, Caleb. For years I’ve kept it to myself and now we’re here. Never think you aren’t enough for me.”
The words wreck me. I choke on a sob, clinging to him as he presses a third finger into me, stretching me open with endless patience. It’s almost too much, but it’s his voice that keeps me grounded.
“Breathe, baby. You’re ready. You’re so ready for me.”
When he finally lines himself up, I feel the blunt press of him against me and my whole body tenses.
“Look at me,” Miguel whispers, cupping my face. “We do this together. Slow. You can stop me anytime. And I will stop.”
“I won’t,” I whisper back, trembling. “I need you.”
He pushes in, inch by inch, and the stretch burns, every glide of his piercings sharp and overwhelming. I gasp, clutching at his shoulders, tears spilling again. But he doesn’t stop kissing me, doesn’t stop murmuring praise against my lips.
“That’s it.Fuck.You’re taking me so well. God, you were made for me, Caleb.”
Every word makes it easier, makes the ache shift into something fuller, deeper. When he’s finally all the way inside, I feel whole for the first time in my life.
My tears don’t stop, but they’re different now.
Notpain.
Notshame.
Just release.
Or is it relief?
Miguel brushes them away with his thumb, his chest pressed tight to mine. “Cry if you need to, little brother. Doesn’t change a damn thing. You’re mine. You’re safe.”
