Page 130 of Break the Rule
The speed with which Charlie gets up off the floor would be comical if Eden didn’t feel the same kind of desperation he sees on Charlie’s face.
“Are you sure?”
“Shut up and follow me,” Eden says, unable to explain that he’s not sure. That he hasn’t let anyone fuck him since he stopped selling himself to survive. There hasn't been a damn person Eden wanted to be vulnerable with like that again, not physically but emotionally. He’s under no heteronormative delusion that there’s anything weak or inherently submissive about being fucked, but he also has years of experience being taken and used as if there were—enough that he put up a firm wall between what he liked in the bedroom and what he was willing to give men.
Leave it to Charlie to break that wall down, not with a sledgehammer but with a gentle touch.
Taking Charlie’s hand, Eden drags him through the living room and down the hallway, pretending he doesn’t notice Charlie eyeing the toys scattered across the floor and piles of crayon drawings and books. He’s going to explain everythingafter. Right now, Eden is desperate for Charlie to fuck him—to fill every aching hole he didn’t make and to rid Eden of the haunting memories of being unwanted or used.
“I like your room,” Charlie says once they’re inside, admiring the array of makeup covering Eden’s shitty second-hand dresser.
“Shut up and get naked.”
“Bossy,” Charlie smirks, grabbing his shirt from behind his neck and tugging it off in one smooth go. His Crocs go next, followed by his pants and boxers. “Naked enough for you?”
Not trusting himself to speak, Eden nods and hopes it’s good enough. Charlie really is stupidly fucking gorgeous with his long limbs and darker complexion. Eden drinks in the sight of him, taking in every sharp angle and all the bare skin, relishing the sight of Charlie exposed for him, and him alone.
“Get on the bed.”
“Did they add in an extra dose of demanding juice to your Red Bull?”
Eden snorts out a laugh, unsure how Charlie can push all his buttons, destroy all his walls,andmake him laugh in situations where it would seem otherwise impossible.
“Fuck off.”
“I’d rather fuck you.” Charlie drapes himself across Eden’s bed unceremoniously. Unlike Charlie’s massive king-size bed, Eden’s is only a twin. It’s not big enough for the kind of fucking Eden wants, or for cuddling, or for someone as tall as Charlie really, but Charlie doesn’t complain as he slides back and lays his head on Eden’s pillow.
Suddenly nervous, Eden fidgets with the hem of his sweatshirt.
“You can’t grab me,” he blurts. “And don’t flip us. I need to be on top.”
“Okay,” Charlie agrees, and though it’s clear he wants to ask why, he doesn't, which Eden is grateful for. He’s not sure he has it in him to explain right now. “Anything else?”
“Don’t take control.” Eden’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest, raging at him to run again. He hates his brain sometimes, hates the way it tries to escape, even from the things he wants when he feels unsafe.
“You’re in control, Eden. Always.”
He’s not. Not remotely. Eden’s rarely in control, that’s the problem. Memories surge to the forefront of Eden’s mind—how good it felt to be held, to be filled, and how horrible it felt every time that was used to control. How it felt to be taken and owned, held down. There’d been no point in saying no, it wasn’t an option for someone like Eden. Besides, how could he say no when being fucked by strangers was the only time he got touched, the only time people looked at him? How can he ever explain to Charlie that being hurt felt good because at least he felt something?
“We don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” Eden insists, which is about as far as he can go to explain.
“I have an idea.” Charlie sits up, grabbing one of Eden’s belts off the floor, holding it up.
“I’m not going to hit you,” Eden frowns. “I don’t like pain.”
“Uh, good. Me neither.” Charlie wraps half of it around his left wrist before extending both arms so Eden can finish. “Tie me up, to the bed. So I can’t grab you.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t.”
“I won’t, but me knowing that and you believing it are two different things.”
“Aren’t you gonna get mad at me?”
“For what? For having bad experiences with men?”
“I didn’t say that.”
