Page 133 of Break the Rule
Surprise flickers across Eden’s face, his movements slowing. Instead of the frantic pace he was setting, he rises up and slams back down, before grinding slow and deep, pulling sounds from Charlie he didn’t even know he could make.
“I want to come.”
“I bet you do,” Eden grins. “Because you’re a slut for me, aren't you?”
“Yes,” Charlie pants. “You feel so good. So tight. So hot. So perfect. I could fuck you forever.”
“Clearly not, if you’re about to come already,” Eden snorts, dropping his hands down on either side of Charlie’s head. He opens his mouth, not exactly kissing Charlie, more just dragging his lips over Charlie’s open mouth. His movements still, neither of them doing more than sharing breath, the tip of Eden’s tongue dragging over Charlie’s bottom lip then into his mouth in a kiss so deep and dirty Charlie’s toes curl.
“You gonna come for me like the needy whore you are?”
“So close,” Charlie whines. “But…but you aren’t yet.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Charlie. You said I could take what I want from you, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“What does that mean?” Charlie asks, trying to chase Eden’s mouth when he pulls back.
“You’ll see,” Eden tells him, pushing him back onto the mattress with a hand to the chest.
Expecting Eden to keep riding him, he’s unprepared to have Eden completely pull off his dick.
“What—oh. Oh fuck,” Charlie curses, eyes rolling in the back of his head when Eden deep throats him. That’s all it takes, the tip of his cock slipping down the back of Eden’s throat, for him to shoot his load, filling Eden’s mouth with his release.
This is the point where Eden would usually be teasing Charlie about being a slut or coming too fast, so the silence is surprisingly enough to pull Charlie out of his haze of post-coital bliss. Kneeling between his legs is Eden, come dripping down his chin and his mouth closed and full.
“What are you doing?” Charlie gapes.
A hum is the only answer he gets. This is followed by Eden spreading Charlie’s legs then shoving his face between them, something warm and wet filling his ass along with Eden’s probing tongue.
“Holy shit,” Charlie grunts once he realizes exactly what Eden is doing.
Sure enough a finger joins Eden’s tongue, shoving the come that drips down the back of his thighs back into his hole. He’s so relaxed from his own orgasm and so fucking turned on that it doesn’t take much before Charlie’s begging for it, all but howling with pleasure when Eden slides into him.
“Such a fucking slut,” Eden croons, slamming into Charlie. His legs spread wide, his hands above his head and his entire body suddenly strung taut despite the recent orgasm. “You like being fucked with your own come?”
“Ngghh.”
“You do,” Eden presses, the slow rolling of his hips in sharp juxtaposition to the erratic pitch of his breathing. He lowers his face, nosing into Charlie’s cheek before whispering, “my come whore, my slut,mine.”
“Yours,” Charlie groans, pretty sure no one has ever owned him as thoroughly as Eden is. There is no going back from this moment, no getting over Eden, ever. This man above him—this prickly, strong, skittish, dirty-mouthed man—is it for Charlie.
There’s a feeling when Charlie paints, when he’s so connected to the art that he ceases to exist. He’s nothing and everything all at once. He feels that now—this consuming oneness with Eden. A sense of complete and utter bliss that damn near has him floating out of his skin.
Everything is Eden, and the sounds he makes as he fucks into Charlie—broken off, desperate sounds like he can’t get enough. Like maybe he’s as fucking wrecked as Charlie. Everything is Eden: his pretty face flushed and sweaty, his hair in disarray and his eyes blown wide. Eden, and the overstimulating sensation of his dick filling Charlie, knowing he’s using Charlie’s come to drive him past the edge of pleasure. Eden who ran, who mightkeep running, but is allowing Charlie to see him at his most vulnerable.
Eden, Eden, Eden.
One of them shouts, Eden maybe. Or Charlie. Because Charlie’s definitely coming again, too soon and so sensitive his dick almost hurts, and his arms ache, and he’s so full of Eden and his come. It’s leaking out of him, both of their releases dripping out of Charlie’s ass while Eden peppers kisses across Charlie’s jaw and face murmuring words so frantic and low he can hardly comprehend them. All he knows is Eden is holding his wrists, bringing them to his lips and kissing them, and there are tears that are definitely Eden’s soaking his arms and then his cheeks as Eden kisses him again. His tongue ring and lip piercings are a sensory delight, especially compared to how damn soft his lips are.
Everything about the kiss is so perfectly Eden, and Charlie will never get enough of him. The words he says don’t matter, but the way Eden feels in his arms does.
Together they fall apart, wrapped around each other in a bed too small with feelings too big. Eden’s entire body shakes as he claws at Charlie’s shoulders and wraps around him, almost as if trying to climb into Charlie’s skin.
Charlie’s wrists are sore, his body spent, but he’s got enough energy to wrap up his boyfriend and kiss the top of his head. Charlie doesn’t have words so he hums, thinking back to one of the songs hisabuelasang to him as a child. She almost never spoke Spanish in front of him, but sometimes when she was over late, and she helped his parents by putting him and Andrew to bed, she’d slip into her native tongue. Charlie can’t remember the words—thinks maybe he should ask Alec later—but he remembers the tune and the sound of her voice and how safe she always made him feel.
Hoping to make Eden feel even an iota of that same love and safety, he hums the song now, stroking his hand up and down Eden’s back until his sobs subside. Only then does Charlie chance inching his hand upwards to draw his fingers through Eden’s hair. The strands are silky soft, and Charlie does it again, delighting in the feel of Eden’s hair slipping through his fingertips.
Fully expecting Eden to tell him to stop, Charlie is surprised when the opposite happens, and Eden lets out a sigh of contentment, going boneless atop Charlie. Grateful Eden can’t see his face, Charlie bites back his own tears while he continues to smooth his hand over Eden’s head and down the back of his neck, half playing with his hair and half petting him, unused to being allowed to touch like this. If Eden feels even a fraction of what Charlie is feeling right now, it’s no wonder he ran. Charlie doesn't have any of Eden’s trauma or abandonment issues, and even he is slightly terrified by the intensity of these feelings—by the depth of his attachment to Eden.
