by Roan Parrish
“Rafe, I—oh god! Please!” I’m spewing nonsense and my dick is spewing precome as Rafe takes over my body. Everything is his and I force myself to relax beneath him. To make good on my promise. That I trust him. That I want him like this.
My legs are wrapped around him, and he’s deep inside my ass, one heavy arm trapping my wrists while the other hand maps my face and throat. His hair is in my face, his mouth owns mine with kiss after kiss, controlling even my breath, and his weight presses me into the bed. We’re tangled into a knot so complicated I wouldn’t have the first clue how to undo it.
Still, he won’t touch my dick. I’m so painfully hard that each beat of my heart throbs in my erection.
“Please, Rafe, please, please,” I whine, begging him for just that tiny stroke that I know would bring me over the edge.
He shakes his head, buries his face in my neck, and groans. Then kisses his way back to my mouth. As he kisses me, he thrusts deep, and when his balls are snugged up against my skin, he freezes there, pulsing inside me. He licks my mouth like an animal, tasting me while he’s inside.
I’m caught there, speared open on him, held down by him, whimpering.
“You’re fucking mine. Do you hear me?”
I cry out as I feel his dick swell inside me at his words. I nod frantically, not even sure what I’m agreeing to.
“Your body,” he says, rocking against me, his weight pressing him deeper inside me. “Your sweet fucking heart.” He rests his palm against my chest and I feel my eyes fill with tears.
His face softens and he starts to let go of my wrists to wipe at my tears. But that’s the last thing I want. I want to be tucked safely inside the cage of his body, his flesh and taste and scent and the sound of his voice filling every opening.
“Don’t let go!”
He squeezes my wrists. “I won’t.” He leans down, and when his mouth is almost touching mine, he says, “You like this? Us close like this? Me in charge of your body?”
I nod quickly. That’s exactly it. He’s in charge of every inch of me like this.
“Because I fucking love it.” Then he starts thrusting hard and my eyes roll back in my head.
“Look at me,” Rafe says.
I look back at him, and he brings his hand up to my throat.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says, sounding more sure of himself this time. “Tap my shoulder and I’ll stop.”
With each thrust, he tightens his hand on my throat a little more. I can still breathe through my nose, but it’s hard. Pleasure pulses inside me as he thrusts, and as he presses harder and harder on my throat, my dick starts to throb harder.
Then he takes his hand away, and I gasp in a breath and groan my disappointment. He kisses me passionately.
“Okay?”
I nod, but he looks down at my throat and frowns, then drops a kiss there. This time, he brings his hand up and covers my nose and mouth.
“I don’t want to leave a bruise,” he mutters, kissing my throat again, and I smile against his palm. Lick it. Then he presses his hand tight and starts to move again. The pleasure boils through my groin and stomach and everything in me strains to take a breath. As I try and fail, a new feeling starts in my dick—a buzzing, tingling pleasure, as if someone’s stroking me or licking me with a rough tongue.
Then Rafe moves his hand and I drag in a deep breath, the buzzing receding. I cry out in frustration and Rafe bites his lip.
“So hot—feeling you squirm against me while I’m inside you, fucking you with my cock and my hands and my mouth. I can’t wait to feel you come. Can’t wait to feel you lose it, squeezing me with that tight little ass as you lose yourself. Fuuuck.” He rotates his hips and I clench around him. “Yeah, just like that.”
It happens faster this time. He cuts off my air and I sink into it, the buzzing sensation creeping from my balls to my dick. When Rafe hits my prostate, fireworks shoot through me and his hand muffles my groans. Then something shifts inside me. I try to take a breath but can’t, and instead of fear, what I feel is elation. Instead of air, all I take in is Rafe. The tingling intensifies and my vision goes a little swimmy and then I’m coming, a huge, wracking orgasm that swallows me up in blackness.
My dick is pulsing with pleasure and my stomach and chest are heaving and my ass is spasming around Rafe’s dick. I’m gasping in air and Rafe is moaning into my neck, and then he’s coming so hard I can feel it, and he crushes me to him, the sensation of his body all around me a rush all its own.
My heartbeat slams in my temples. My skin feels exquisitely, almost painfully sensitive, and I’m shivering, but I just want to hang on to the feeling of being completely flayed in Rafe’s arms for one more minute.
I open my eyes to find him looking at me, holding my face in his hands. I nod and there’s relief in his trembling lips when we kiss.
As he pulls out, I groan at how sore I am. Not just my ass and my legs, but my arms and my stomach and even my mouth. I didn’t notice any of it when Rafe was holding me, but now I feel… wrung the fuck out. I wince as I straighten out, irritated that something that could feel so amazingly, transcendentally good one minute can leave me feeling like shit the next.
Rafe lies down next to me and reaches out to help me, but I bat his hand away, grumbling.
He looks a little guilty but also a little pleased with himself, so I slug him in the shoulder.
“Ouch,” I say, and he lets out a relieved laugh, wrapping his arms around me and sliding a leg between mine.
“That was amazing,” Rafe murmurs. He strokes a warm hand up and down my spine. “You okay?”
I nod, shivering just remembering the things he did to me. I stammer, then shake my head, giving up any attempt to explain how he makes me feel.
“What?” he asks softly, stroking my chin so I’ll look at him. I just shake my head, and Rafe huffs and pulls me on top of him, nestling his mouth near my ear. “Tell me.” He squeezes me tight and I shudder and wince, my legs falling open around his hips. I wrap his hair around my fingers and kiss the warm skin below his ear.
“Tell me, Colin. Just say it, whatever it is. Say it quick.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe in the smell of his hair.
“I think… I need you.”
“What?” he asks gently, cupping my face and moving me so he can see me.
I bite my lip, and I’m sure my face is bright red because I can feel the heat there.
“I don’t know what’s fucking wrong with me,” I say, trying to explain, “but you do something to me and I….” I shake my head, the words coming out in a muddle.
Rafe’s hands are warm on my face, his eyes gentle, but he doesn’t bail me out. He just listens.
“Before, I was—before I met you was… terrible. Everything was terrible. I was… terrible. I didn’t mean to be. I just… I couldn’t—and then I met you and now, I can’t—if you weren’t—I don’t… I—”
I’m shaking and Rafe takes pity on me.
“I need you too, doll,” he says, squeezing me tight. “I need you too.”
13
Chapter 13
"Where the fuck have you been?"
Even though there’s no one else here, Brian is sitting on the floor in front of the television, where he usually sits when Pop or Sam takes the recliner and I take the couch.
His face is puffy and his eyes are vacant and there are beer cans strewn all over the living room. Even through the mustiness, the yeasty metallic smell tells me the cans have been sitting here awhile.
Though I’ve always let myself in to Pop’s house before or come in through the garage after work, it feels weird to just walk in. Like I’m intruding.
“Had to get out of here for a bit,” I say, defensiveness rising immediately, even though the whole reason I came over here was to apologize for disappearing and to make sure he’s okay.
I cross my arms and pinch myself to try and set myself back on course.
“So, listen,” I say, sink
ing deep into the busted couch cushions. “Um, we need to figure out what’s going on with the shop. Do we want to keep things the same for a bit or start accepting different kinds of business? Do we want to take a little time?”
Brian’s not even looking at me.
“Callie didn’t call me back,” he says softly.
“Huh? Who’s Callie?”
“Callie. I told you about her!” Brian’s voice rises an octave.
“Call—oh, the girl you puked on.”
“I didn’t puke on her!” Brian whines. Then he mumbles, “It was on her cat. I don’t think she likes me anymore.” Brian’s eyes are unfocused and he sounds like a second grader. A drunk second grader. He reaches out blindly for a beer can and takes a swig. He immediately sputters and gags.
“Not from today?” I say as he wipes his tongue with his sleeve.
“Ugh!” He throws himself down so he’s lying on the floor.
I trap my hands beneath my thighs so Brian can’t see they’re in fists. It took all the energy I had to get over here today so we could figure shit out about the shop. I really don’t feel like hearing about Brian’s latest random obsession.
“Uh. Right. Anyway, about the shop….”
“Are you still gonna let me work there?”
“What? Of course. What are you talking about?”
“Well, everyone knows I’m not good at it the way you and Pop and Sam are. Hell, even Daniel was better with cars than me.”
He’s right. He’s not great with the complicated fixes and doesn’t have the focus the rest of us do, but… I didn’t actually think he knew that.
“You all just send me to make coffee and pick up the old ladies anyway. Probably doesn’t pay enough to keep the house now that it’s only me.”
“Bri,” I say, “that’s—I mean, you’re—we…,” I start. He snorts. “This is a family business, is what I mean. And you’re part of it. Okay, yeah, maybe if you were a stranger, I wouldn’t hire you over someone else. But that’s not the point. You know the business and you’re one of us, so shut up about that shit.”
I was shooting for comforting, but the way Brian’s looking at me, I think I may have missed the mark.
“What if—what if I didn’t want to do it anymore?” Brian says softly. “The shop. What if I want to do something else?” His voice is almost a whisper and he’s looking at me like he’s afraid of what I might do.
Brian’s always done what we told him to, but I always thought it was because he liked it that way. Liked not having to worry about figuring shit out on his own. He’s looking at me expectantly, nervously. And I can’t help but think of what Daniel said. About how the things I said had an effect on him when I always thought he didn’t care.
“That… would be okay.”
Brian’s eyes go wide and his face relaxes. “Yeah?”
“Well, yeah, man. It’s your choice. Do you know what you wanna do instead?”
“I—you’re gonna think it’s lame,” he says. I shrug. “I want to be a bartender.” I look at him, unsure what to say. “Well, okay, I thought maybe someday I could have my own bar.”
“That’s… that’d be cool, man. Really.”
“Yeah? Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything before?”
Brian’s eyes immediately cut toward the recliner. “Yeah, ’cause Pop wouldn’t have totally killed me. And he definitely wouldn’t have let me keep living here.” His face falls and his lip starts to tremble all of a sudden. He looks around, like he’s just remembered Pop isn’t here anymore.
“Colin,” he says, and it comes out as a whisper. “I… I’m a total loser, man. No wonder Callie doesn’t want to be with me. I mean, I don’t even—I don’t even fucking know how to take care of… anything.” He gestures around the house. “Pop always….” He shakes his head and he looks so lost.
“Told you what to do,” I finish for him. He bites his lip like he thinks I’m about to make fun of him, but nods. “Yeah, I know, man. But, look, maybe… well, maybe Pop wasn’t the best at knowing how to take care of everything either.”
Brian looks surprised.
“Just, you know. You can do it.” Yeah, I’m definitely not very good at these pep talk thingies.
He nods again, but he’s already distracted by something else. “Hey!” he says. “Who’s the guy?”
“Um. What? Who?”
“The big guy with long hair.”
My stomach drops.
“I don’t—what?”
Brian rolls his eyes. “The guy who was at your house. I swung by your place yesterday because no one had heard from you—hell, I even called Daniel!—and I saw this guy. I, uh, I remember you got mad the last time I just showed up without calling, though, so I didn’t ring the bell.”
My heart is hammering in my throat, and I feel like I’m going to puke. I keep opening my mouth to try and say something, but nothing is coming out.
Brian saw Rafe. In my house.
My breathing stutters and my mouth goes dry.
What’s confusing, though, is that I feel something treacherous and unfamiliar trying to claw its way out. And I have to get the fuck out of here, because what’s trying to get out is the goddamn truth.
I try to stand up casually. “Gotta take off,” I say, already halfway to the door. “I’ll talk to you later.” And I rush out before he can say anything.
I drive home on autopilot and get in the shower. My hands are shaking and I can’t figure out where that impulse came from. Tell Brian about Rafe? That’s crazy.
Isn’t it?
By the time the water goes cold, I still have no clue what’s going on with me. I’m shaky and fidgety and every time I start to calm down, I get really aware of my breathing and then I start sweating and my stomach hurts. I want to call Rafe, but he’s at work and I don’t want him to think I can’t even get through a day without him.
Finally, after clicking over to his number for the third time, I throw my phone onto the couch and grab the whiskey from the cabinet. I just need something—anything—to make this feeling stop. After two drinks, I feel a little calmer. After four, I start to panic because I know Rafe hates when I drink. So I try and tell myself that it’s no problem: I just won’t see him tonight and he’ll never know I’ve been drinking. But then the idea of not being able to see him makes me feel panicky and fucked up. And that requires another drink.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore and I call Rafe.
“Hey,” he says when he picks up. “I’m actually on my way to your house—that okay?”
“Yeah” is all I get out before he says, “See you in a few,” and hangs up.
“Shit, shit,” I mutter. I wash my face and brush my teeth three times to try and get rid of the whiskey on my breath, but I can’t make myself call and tell him he shouldn’t come, even though I know he won’t like it. I need to see him.
I fucking need him.
Oh god.
“Hey,” Rafe sighs when I open the door. He looks tired but happy to see me. I still can’t get over the way he’s actually happy to see me.
“What’s wrong?” he says, immediately wary as he looks at me closer. “Did something happen?”
He reaches a hand out to me and I stumble as I go to him.
“Sorry,” I say. “Sorry, sorry, but Brian saw you, and he asked who you are and I don’t—something’s wrong with me because I wanted—just, I don’t know—and I had to get out of there, and—”
“And get drunk,” Rafe says, holding me at arm’s length.
I squeeze my eyes shut. A child’s logic that if I can’t see him, then I can’t be seen. He sighs loudly and lets go of me, going to sit on the couch.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sitting on the other side of the couch. “I know you’re mad. But I didn’t mean to. I just… I was freaking out, and I couldn’t—look, don’t be mad, okay?”
He shakes his head tiredly.
“No, I know you are,” I try. “
I mean, you seem mad. And I’m really sorry. But—”
“It’s not about you, Colin.”
“Yeah, I know, it’s about drinking. You don’t like it. I know. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, but—”
Rafe shakes his head again, not looking at me, and bites off a bitter laugh.
“No, I mean, it’s not actually always about you, Colin!”
“I—what?”
“Do you know why I was on my way here when you called?”
Oh. Shit. I didn’t even ask. I shake my head and he grabs my wrists, looking right at me with such intensity that I want to look away.
“You said you needed me. You said you needed me, Colin.” Heat rises in my face at how desperate I was with his arms around me and his breath on my neck. “And what did I say to you?”
I search my memory, but all I come up with is how safe he made me feel. Well, and how hard he made me come.
Rafe winces. “I said that I need you too.” He pushes me away and starts pacing the living room. His hands are on his hips, and I notice for the first time that his hair is coming out of its braid, like maybe he’d forgotten it was tied back and run his hands through it anyway.
“I—did something happen?” I ask.
“Do you know what that means to me?” he asks.
Shame washes over me when I remember the conversation we had before Pop’s funeral. Rafe said he was jealous of his sisters because they have him to go to. Because they know that he’ll always be there for them. Because that’s what he wants: someone who he knows will always be there for him. Fuck.
“I needed you tonight,” he says softly, and the hurt and disappointment in his voice make my stomach curdle.
“Tell me what happened.” I reach for him but he shrugs away from me.
“I don’t want to talk to you when you’re wasted,” he says.
“I’m not. I swear. Not anymore. I can listen, I promise.”
He narrows his eyes. “You don’t understand.” His hands are fists at his sides and his teeth are clenched. “When I’m around it… any of it…. I still want to use, okay?” He sounds disgusted with himself. “It’s always there, at the edges of my mind. As an option. As a thing I’m not choosing. It’s never just… gone. Even after all these goddamned years, I still remember what it felt like.” His voice goes dreamy. “What it feels like to get away. To escape. To breathe because it’s not all my responsibility. To make a move without thinking through every possible consequence. To take something because I want it. To shrug and have every fucking thing fall away.”