Surviving the Merge

by C P Harris

  “I have most of what you need already, so it won’t take me long to get you up and running,” he said.

  Striking gold when my hand grazed the keys, I raised my head. “Ok—” My words cut off at the feel of his lips meeting mine. My body went rigid from his unexpected boldness, and I didn’t respond—at first. But then I softened and gave in to the kiss. There was something I needed to know. That I needed to prove. Don’t I owe it to myself to see if there could be someone else for me? Or was that only an excuse to justify what I was doing? To myself, to Max, and to... them.

  Max’s warm palm came to rest on my nape. He squeezed while deepening the kiss. His technique soft and teasing, with nips here and there, then full-on tongue, then lips only. Meant to leave me desperate for more. He remained purposely just out of reach. The kiss conveyed confidence, and was thorough.

  But it didn’t set my soul on fire the way Damon’s masterful kisses did. Max’s kiss lacked a sharp edge of danger. No promise that in seconds I’d be taken to the brink of destruction.

  His kiss didn’t make me drunk-on-love the way Blake’s kisses did. It didn’t inspire the feeling of falling and trusting that I’d be caught before I hit the ground. With Blake, I felt like the most treasured, priceless possession in the world. I could feel what Blake was willing to sacrifice when he touched me. Everything.

  Max was a nice guy. The kind of guy I should have, but one I would never want.

  I ended the kiss. It left neither of us breathless. We wordlessly understood that we could only ever be friends.

  “At least we got that out of the way,” Max joked.

  “Yeah,” I confirmed, rubbing at the spot behind my neck left cold once he removed his touch.

  Jumping into his truck, he parted with, “I’ll be in touch. Oh, and you still owe me a ‘bit,’ or a ‘drink.’” He smiled before pulling off.

  In other words, no hard feelings. Nothing had to change or be weird.

  Message received.

  I stood there long after he’d departed, with my hands on the banister and my head dropped between my shoulder blades. “What now, Justin?” I asked myself. Time to make a decision. I couldn’t keep us in limbo this way. I wanted to move forward, but I hadn’t worked out how to forgive.

  “Is that your hoe?”

  I spun around and nearly toppled down the steps. I caught the wood railing just in time. Damon stood hidden by the shadows on the far left side of the porch.

  “What did you say?” I managed to croak out.

  “I asked, is that your hoe?” A touch more menace than the first time. He nodded his chin in the direction of the grassed area I worked on earlier, and I looked over to see the garden tool on the ground.

  I leveled him with a keen scowl. That wasn’t the “hoe” he was referring to, but it wouldn’t have benefitted me to argue that point.

  “You should be more careful with tools. Someone might get hurt.”

  So, Max was a tool and a hoe. “Why are you here, Damon?” So many emotions fought for supremacy: guilt over the witnessed kiss; anger because even though I stood there with Damon, he shared his face with the man that betrayed me. Loneliness that became more acute in that moment because seeing Damon made me realize that, even though only a few feet separated us, we were a million miles apart. Burdened with an intensity of self-loathing for what couldn’t be and a weariness from all that had happened. And, slowly overshadowing all that, was a need all too familiar. I lacked the strength I would need to push him away. I’m weak.

  Damon ignored my question. “It took everything in me to watch that to its finality.” His right eye twitched, and he cracked his knuckles. The effort he expended, to stay rooted to the spot and not chase down Max’s truck, was a tangible thing. “Julie would be so proud of me,” he said, straight-faced.

  “So, therapy’s working?” It had only been a week since the truth came out. Could progress have been made already?

  “He misses you.”

  Only he? I wondered but didn’t ask.

  “I see you more often than he does,” he said in answer to my unspoken question.

  Working might’ve been the wrong verb. “Forever the stalker, huh, Damon?”

  He took a step forward, and I took one backward, which left me pressed against the porch railing. “Wait, how do you know he misses me?” My heart raced. Were they now communicating with each other?

  “I can feel his emotions. He’s given up on trying to keep me out. Blake’s in a bad place.”

  “I see. And you’re holding up much better, I take it?” And why did knowing that hurt my feelings? I should have wanted him to be okay. But what I wanted seemed to change from one moment to the next.

  “I’m not great at expressing how I feel. You know that. It’s easier for me to convey to you how he feels. Me being here should say it all.”

  Being a dancer taught me to predict my partner’s next move. Damon’s intention was to cage me against the porch banister. Before he attempted another stride in my direction, I moved, putting my back to the front door.

  “It says that you still don’t respect my need for space.” Very little heat in my words.

  To make a point, he stepped in close, placing his palms flat against the door on either side of my head. “No, I don’t suppose I’ve ever been good at giving you that.”

  “You’re thinner,” I said, alarmed after feeling his body pressed against mine.

  “Blake hasn’t been eating much,” he admitted.

  Before my panic set in, Damon cradled my face between his hands, “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

  The gesture so unlike Damon that my fear was then for a completely different reason. “Damon?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Are we going inside, or will we be giving the neighbors a show?” Still Damon then.

  “Damon,” I said pleadingly. Don’t give me a choice.

  He tilted his head, contemplating me. Trying to determine what I was really saying. “Get in the house. Now.”

  He understood.

  Shoving me into the foyer and slamming the door, Damon seized my mouth, and all I could do... was nothing. I’d breathe if and when he decided I needed to.

  He abruptly ripped his lips from mine. Squeezing my jaw painfully between his thumb and forefinger. “I can taste him on you,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Nothing short of my complete annihilation would do. I was in that kind of mood. So, instead of choosing the path of self-preservation, I instead asked, “What are you going to do about it?” My words were barely audible with the hold he had on me.

  Everything came to a grinding halt. Time. Breathing. Heart beating. The earth circling the moon. Everything stopped. Until it didn’t.

  “Have you fucked him?” he asked in an eerily calm manner. His fingers on my jaw loosened.

  “And what if I did?” I stepped back. Fully out of his hold. But before I could get far, his hand snapped out, snake-fast, and wrapped around my neck. He raised me to my tiptoes. I tugged and scratched at his wrists. My body's natural reaction to defend itself. But it was useless; I was no match for Damon. My eyes bulged, and my mouth opened on my silent scream.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time, Just. Don’t play games with me. This could cost someone his life. It will cost you as well. Did. You. Fuck. Him?” His hand slackened a small fraction, and my heels once again met the floor.

  My eyes watered and I tried to take in as much air as possible as I weighed the pros and cons of taking things further. But the hard set of his jaw and the frenzied but vulnerable severity of his pitch-black stare confirmed that I had him where I wanted him. “No. I didn’t.”

  His voice shook. “You’re going to regret fucking with me.”

  I’m counting on it.

  Damon released my throat. Not even a full breath later, my shirt was ripped from my body. Buttons crashed to the hardwood floor like hail beating down on a tin roof. His growl reverberated off the walls of the en
tryway. My t-shirt met the same death. As did my pants. The leather tie that held my hair up yanked away. Thick, white, spools of hair fell over me, blocking my vision.

  Damon dragged me to the staircase and forced me to bend over. My hands were positioned roughly onto the balustrade, and my feet were kicked wider than shoulder-width apart.

  Panting heavily, I looked over my shoulder. Only his shirt had been removed. And his belt. My legs quivered as I waited in suspense to see which end he would choose to hold and which end would come crashing down.

  The buckle. He chose to hold on to the buckle.

  I quickly faced forward and braced myself for what was to be unleashed, but the searing pain was impossible to prepare for. I heard the leather swish through the air before it made contact with my flesh. “Arrrghhh, shit!”

  “Silence!” he demanded.

  I bit down on my tongue so hard I drew blood. My mouth filled with the metallic taste of copper. Damon was merciless. No words of ownership spilled from his lips. No possessive holds to my hips or rough rubbing of the spine with his unoccupied hand. That would come much later. Right then, his desire was to make me pay. To hurt me like he hated me. I lost count of how many times his weapon of choice connected with my fevered skin. I only knew that by the time I heard him spit in his hand, stroke his cock, and enter me without preparation, I could no longer stand on my own.

  “Damon... fuck...” I hadn’t been penetrated in over a week. Even taking his massive cock daily wouldn’t allow for a painless entry using saliva as lube.

  “This is what the fuck you wanted, right?” he screamed as he beat into me. It didn’t take more than a moment for me to feel my insides fill with wet heat. Serving as an extinguisher to the dry heat of a second ago. His rhythm didn’t falter as he rode out his climax. I was on the ledge of my own. My cock rose higher, and pre-cum shot onto the floor. Before I could deep dive off the cliff, Damon pulled out and spun me around. With my back to the banister for support, I watched him drop to his knees and take me to the back of his throat. With his middle finger pressed against my taint, I erupted on a garbled cry. Tensing my glutes and pulsing at the hips.

  I shivered as the cold air hit my wet, languid cock when Damon removed it from his mouth and stood. My vision went in and out, but I clearly made out the fact that his dick was rock-hard and ready.

  “I’m not done with you, yet,” he snarled.

  He dog-walked me upstairs by my hair and handcuffed me to the bed. That was hours ago.

  Now, I was positioned on all fours, being spanked by hand for the third time that night. We’d fucked so many times that the brand-new bottle of lube sat empty next to me.

  If Damon wasn’t in me, something else was. A finger, a tongue, a dildo. Anything he could find. We had to get rid of the sheets. The silk material conflicted with our rigorous fucking. And thank God the bed was nailed down. Who knew where it would be if not. We were both sopping wet from sweat, cum, saliva, blood, and tears—my tears. The mattress would surely need replacing. But I didn’t want him to stop.

  My throat was raw from all the cock I’d sucked, and my ass―inside and out―had seen better days. My legs trembled. My head pounded. And my arms had been numb since the third hour. But I didn’t want him to stop. There was something in me still left untouched. Unsatisfied. In a place too deep to name. Too deep to be reached.

  We weren’t pretty when we were together in this way. Damon would argue that I was always pretty; for him that was the allure. But I felt ugly and tainted and dangerous when we came together. Even after we came together. Especially after.

  “Harder,” I rasped past the burning pain. “Damon... please. I need it harder.” His hand met the part of me under my right butt cheek one last time, and then my world was tilted as he flipped me over and dove into me again. My legs were forced into akimbo, knees close to my ears. “Yes... yes... More,” I begged. “It’s so fucking good, baby.”

  I pumped my hips up to meet him as best I could. My prick couldn’t even get hard by then. But I needed more anyway. He released the cuffs without missing a beat, and I immediately ran my hands through the mix of our body fluids that painted my chest. I felt so dirty, but not dirty enough. I sucked on my fingers, and our mingled taste made me wild. I started swallowing his cock with my ass like a savage. Bringing him down to me by his hair, I bit into his neck, and that got him fucking me off the mattress.

  “You do this to me,” he said. “Turn me into a fucking beast. You make me... want to consume... you whole. Fuck! Squeeze my dick again, you whore. Yeah... Like that. I’m gonna suck your hole dry after this.” Damon was a filthy lover.

  My head now hanging off one side of the bed, his words propelled me to a new level of horny. I raked my blunt nails down his back and over his plump ass. I used my hold on his firm flesh to assist in the battering he was doing to my insides. “I love your... fat cock,” I groaned.

  “No one can fuck you like I can,” he grunted harshly into my ear.

  “No one,” I confirmed.

  Damon withdrew without warning and tugged me to a standing position on the bed, then cuffed my hands once more to the metal ring in the center of the canopy. He had to catch me by the waist because my legs were shaking. Placing the backs of my knees in his elbow-pit, he resettled in me, so deep it knocked the wind out of me when he bottomed out. “Again,” I whined hoarsely.

  Damon backed all the way out, and his cockhead caught on my rim as he pistoned through me to the hilt. “Again!” I screamed. “Again, again, again, again…” I chanted, but he slowed down instead, and I looked at him in confusion. Even more so when he wrapped my legs around his waist, so he could reach above me to take the cuffs off. “Damon, what are you doing?” With my hands free, I grabbed his hair and kissed him recklessly while fucking myself on his cock. He grabbed the metal rail to prevent us from toppling over the bed.

  Damon turned from my kiss and held my hips in place. “We’ve got to stop. This should have ended hours ago. I’m going to hurt you. I probably already have.” Taking in my face, he said, “Jesus, look at you.” He lowered us down to the bed.

  I could feel my swollen, split lip from where I bit into it. My tongue ached, and my eyes were so puffy, I could barely open them. My cheeks burned―I wasn’t sure what caused that.

  “Damn you, Damon. Keep fucking me, now, or I swear to God, I’ll…”

  “You’ll what? And think before you fucking speak,” he warned.

  I yelled, irritating my already abused vocal chords, and yanked at my matted hair. And I cried. Not the silent tears of earlier, but a full-blown sob, ripped from the depths of me. I sensed the moment that Damon's body began to soften above me. A shift in progress.

  “No,” I wailed. “Don’t you dare. I can’t deal with him right now. Please, Damon, don’t do it. Stay, all right? Stay.” I was inconsolable.

  “I can’t take care of you like you need me to. I don’t know how. I’ll... learn... but I don’t know how yet.” Hard for him to say that. His turmoil evident in the trembling, iron-clad hold he had on my hair.

  I pulled at him, grabbed at his hair, and literally tried to climb into his body while repeating, “It’s okay. It’s okay. Please, just don’t stop. Make me forget, okay? For as long as you can.”

  I vaguely heard him say that he’d hurt me enough in between my incoherent begging.

  Nothing he said got through to me. I was losing my mind while finding my insanity.

  “Motherfucker!” His words shook the walls surrounding us. He seized me by the throat and applied pressure. I squirmed underneath him and tugged at his fingers and forearms, but he only looked me in the eyes with determination. As I began to lose consciousness, he roared with impotent rage for all that he lacked. My last thought before I let the darkness take me was... I did this to him.

  I noticed a few things right away when I woke up the next morning: I lay on fresh sheets, my body had been cleaned and treated with balm, and the bedside table held a glass of water
with two pills next to it. Son of a bitch. I jumped out of bed, forgetting the state my body was in. I had to grab hold of the bedpost and grit my teeth until the pain that throbbed all over dulled to a more manageable level. I swallowed the pills and gulped down the water. Wincing at the burn in my throat. Then I made my way downstairs in search of whichever one of them was there.

  Damon stood naked and arrogant, staring out the back doors and into Max’s yard. “How dare you!” I shook with fury. “It’s not enough to have him betray me, but you have to backstab me as well. You―”

  “Shut up and sit down,” he snapped, turning my way.

  My self-righteousness cooled a fraction, but it still ran hot. “You don’t get to talk―”

  “Now, Justin.”

  That gave me pause. Damon never called me Justin. Coming further into the living room, I took a seat on the sofa. I groaned as my sore ass made contact.

  “You needed care last night, so I did what needed to be done. You will not hold that over me.”

  He remained far away from me, and even angry, I was smart enough to know that his distance should worry me. “Your friend Max rang the bell last night. Apparently, he heard your exuberance near the end. All the way from his bedroom. He thought you needed help, thought he would be your hero.”

  Shame warmed my face, and I subtly shifted my head, allowing my hair to hide the worst of it. I was in a tough spot. I wanted to know what Damon said to him and how Max took it. But voicing that would make it seem like I cared in a way that I shouldn’t. Really, I merely needed to know that Max was okay. It would be my fault if he wasn’t. “What did you tell him?”

  Damon sat on the ottoman in front of me with his legs spread wide. His cock hung lewdly over the edge. His big, smooth, body on full display. It cast a shadow over me. He watched me silently, letting the tension build before he said, “I told him that you were being fucked within an inch of your life, with this”—he took himself in hand, stroking it like a lover would—“big cock. That first, I spanked you for your indiscretions, and then I did all the dirty things that he could imagine―and some that his inexperienced mind can’t―to you all night.”