by Mary Calmes
“I fell asleep on the couch,” he said, fingers sliding around my painfully hard erection, “and I had a dream that you… this is like velvet in my hand.”
I couldn’t help pushing in and out of his fist; it felt too good.
“I was thinking that if I just put my name on you, marked you… branded you… that no one would ever be confused about who you belonged to.”
Instantly, I had understood.
We had been at a party earlier in the night. There was a girl who had asked me to dance and she was cute and funny. She had a snake tattoo on her upper arm, and I told her how much I liked it. She wanted to know if I had any tats, and when I said I did, she wanted to see. It was just conversation to me, forgettable. I had obliged her interest because it meant nothing, but it had meant something to Landry. It had, in fact, meant a great deal to Landry.
Later, the same girl had been cold outside where we were all hanging out on the patio. I had pulled the heavy wool sweater over my head and given it to her. She had put her hand on my back, tracing my tattoo the second time before she helped me pull my T-shirt down.
When I had gotten up and gone to look for my boy, as he had not returned from the bathroom, I found him in the hall, hugging himself tight, shivering hard.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, hands on him, leaning our foreheads together as I inhaled.
“Oh, now you love me?”
“What?” I chuckled, leaning back to look at him. “Are you all right?”
His eyes were dead.
“Landry?”
There were sudden tears.
“Oh baby, what’s wrong?”
And he had breathed suddenly, it seemed, like he hadn’t been but now could. I had pushed him up against the wall, shoved my tongue down his throat, and mauled him. I pressed into him, broke the kiss and bit down on the soft flesh between his neck and shoulder. He arched up into me, his now familiar chant beginning again.
Need me… over and over.
Always the same, like I didn’t already or could stop. And as I stood before him in our apartment later that same night, staring down into his hooded eyes, feeling the clench of his fingers on my hard, hot shaft as precum dribbled from the tip and he smeared it with this thumb, I understood. He didn’t just want to have his mark on me; it was a necessity for his continued sanity.
“Tomorrow,” I managed to get out. “Gonna go put you over my heart forever.”
The eyes were so lost and so hopeful, all at the same time.
“I swear,” I said, hand over my left pectoral. “Gonna have an L right here so everyone can see. An L for Landry.”
“On your body.”
“Yes.”
“Like a brand.”
I nodded.
He sucked in his breath. “Fuck me before I die.”
“You’re not gonna die.”
“I could. I thought I was. It felt like it before.”
Jesus. “I’ll get in bed, and you ride me.”
“No,” he whispered. “Wanna be fucked.”
I moved fast, grabbing the back of his neck, hurling him face down on the bed, landing on top of him, stretching for the lube from our nightstand even as I pinned him in place.
“You can’t do it,” he taunted me, and this too was his way. “You can’t fuck me, you don’t even want to. You want that girl that you gave your fuckin’ sweater to.”
The thoughts that consumed him were so stupid sometimes.
“We left without it, you know, and fuck her if she brings it back. Fuck her! I’ll burn it, I swear to God, and if you even try to—”
“Shut up,” I ordered him, spreading his legs, feeling the tension in his shoulders, the fatigue from where he had been clenched earlier, frozen in pleasure.
His hands were fisted in the blankets, still warm from where I had been sleeping. I dribbled lube over the cleft of his ass, more than I needed but wanting to make a mess. Gently, even though he was verging on madness, I slid my fingers inside of him, scissoring, stroking, slow but steady, relentless as I curled them over his gland, feeling him jolt under me, twist and squirm with shallow breaths.
“Can’t make me yours; I won’t be. I’ll find someone that won’t pay attention to stupid girls who say they’re cold.”
“Idiot,” I told him, adding a third finger, pushing deep, circling wide, adding my thumb from my left hand. He was whining, the words incoherent but pleading, writhing under me, and the mantra of my name became demanding. I didn’t slide my fingers free. I yanked back, and he gasped in outrage before I grabbed his tight, firm ass, spread the cheeks open, and thrust hard and deep in one long, smooth glide.
He howled his rage and drowning, devouring pleasure.
“Oh fuck!”
His muscles were like a fist closing around me, holding tight, rippling and hot. My whole body tingled as I eased back and thrust in again, deeper, shifting my angle, finding the spot that made him scream. There was the first thump of poor Mrs. Chun’s broom against our floor. We had woken our neighbor yet again.
I smiled as I pumped in and out of my boyfriend’s ass, pounding him down into our bed, bucking as hard as I could so he’d know it was only him I wanted to fuck.
“Trev!”
I knew.
I pushed my fingers through his hair, made a fist, and jerked up, arching his back, lifting his ass, putting him into a position of submission, taking away all his power. He was there only for me to use.
He was sobbing, I could hear it, and I wasn’t sure what was most needed.
“Shall I come on you or in you,” I asked, my mouth next to his ear as I reached under him and squeezed his rock-hard shaft.
Between the panting and gasping and crying, I understood that I needed to fill him up; he wanted it to leak out of him for hours.
I was too close, my control was gone, so I grabbed his shaft, stroked and pulled, and when I felt his muscles clamp down, I plunged into him, lifting him with the force.
We were a bad porn movie together—not pretty, not gorgeous, but loud and messy and sticky with fluid and awash in tears.
My orgasm was endless, and I held him tight until it was done, until the flood receded and I could realize where I was again and care. We were covered in lube and cum and sweat, and I wiped my hands on the comforter and laughed huskily in his ear.
“Jesus, Trev, I think I’m dead.”
“You’re not dead,” I told him, chuckling, kissing his ear, his cheek, licking the salt from his skin, dabbing at the blood on his lip. “But you’re gonna feel like shit in the morning when all this nice euphoria bails and all you’ve got are bruises and laundry to do.”
He shivered hard.
“Hold on, lemme move so you can—”
“No,” he stopped me, reaching back, fingers grazing over my ass. “Stay there. I can still feel your dick pulsing inside. It hurts.”
“Well if it hurts, idiot, lemme pull—”
“I’m stretched and full and fuckin’ sore, but ohmygod how bad did I need that? How bad did I want it? Jesus.”
I was basically lying on top of him; I needed to move. “Baby, I have to be crushing you, and your ass needs a break.”
But he clenched his muscles just to make sure I didn’t move, which almost killed me, my skin overly sensitized, my penis slowly softening inside of him.
“I’m sorry I gave that girl my sweater. I’ll never do it again.”
“I wouldn’t have cared about the sweater if she knew you were fuckin’ mine.”
“Honey,” I soothed him, my voice hoarse and low, freeing myself from his still clenching channel, the tightness and heat too much to bear. “Everybody knows I’m yours.”
“They will once I carve my name into you.”
He sounded crazy again, but I was beyond being scared because I knew what needed to be done. Rolling over on my back, I patted my chest as he rose over me. “Come here.”
He was on me fast, wrapped so tight I barely managed to get the blankets up
over us before we froze. Snuggled close, his mouth open on the side of my neck, I slowly traced my fingers up and down his spine, over and over, like he loved. The man craved me petting him like nothing I had ever seen. Putty in my hands.
“Right where my heart is, right there. Gonna have the L for Landry so everyone will know that it’s you it beats for. Only for you.”
His skin sliding over mine was sleek and smooth as he lifted and plastered his mouth to mine, the kiss to taste me and suck and nibble and build heat all over again. He felt so good twining around me, and I felt the roll deep inside of me and the desire rise and slowly ripple.
“Fuck, Landry.” My voice gave out on me. “What will make it better?” I had not realized that what I thought had been nothing, talking to the girl, had filleted him open and exposed all his vulnerability and insecurity, his bleeding, oozing heart.
“Inside you,” he said simply. “Now.”
Whatever he needed.
He flung the covers away and grabbed the bottle, which was still on the bed beside my leg. His hand was on his cock, slicking it, lube running through his fingers as he coated it, brushing some over my entrance although what he had on his shaft was more than enough.
I planted my feet and lifted and he got to his knees, lined up his cock, and plunged inside of me hard and fast, burying himself deep.
The pain was jarring, instant and overwhelming because there had been no prep, nothing, and I was still recovering from my own orgasm. For a second, I thought I would throw up. I hardly ever bottomed because he loved to and told me often. But there were times when he needed to let me know that not only did he belong to me, but I belonged to him. And it was never good because he was a poor top, erratic and rushed. Angles were lost on him. As far as I knew, he couldn’t even come when he was inside me. It was instead an exercise purely in power.
“Hey,” I breathed through the pain, reaching for him, determined to try and enjoy it this time. “Stop, look at me.”
His eyes slowly lifted and I saw them swimming with fresh tears.
“It’s okay.”
“No, I’m fuckin’ hurting you for no reason.”
“No,” I lied, my voice coaxing, kind. “Do this, slow down, lemme put my legs on your shoulders, okay? Roll forward and see how deep you can go.”
His eyes never left mine as he followed directions, the angle making me gasp as the long, thick length of him grazed over my prostate.
Different, better. Just with small changes, his speed and his descent, I felt an electric shock run through me.
I moaned loudly.
“I should do that again?” He sounded so hopeful.
“Fuck, Landry,” I panted, my back bowing up off the bed. “I gotta grab my… I gotta get myself off. Just hammer me right there, okay? Don’t fuckin’ stop.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh baby could ya please…. Fuck!”
The sizzle was there, the heat, the bubbling, verging, consuming rush that I had never felt on my back before except when he was riding my cock.
“Does it feel good?” he asked, his voice guttural as he bucked into me—harder, faster, deeper with every stroke. “Because your whole body is shaking; you feel fuckin’ amazing. You’ve never felt…. Jesus, Trev, your ass is so tight and so hot. I’m gonna come! I’m gonna fuckin’ come!”
I came, spurting over my stomach, my fingers, my hand, my wrist, making everything slick and wet. And then he pulled out and added to it, splattering over my abdomen and on my chest, watching, staring, and missing nothing.
We were both heaving for breath, panting and exhausted, but the way he was looking at me, the predatory gleam, had not left.
“Am I marked enough now? Have you done enough to me or does there actually need to be blood? Tell me.”
The look in his eyes terrified me for a second before he bent and lapped at my stomach. Our seed, together, mixed, that apparently was finally enough. He slurped and sucked and swallowed, and when I dragged a finger through it and licked it clean, he shuddered. When I did it again, moving my finger toward my mouth, he leaned forward, lips parted.
I should have been freaked out, grossed out, anything, but all that mattered was bringing him back from the dark place he had gone to. So I touched my fingertip to his tongue and watched him lave at it, suck and taste, then move downward to my wrist and elbow. He licked and nibbled to my shoulder and then beneath, his face in my armpit, still licking before he moved across my chest, his mouth opening to suck my nipple, tug it, pull and finally bite down hard.
I gasped but he didn’t care, and it hurt and didn’t, everything blurring together, becoming the same.
“Your skin is driving me fuckin’ crazy.”
He was manic and he had to sleep, but he was still in a frenzy of need. And it was my fault. I knew better. When we were out, especially when we were out, he needed to be in my lap, holding my hand, close to me. I had forgotten that if we were home, had people at our place, it didn’t matter; a woman could use me like a pole and wrap herself all over me and it was fine because he knew where he was, knew I was his. But out, when he couldn’t look around and get his bearings, there was only me, and if I didn’t keep tabs… then it was on me.
“I need water,” I said suddenly because it was my last gambit.
“You do?”
I nodded.
He left and I could hear the ice trays in the kitchen being cracked, dumped into the tray in the freezer, and then the water running as he refilled them. When he came back, I saw the splotches of dried cum all over him and how he shivered. I thanked him and drained the glass. I saw it then; saw Landry back behind his eyes. That I had needed a favor, small, simple, and domestic, that had grounded him, reminded him of who he was, who I was, and about the two of us together.
“Let’s strip the bed and take a shower, okay?”
He nodded because he was coming down—quiet, contained, and worried suddenly about what he had done.
I ran the shower and put him under the warm spray before I went back to take care of the sheets. We had two sets of linens for the bed and that was it. Lucky for us, the apartment had come with a washer and dryer, so that was really all we needed.
By the time he padded into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, I was done.
“Okay, I’m gonna go jump in the shower. I’ll be right back.”
He nodded, but I heard the stilted breath so I stepped in front of him on my way out of the room.
“Are you mad at me?”
I put my hands on his face. “Hell no, why would I be mad? You fucked me good.”
He didn’t like the answer, too glib, so I bent and kissed him, softly, tenderly, my tongue tracing over his bottom lip until he whimpered in the back of his throat. When I lifted away, he leaned with me.
“I love you, I will always love you, everything’s fine and I’m not mad. I just need to sleep. You wore me out.”
Lots of nodding, lots of smiling, and he let me go. By the time I was done with my shower, he was passed out in the bed. He didn’t even move when I slid under the covers with him and turned off the light. That night we had both learned something, I understood my absolute place in his life and what he needed, and my boy learned how to top. It had been win-win in my mind from something that had started out very scary.
“TREV?”
I looked over at Conrad, the spell of my memories broken.
“Listen, you’re not in any danger if you just are smart. Stay away from places you do business, simple as that.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay? What were you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Can you focus, please?”
“Sure.”
“About the gun. If you go out of town, put the gun in the lockbox I gave you, and it goes in the hamper with the dirty clothes.”
“Got it.”
“Good.”
My eyes flicked to his. “You know I appreciate it, right? Everythi
ng you do for me. I don’t know how to show it without giving you money so you know I’m sincere.”
“I know you’re sincere, it’s why I give a shit.”
I nodded and then yawned, my eyes watering.
“You’re so fuckin’ tired.”
“I am, shit.”
“Just get Landry and the two of you go home and go to bed.”
I grunted as he patted my knee.
Chapter 4
CONRAD had to shake me awake when we reached Asil, and once I was there at the door, in the dark, I realized that I really needed to go home and get in bed. It was a little after six on a Tuesday night, and I saw at least five couples milling around. Landry’s small boutique gallery, only a thousand square feet, was open Monday through Friday from nine in the morning to eight at night and on the weekends from eleven to four. It had simple cream-colored walls with a single orange-red accent color used once behind the cash register with the logo and again on the outside of the door. He had wanted a location with a window, and I said no, not downtown where he was thinking, not right there on the street. I had the door custom made so the glass was protected. Even if you broke it, you still couldn’t get in. The alarm was set for the sound of breaking glass as well, either from the cases inside or the door. I was taking no chances with his safety or his livelihood.
We had picked a place with a wall of ivy beside the front door, which made graffiti impossible. On the other side of the gallery was an alley that cars drove through, so as far as trash and vandalism went, Asil was in good shape. The lady who owned the shop above sold shoes, which was why, as I came into the sandalwood-scented showroom, my boyfriend was walking—or rather, strutting—for his two salesgirls in four-inch patent leather platform boots. It was hot. He looked good in them, and they were doing something amazing to his ass, but the man was enormous. Normally six feet, he was now six four and all legs.
I flopped down on the riveted leather bench by the door.
“Hey, Trev,” Chantal called over to me, her eyes sparkling in the light. “Check out Landry. He looks like a model.”
“He’s so gorgeous,” Megan agreed, her eyes full of adoration for her boss.