12. Hart

The moment the words were out of his mouth, it felt like his world finally clicked into place. Cane's hands on his body tightened, verging on painful, but it was the best sort of pain Hart had ever felt.

He allowed himself to be lifted and placed on Cane's desk, thighs spread wide enough to allow the other man to push between them, to press their hips together, to crowd against Hart and fill his space with his scent. The reprise of the position he'd run from just days ago. A do-over.

And Hart didn't think he'd run this time. He didn't think he could, even if he tried.

It erased everything from Hart's mind. All the schedules, lists, and rules were gone. The worry about being unable to solve his case, about having to reach out and ask for advice, about feeling inadequate and untethered since he'd been put on this case. It was all gone.

All that remained was the most basic, primal part of him. The deepest part that just wanted to be naked, bruised, sweaty, covered in Cane's hands and kisses. Marked with his cum.

He wanted to let go and be owned. Wanted to be told what to do. Wanted all control taken away from him, all need to make decisions, all demands placed upon him…mostly by himself. And he knew Cane could give that to him.

Cane could get him to that place where he didn't have to be perfect. He didn't have to be Hart, the cursebreaker. He didn't have to be put together, or polished, or smooth.

He just had to be.

He felt fingers digging into his hair, a fist closing around it, tightening. Pulling hard enough to tip his chin and his face toward Cane. He couldn't make himself open his eyes, and he didn't need to, because the next thing he knew, rough lips were covering his. Claiming.

Hart wasn't sure it counted as a kiss. It was too volatile, too harsh for that. The stinging nick on his lip split open again, and Cane pushed the metallic taste of blood into his mouth with his tongue.

Hart welcomed it, swallowed around it and groaned at the taste of it.

He reached out and wrapped his arms around Cane, pulling him closer hard enough to hear the seams on his shirt ripping.

"Feral." Cane groaned against Hart's mouth. "Fuck, you're hot."

Hart tugged again and brought their lips back together, tonguing at the piercing there, his legs wrapping around Cane's hips and his arms tightening around his neck. He straightened his back so his chest was glued to Cane's and felt Cane's fingers dig into his sides. He lost himself. Felt himself float as every sense was assaulted by the scent, taste, and feel of Cane.

It had been so long. Too long for Hart to feel right about it. He'd missed it. Missed him so much. He'd forgotten how good it felt, how right it was when Cane descended on him like a man starved. Just how much he knew his every move, every sound.

He leaned forward more and almost fell when he realized Cane had broken the kiss. His arms were empty all of a sudden, the space between his legs vacant. He snapped his eyes open, breath coming out in labored puffs. He couldn't think straight. He whipped his head around, feeling lost and unmoored.

"Right here, sweetheart," Cane said from somewhere behind him, and Hart looked over his shoulder to find the other man sitting in his chair, slouched, hands behind his head.

"Wh—"

"Don't act like we're new," Cane said, eyes dark and voice deep and commanding as he finally acknowledged the past that lay between them. The one Hart had been pretending didn't exist. "You know what to do."

Hart sucked in a breath in the wake of those words, holding it for a second before releasing it slowly. It came out shaky, as unsteady as he felt as images flashed before his eyes. He could feel the ghost of hands on his skin, the prickles of phantom sensation.

He pushed himself off the desk, rounding it to get to Cane.

"Get to it," Cane said, and Hart felt that familiar urge to argue, to be contrary. It was faint though, and he knew he needed it gone completely.

"I need…" he started, but Cane cut him off again, something unidentifiable passing over his face as he took Hart in.

His gaze roamed Hart's body, from the top of his head to the tips of his polished boots. Hart knew what he saw. He knew what Cane saw in him—he always had. But he also knew Cane was aware he could turn him back into who Hart used to be for him. He could restore the factory settings and get the real Hart to come out. It was both terrifying and exactly what he was craving. What he needed more than anything.

"Strip," Cane said, and Hart folded. His entire body went into autopilot as he sighed in relief.

He reached up to unbutton his shirt, eyes never leaving Cane's. He shrugged out of his shirt then pulled his undershirt off as well.

Cane broke eye contact for a single second to look at Hart's naked chest, before looking back up.

"Things changed, sweetheart," Cane said, and Hart knew he wasn't talking about Hart's cursemark, glowing faintly on the skin over his heart.

The tendrils of it spanning the left side of his chest had never been of much interest to Cane. He was much more into the body that carried the mark. So Hart knew he was talking about the several new scars on his chest that he'd earned in the time they'd been apart.

Those, he wouldn't have seen before. And those, he would have noticed.

Hart nodded, tongue feeling too heavy to talk.

"Keep going," Cane said, and Hart dropped his hands to his belt buckle, unclasping it and pulling it out of his belt loops.

He held it out, ready to drop it to the floor when Cane shook his head and tsked at him.

"Belt over here."

He held out his hand and Hart leaned in, placing the soft leather in his palm, his own hands shaking with anticipation and desire. It wasn't the first time Cane had asked for his belt, and Hart knew exactly what he'd use it for.

Cane pulled the belt toward himself and motioned for Hart to continue. Not a single word was said between them anymore as Hart forced himself to slow down and take his clothes off gracefully. But everything inside him was burning. He wanted to rip the clothes off and be naked finally. Finally with someone who knew what to do with him. Who could use him the way he needed to be used.

He took a deep breath and realized Cane's small office was humid with their sweat and harsh breaths. The large window had misted over, moisture gathering in the corners. It was cloyingly warm. It made breathing harder, but it also made everything feel so much more entrancing.

The lack of fresh air made Hart's mind haze over, like he was moving through water, watching through a veil. Like somehow his body was detached from him, even when he felt like he'd never been more himself than at that moment.

Naked and vulnerable in front of someone who could hurt him. Would hurt him.

"Get over here." Cane's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. Hart took a couple of shaky steps until he was standing between Cane's spread legs, his ass touching the edge of the cool wood.

"Turn around," Cane said, and Hart did as told, spinning in place until his back was to Cane. He was facing the entrance to the office now, and his lust-addled brain realized the door to Cane's office had been left wide open after he'd burst inside.

"Someone could see," Hart said.

Cane chuckled from behind him. "Is that a problem?"

Hart heard the challenge in his voice. Yes, it was a problem. He didn't want to be seen like that by anyone else. He didn't want to be on display like that, but he also knew…he was so deprived that he'd put up with it if Cane told him to.

"No," he whispered, then gasped when Cane jumped from his seat, gluing himself to his naked back, one rough hand gripping his hip, the other his hair. He pulled his head back, bringing Hart's ear right next to his lips.

"Don't lie to me," Cane growled into his ear. "You keep forgetting I know you. I know what you like. I know what you need."

Hart swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, a burning fire in the pit of his stomach. His knees buckled slightly, and Cane held him up with an arm around his chest. His palm splayed across Hart's stomach.

"I'll ask again," he said. "Is it a problem if someone sees?"

"Y-yes," Hart choked out, and just like that, Cane was gone, letting him drop.

He barely held himself up against the desk as he watched Cane cross the small space of his office and slam the door shut. He walked back around the desk, back behind Hart, and his ears caught the sound of Cane settling back into his chair, followed by several beeping noises.

"The place is locked down," Cane said. "Nobody is getting in here now. Nobody will see you."

Hart could only nod, locking his knees and trying to stand upright again. He wasn't sure he was able to.

"Fair warning," Cane said, reaching out next to Hart and opening a drawer in his desk. "One more lie and this stops. You get nothing from me. Got it?"

Hart nodded furiously, so hard his neck clicked. Cane couldn't stop now. Hart couldn't lose this now that he finally had it. He'd die, he was pretty sure of it.

"Good," Cane said, and the word was followed by a soft click, then silence, and then something cold slipping between Hart's ass cheeks. Slick and slippery. Messy. The way he hated it. But just the way he needed.

He keened, loud and unabashed, falling onto the desk on his elbows. He knocked something over in the process. He could hear it rolling across the desk, hitting other things before it fell to the floor. He couldn't bring himself to care, because Cane brushed a slick finger over his hole and he was gone.

He knew what it looked like. The position he was in left him completely open for Cane. He knew Cane could see the very core of him.

But then he always could, so it was nothing new.

A finger breached him, rough and stretching, not giving him a single second to adjust. It burned. He felt himself clench around it. His forehead dropped to the backs of his hands on the desk, and he dug his nails into the smooth surface.

He wished he could find an opening in it he could scratch at. Wished there was something to hold on to, because Cane's fingers inside him made him feel like he'd float away. He tried to imagine how Cane looked behind him—fully dressed, sitting on his leather chair like the boss he was in this place, one hand bruising Hart's hip, the other pumping in and out of his body like he owned it.

"Look at you." Hart heard Cane's growl as he crooked his fingers inside him and pressed against his prostate.

Hart was never too loud in bed. Not with others, anyway. Cane just had a way about him that made Hart shatter entirely. He moaned, pushing back onto his fingers, clawing at the desk. There was a puddle of spit in front of him, trickling from his open mouth, and sweat gathered on his temples and neck, sliding down his back.

"Fuck, sweetheart," Cane said, sliding closer in the chair as he kept fucking Hart with his fingers. "There's nobody like you."

Hart knew he should feel good about those words. They were meant as praise, and he knew Cane well enough to recognize it.

But he wasn't himself. He was a baser, simpler version of himself. One who lived for the pleasure and the ownership Cane could provide. One who wanted it just for himself. Needed it to be just his.

This talk of others, whoever they were, was making him see red.

"How many?" he asked, barely able to lift his head, completely unable to stop the push of his hips back.

He wanted answers, but he also wanted to come, and he didn't think his brain was capable of making decisions at that moment.

"How many what?" Cane asked, punctuating the words with thrusts of his hand, Hart's cock sliding across the cool surface of the desk.

He was leaving a trail of precum on it. He could feel it on his skin, cool and slippery.

"How many people did you fuck?"

Cane's fingers inside him stilled, then retreated completely. Hart whined at the loss and humped at the air shamelessly, wanting them back. Needing them to finish what had started.

"I can still make you swear," Cane said, standing up and moving until he was glued to Hart's back again. He trailed kisses and bites down Hart's neck, his shoulders, and between his shoulder blades.

He bruised him. Left marks on him. His signature all over Hart's body. But he didn't answer the question.

"Tell me," Hart moaned, close to sobbing from how overstimulated he was and how empty he felt.

"Why?" Cane whispered, stepping back. Hart did sob then—a broken little noise that hurt his throat.

"Please," he said, the clawing animal inside his chest desperate to know how many people got treated this way.

Just how many of them had replaced Hart while he was gone? He wanted them all to disappear.

"You want to know?" Cane asked.

Hart nodded, wrecked little sounds still escaping his lips. He wasn't sure whether he was crying or just tearing apart at the seams. It didn't seem important at all.

Cane was back on him in a flash after that, naked skin to naked skin. Hart gasped and shivered at the feeling of it.

"Hands behind your back, sweetheart," Cane said roughly, and Hart complied, resting his chest against the damp desk as he brought his hands behind his back and crossed his wrists. He knew the drill.

"Good," Cane said as he looped Hart's belt around his wrists and tightened it until Hart could feel tingles in the tips of his fingers.

"Cane," he said, mind still reeling from being denied. Still struggling to move on from it.

"On your knees, face down," Cane said, tugging at his bound hands to pry him away from the desk.

Hart didn't need help sinking to the floor. He was barely holding it together as it was. He dropped to his knees, the burn from the worn-out carpet barely registering in his mind. Cane kept holding on to the belt, helping Hart bend down until he had one side of his face in the carpet, ass in the air, hands tied behind him and mind lost to it all. He heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper, saw the wheels on Cane's chair roll as he pushed it away, felt him get behind him.

Cane's hands went back to his body, finally. One on his hips, one in his hair. Just how he liked best.

Hart could feel him pushing at his entrance, slipping inside just the tiniest bit, then using the grip on his hair to tug him back, impaling him on his cock so roughly Hart nearly fainted.

Another sob broke free, and this time he knew he was crying. There was no other way to release the hurricane of emotion inside him. No other means for him to express how good it felt to finally be free. To be reduced to this basic blueprint of a human being.

"There were so many after you," Cane said, thrust after thrust pushing Hart across the carpet, scratching at his skin, hurting him in the best way he knew.

He closed his eyes against the images in his head. He wanted to hear it. He'd asked for it. But it didn't mean he needed the visuals of it. Of Cane's teeth on someone else. His hands in someone else's hair.

He shook his head, moaning desperately as he tried to push himself harder onto Cane's cock. He felt like he was being split open and he didn't care.

"I lost count," Cane growled, his hips slapping against Hart's skin. "They were good, sweetheart. Fuck, some of them were so hot."

He punctuated the word hot with a thrust so powerful that Hart choked on his moan. His entire face was covered in tears, the grime from the carpet sticking to them.

He was filthy. Broken.

And he needed.

Desperately.

"No…" He shook his head again, wanting it to stop.

"You asked for it," Cane said, pulling out of him, and Hart was pretty sure he screamed in frustration.

He felt the tug on his hair bringing him upright, the belt around his wrists untied, and then Cane's hands forcing him onto his back.

Cane grabbed his thighs and pulled his legs up until he was bent in half before slamming back into him. He set up a pace that could only be called brutal. His grunts made him sound like an animal, and Hart was on the brink of being torn apart by it.

He pushed into him, wild, dangerous. He pegged his prostate, holding his legs up and spread wide. Hart had no place to run. And even if he had, he wouldn't want to. He needed this more than he'd ever needed anything.

His cock slapped against his stomach, hard as a rock, untouched and aching for stimulation. He knew Cane wouldn't give it. Knew he got off on making Hart come untouched. And he knew exactly what to do to get him there.

He changed the angle just slightly, leaning forward to look into Hart's eyes. His tattoos against Hart's clean skin, his piercings shining like stars before Hart's eyes. The meticulously placed scars on his arms caught Hart's attention like tiny beacons, giving him something to focus on. Something to think about other than…

"Look at me," Cane growled, and Hart's eyes snapped back up. Unfocused and hazy around the edges. Brimming with frustrated tears.

Cane picked up speed and drove into him harder.

"You gonna come for me?" Cane asked, and Hart wanted to nod. Wanted to tell him he was close.

But something was missing, and Cane had said no more lies. He couldn't lie or it would all be gone.

He shook his head.

His hands went to Cane's thighs. Nails digging into his skin. Breaking it.

Cane hissed and turned his head to bite the inside of Hart's thigh, leaving a bruise there.

"As if anyone compares to you," Cane said, pulling out and thrusting in again, and Hart whined both from the words and the sensations.

That was what he needed. That was what was missing.

"As if anyone even comes close to you, sweetheart," Cane said, and with a final thrust, Hart shattered into pieces.