Ten

Cade

I regret saying it. Especially in that voice, so small and weak sounding—it didn't even sound like me. But maybe that's a good thing. I don't really feel like myself. Maybe pretending I'm someone else will make this easier.

But then his hand slips under the hem of my briefs, and I remember exactly why I said it.

When his fingers wrap around me, I can't help but say it again. " Nic ," I gasp, shuffling my feet to widen my stance. I moan at the perfect pressure as he drags his fist down. It's almost too tight, reminding me of who it is that's touching me because he doesn't seem like the person to ever take shit easy. It's perfect.

"Nic, I––"

He lets go, freeing the arm he had trapped behind my back––which is nice—and my dick—which is less nice.

"Get on the bed," he orders before I have time to complain, his voice dry. The lack of emotion has me wanting to look at him, maybe see what he's feeling, but I think better of it. Don't want to ruin this. He could change his mind at any time, and then I might cry out of sexual frustration. Or punch him again, I don't know.

He was lying when he said nothing about me makes his dick hard. I felt that shit, his cock hard against me. It's a good feeling. Validating in an I-need-therapy kind of way. But he's into it, me. At least sexually, and I can't help but enjoy that. I'm just soaking all this attention right the fuck up, and I want it— need it —enough to not overthink things.

Listening to him is a means to get what I want, so I do just that. I move for the bed closest to us, to his, but he uses a hand to shove me towards mine instead. I huff as I stumble, but I don't want my big mouth to pop this semi-sexy bubble we're floating in, so I say nothing as I climb over my unmade bed.

He laughs, and I look over my shoulder to see why. "What?" I snap, feeling self-conscious as he just stands there and watches me.

"Nothing. You just got right into position, ass up like a good little slut."

I grunt, unsure how to react. My shoulders tense, but I can feel every inch of my skin—nipples peaked and balls hugging the base of my dick tightly—and I sort of love it. There's a plea on the tip of my tongue, but I don't know what it is—stop, more. I just don't know.

It was instinct to get on my knees, comfortable. He wants me to be embarrassed, but I don't want to give him that—don't want him to know that I kind of like the indignity that comes with him calling me out. I walk around like I'm sure of myself, someone who knows who he is, but it's an act. Lately the only time I'm not playing that role is around Nic. I just can't seem to keep it going around him. It's relieving to give it up.

But, fuck, do I have to give it up so easily?

"Well, do you want me on my back?" I snark. There's no way. I don't want that either. Having to watch him as he…

I wouldn't survive that.

He ignores the question. "Supplies?"

I huff a quiet breath as I place my forehead on my pillow, feeling nervous as what we're doing becomes something real. Something that I want is actually happening, and my starved self is overwhelmed.

"My sock drawer." I move my hands under my pillow, hiding them away as I grip my sheet and force myself to breathe slowly.

He's silent as he finds what he needs, stays that way as he moves behind me. All I can hear are the sounds of my own breaths, my heart thundering in my ears as he touches me.

It's not rough or hard. It's not Nic, and I fight the urge to squirm as my briefs are slowly dragged over the swell of my ass. Too quiet, too gentle. It's confusing me.

I bite my lips to keep my complaints at bay, certain that they'd only piss him off. But when I feel him spread my cheeks apart and my shoulders bunch up, my body fighting a shiver, all he does is hum a quiet noise of reassurance.

This isn't what I wanted—this softness .

" Hurry ." I buck my hips, trying to urge him on, but he only seems to move slower. "Nic."

"Shh." His hands squeeze a handful each, still being too gentle, and then they're gone altogether. I hear the sounds of the lube opening, and I can't stop my hips from jerking again. My underwear is still wrapped around my thighs, making it hard to spread them further, but the feel of his finger right there has me trying anyway. "I just have to stretch—"

"Then fucking do it!" My hips jerk again, pressing back against his hand in a fruitless attempt to get what I need.

"Be patient." He huffs when I shuffle impatiently on my knees. "I don't want to go too fast, you—"

His name tumbles out of my mouth with a frustrated laugh before I arch my back a bit. It's clear that I want this more than him. If our places were reversed, I'd already be balls deep inside him—wouldn't be able to help myself. So, fuck him for having the audacity to be so calm about this. "I swear to god, Nic. Just get inside me." I need him to hurry before he does something stupid—like change his mind.

The smack is unexpected and rings loudly in the room as my face heats at the renewed rush of indignance.

"Patience." His voice is calm and steady like he didn't just burn my asscheeck. I almost tell him to go fuck himself, but that's the exact opposite of what I want at the moment, so I close my mouth. And then a finger is slipping in easily, pulling a little whimper out of me at the slight stretch, but with all the lube it's just not enough.

" Nic ."

"I—you need this, Cade. I can't just slam it in." He pulls his finger almost all the way out, twisting it as it goes, and a whole lot of feel-good shit zips straight to my sac, has them going firm against the base of my heavy cock.

"I can take more."

"Have you ever bottomed?" His voice is unsure, and I know that if I tell him the truth, he'll end this whole thing before it even starts. But despite the hesitancy in his voice, that digit stays moving inside me, and it settles a piece of me. It has my errant thoughts, my self-doubt going quiet, and I fucking want that so badly. It's addictive, that little sliver of peace.

He asked me a question, but instead of answering, I moan and hope that it's enough to distract him—to keep this going. But of course it isn't.

"Cade, have you—"

I push up onto my hands to glare at him over my shoulder. "We're not making love, asshole. If I wanted this pussy shit, I'd— ah! " I gasp, falling to my forearms as he shoves enough inside me to actually stretch me open. I think he skipped number two and just went straight to three. " Ow ," I say out loud, my face burning as the taunting backfires.

"Yeah," he chuckles darkly, leaning over me so that I hear his hushed voice clearly. "That's what I thought. Behave, little slut."

I throw back an elbow, hear him grunt as it connects with his ribs. And when his hand fists in my hair and forces my head down until my chest has my arms trapped against the bed, I don't have it in me to regret the hit.

"Do you want me to stop?" He fucks me with those fingers despite the threat—no more slow and steady as he rushes through the prep—and the only response I can manage is a frustrated grunt. It's both too long and not long enough when he finally pulls his fingers out, and as much as having them in me hurts, the way my hole clenches around nothing so suddenly is worse.

All the fight fizzles right out of me when I hear a soft crinkle of foil behind me. I'm forced to listen over the pounding of my heart, the subtle ringing in my ears as he gets himself ready, more wet sounds of lube, and then he's notched right at my entrance.

"You better be fucking sure that this is what you want, Cade."

A shiver ripples through me—a little fear, a little excitement—and all I do is nod. It's going to hurt. I know it is, but the worry is far overshadowed by all the lust coursing through my body. I'm fucking burning with it.

"Tell me you want it." He tightens his grip on my scalp, and I hiss.

" Fuck off ." He knows I do.

"Come on." He leans back over me, mouth right next to my ear as his voice goes smooth. "Where'd that good little slut go, huh?" The very tip of his dick pops through, and I choke on a startled gasp, this time not saying the ow I feel. "I mean it." His voice changes, no longer teasing. "I need a yes, or this is over." Like it's that easy for him, doesn't matter either way.

I shouldn't be here, under him and so willing. But it seems that all my self-respect has evaporated. Gone. And it's his fault.

"Just… fucking do it." I turn my face until it's pressed hard against my pillow to hide a whimper, head still trapped under his hold.

He laughs again—always fucking laughing—and it's all the warning I get before I'm being ripped apart.

My scream is silent as all the air is forced out of my lungs, my mouth open wide against the fabric of my pillowcase. It takes my mind a few moments to come to, my whole being too wrapped up in the pain of it to be aware of anything else. My ears are ringing loudly now, keeping me from hearing the start of his moaning, the sound of Nic savoring the tightness wrapped around his cock. That sound, muffled by all the blood rushing to my ears, it helps. It keeps me from panicking too much, the evidence that I'm making him feel good.

It's a struggle for him to get all the way in. It takes several shallow thrusts to fuck me open enough before he's buried inside me. And then he stays there, hips flush against my ass as he gives me time to get used to him. My breaths are ragged, stammering out of me in shallow huffs.

But it… it's okay. Good. Leaves my head empty and body full. It was brutal, and now it's calm. It's still painful, but he's inside me, and it's everything I wanted.

"Move." It's an order spoken in a voice that still doesn't feel like mine, sounds like my head is underwater as I listen to it. "Move," I try again, tongue lolling a bit. But he does it, drags his cock out in an agonizingly slow pull, and I'm a moaning mess by the time all that's left is his cockhead. I see it coming, and my hands try to tighten the grip they have on my sheet, but there's no point—I'm already white-knuckling the cotton by the time he's forcing his way back in.

My body protests when I push back against him, impaling myself once again and triggering another white-hot pang deep in my guts. But it's worth it, gets me what I want— more . He listens, stays moving, and starts fucking his way in and out in violent thrusts. It's not until his hand wraps around my dripping cock and tugs that I realize I'm now achingly hard after having gone soft. The pleasure of those strokes slithers around the pain, and I start to float in it.

My head feels blissfully numb as he continues to fuck me, and I can't pinpoint when the hurt morphs into something so fucking good, but I know that I'm completely lost in it.

He groans, a drawn-out noise that stutters with every thrust, and I have to push a hand flat onto the headboard so I don't move too much. I make sure I stay right where I am so this never fucking ends.

It hits me that it will end, disappear, and the very thought has a tortured whine filling the air around us, getting mixed up in the continuous masochistic pleasure assaulting my entire being. Nic eats it up—hums like he's basking in the sound of it, taking credit for it.

" God . You were made for this, Cade." He moans, the sound starting deep in his chest, and I can't help but match it with one of my own. "Such a good fucking toy," he speaks softly, a filthy praise pressed right into the shell of my ear, and I have to turn my head in a clumsy attempt to seek him out, try and get a taste of those words. My every muscle pulls tight, a delicious heat licking at the base of my spine every time his balls slap against mine. "You're so fucking tight, little brother."

" Oh, god ," I mutter, opening my bleary eyes in more ways than one to find him looking at me. How did I let something so monumental slip my mind?

His hand curls around my balls, giving them a gentle roll that doesn't quite match the way his fat cock is pushing into me. "Shh," he whispers, his chest settling over me in a way that makes me feel safe. He feels so good, smells so good pressed against me. "Don't worry about that. Your whole purpose is this—being nothing more than a tight hole for me. That's all you are right now." He sits up, making it so I can't see his face anymore, and then I try to do what he says.

I groan, overcome with all the euphoria flooding my senses. This—it's everything. Exactly what I wanted. What I needed. No worries, no stress, no feelings of worthlessness. It's why I pushed him, pushed myself past the blinding ache of those first thrusts. Just this . My entire existence simplified into being nothing more than his to use. A toy. A hole.

His hand works me over in time with his hips, a single stroke paired with every punch at my insides. The unbearable pleasure-pain of it all is building. It's more, more, more. Almost …

I cry out as my orgasm barrels through me, and all Nic does is fuck me through it, hand fisted around my dick while my cum sprays onto the mattress beneath us. When he finally stops his brutal fuck, both of us are breathing heavily, panting noisily as our bodies struggle to settle.

"That was…" It's too much effort to finish, the words too heavy. I'm not sure I know what I would say, what the end of that sentence even is. Amazing, so fucking good. Perfect.

A mistake .

That's what he probably thinks.

There's a sheen of sweat blanketing my body, making it cold now that my blood isn't pumping quite so unyieldingly, and I'm left trembling because of it. The adrenaline drop is hitting me hard. Or maybe it's the severity of what it is we just did. Either way, I don't want him to ruin what that was by being himself.

"Get off." The words are grunted, hoarse.

I'm close to freaking out, have to turn my face again so that he can't see me. I'm waiting for a punishment of sorts—like he's going to be pissed that I got us here.

"Cade." His voice is calm, almost cautious, and it makes everything worse.

"Get off of me." I hiss as he pulls out in a hurry, not expecting the burn the emptiness triggers. He's still holding my soft, oversensitive cock in his warm palm—the touch gentle—and I move quickly to push his hand away.

"You're shaking."

"I'm fine," I say again, almost sounding like I mean it. I might not be, though. Not if he didn't come. "I—did you…" I think he was still hard when he broke the connection. It felt like I was still stretched wide around him as he pulled out, which means he didn't get anything out of it. He could have. I wanted him to, almost wanted it more than my own pleasure. It's like last night all over again, only worse.

Nothing but a hole, and not even a good one.

"Maybe you—do you need a drink? Or…"

"What?" I look over my shoulder, find myself feeling awkward at the position I'm still in. "No—"

"Cade, you wanted it." He sounds mad.

I don't argue. We went over that already. "And you didn't?" I quip back, but really, I'm not all that sure. My muscles protest as I begin to move. I have to fight the urge to stretch out as I lay on my stomach, legs splayed outward because he's still behind me. I pretend I don't feel the cooling puddle of cum in my way. Or the throbbing in my ass.

"I clearly did."

"But I wasn't—" I clear my throat, stop myself from saying something so embarrassing. "You didn't come." That's not much better.

"You—"

"You don't want to?" I can take more. If he needs it—wants it—he can have it. But he's silent behind me for long enough that the sting of rejection pisses me off.

"I don't think—"

"Whatever." I start to sit up, the feeling of nakedness pushing me into shaky motion. I don't want to hear the bullshit insult he's got locked and loaded. This was my fuck up, and I don't need him to emphasize that. "Move." I start to push at him, my hand barely touching him before my stare gets stuck, rudely focused on his thighs—on the scarring I never had a chance to see before now.

It's not what I expected. I assumed he cut himself because what else would it have been? But those are not the kinds of scars you get from a blade. They're textured, raised high, and bumpy in some places and pulled tight and concaved in others. Sort of shiny. I see them stretch as he stiffens, but then he's moving too.

"They're burns," I muse aloud when he stands up, regretting it as he bends over and snatches his sweats off the ground. He tugs them on hurriedly, only stopping to take the empty condom off.

He was hard, but he's not now. I did that—killed his boner.

"Sorry," I murmur, meaning it. But he ignores me. He drags a hand through his hair right there in the middle of the room, sort of awkward about it as his free hand grips the side of his leg, thumb digging until the nail goes white. I wonder briefly if that hurts because of all that scarring… does he feel it? What kind of damage do burns like that do?

I'll most likely never know and never bring it up again. Not if it makes him act like this. It's like he has no clue what to do now. It makes me feel like shit, which is stupid. He just wrecked my ass, the first person I ever let do it, and he didn't even have the courtesy to come.

It hits me that it's a stupid thing to be mad at, and that only makes me feel worse. More guilty. The guiltiest for some stupid fucking reason my brain doesn't want to clue me in on. This case of Dumb Dick isn't a joke anymore. I'm stupid with lust, literally. And all this post-sex haze is no better. A symptom, because why should I feel bad for Nic?

But he leaves the room. Turns right around and walks out without even looking at me.

I look down at the cum smeared on my abs and the world's dumbest dick and sigh .