24. Ryan

Displacement, time, velocity, and acceleration explode into motion. I’m thrown back against the plush leather seat of the Range Rover as Miller puts his foot down flat. Tires spin, screeching as we leave campus behind us. The low rumble of Miller’s laughter is punctuated by a slightly hysterical version of mine.

I shouldn’t be laughing. I really shouldn’t. I know that. I’d fear for my life if I had a lick of common sense, but I think we can all agree that ship has sailed.

The bustle of buildings, streets, finals, and dorm life fades as we leave the city. Slate-gray and terracotta swirl in the rearview mirror as we careen headlong into madness. Miller has one hand on the wheel and his blue beanie on his head. I cracked and asked him to wear it. Am I happy about it? Hell no. But I figure that in the scheme of things I have to regret when it comes to Miller, this little nugget will hardly register in a few years’ time.

And sweet Jesus, he looks good in it.

Colors change around us, browns and reds giving way to shades of green. The highway narrows and starts to wind. My ears pop as we climb. The afternoon sun streams into the car from Miller’s side, lighting him up and casting a righteous glow around him. A halo for a hellion. He hasn’t stopped smiling since we got in the car, and that was hours ago. You’d think he’d look stupid by now, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks borderline angelic, gilded in light.

He reaches for me, snaking a hand between my thighs and worming it toward my dick. I clamp my legs shut briefly, partly out of habit, partly to tease him, then I remember what I’m here for and let the leg closest to him fall open, giving him access. In fact, I scoot my hips forward to ensure he can really get to me.

Oh, go ahead. Judge away. You know I don’t blame you.

That’s why I’m here. That’s what he bought. “Free use” was the exact phrase he used. His eyes glittered like evil incarnate when he said it. I started to laugh. I thought it was a joke. The sound spluttered into a phlegmy cough when I saw the look on his face. “Free use,” he said again, bobbing his head slowly as if he had the ability to penetrate my mind and alter it purely through the strength of his intention. “Three days and three nights. A new car for free use of your body.” He pronounced the words with extra care, making sure I understood them.

My thoughts are racing, jumping from topic to topic, covering madness and regret aplenty, circling back and landing on the same thought over and over – It’s a good thing I still have another year of my degree, and it’s a good thing school counselors need advanced degrees, internships, and supervision before they’re let loose on the world. It’s a great thing, actually, because even though I’ve just spent the last two years of my life studying psychology, I haven’t even scratched the surface. Haven’t even chipped it yet. My mind and behavior are more of a mystery to me now than they were before I started my studies.

I don’t have the first clue what’s wrong with me when it comes to Miller. Don’t even know where to begin when it comes to diagnosing myself other than to say that, on a base level, having a new car would be nice. I wouldn’t go so far as to say my truck is a death trap. I think that’s a bit strong, but it would be nice to have a vehicle that’s reliable. Of course it would be nice to have a car that doesn’t make that funny doo-doo-doo sound when I change gears, and of course it would be nice to be able to use the AC without the cloying smell of stale chips making me car sick.

Who wouldn’t want that?

Come to think of it, it might even be normal in a roundabout way. Might even have roots in rational thinking.

Miller’s fingers curl, nails raking gently against the seam of my fly. Rational thought goes out the window, and I’m a, erm, different version of myself by the time we get where we’re going.

The cabin isn’t at all what I expected. Built on a steep slope and nestled in a thicket of trees, it’s ramshackle and close to falling down. Dark timber has faded to an anemic gray, and a few of the gutters are hanging on by a thread.

Miller gives a proud wave. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a shithole,” I reply as he shoulders open the door. The inside isn’t as bad as the outside, though that isn’t saying a lot. “Where’s the furniture?”

“The seller took most of it when they vacated.”

“Mm-hmm, and what are we going to sit on while we’re here?”

There’s a rickety dining table near the kitchen and one cane barstool that seems to have dropped in straight from the eighties, complete with faded floral cushion. There’s a moth-eaten rug in the middle of the living room, but no sofa. Strangely enough, there’s a string of multicolored Christmas lights strung up over the mantel and around both of the windows that frame it.

Miller gives me a great big aw-shucks smile, cocking his head sympathetically. “But, baby, you’re going to be bent over or flat on your back the whole time we’re here.” My dick jerks involuntarily, straining against my zipper. “You’re not going to be sitting. You’re not going to need furniture other than a bed, and that bad boy is brand new. Had it delivered the week after the sale on this place went through.” Say what you will about Miller, but the man does have a way of explaining things. “D’you know why I brought you here?”

“Um, ‘cause you’re a pervert.”

“Always.” He nods in earnest agreement. “But not just because of that. This place is special. It’s the first land I’ve bought. This place is going to be big for us, Ry. It’s going to be the start of our future, you’ll see. I wanted to share it with you before I share it with anyone else.”

He meets my blank stare with a patient smile. “Also, we’re miles and miles away from anyone else out here. It’s just you and me and the trees and the sky.” He leans in as if he means to kiss me, stopping a hair’s breadth away from my lips. “I’m going to show you the stars while we’re here, baby. You’re going to see them all night.”

He leans in again, closer this time if such a thing is possible. I clench my teeth to stop my tongue from sweeping across my bottom lip. You don’t need to taste Miller’s breath, I tell myself. There’s no need for it. You already know what he tastes like. Jesus. Get it together. “And if you ask nicely, I’ll make you see them all day too.”

I don’t have the first clue how to respond to that, and despite being my first and only language, English seems like a bit of a reach for me right now. I set about silently wiping down the kitchen counter while Miller unpacks the groceries.

“Does the microwave work?” I ask when I can’t find another thing to wipe down. “A lot of what we brought to eat needs to be microwaved.”

“Yeah, that’s new too. I got it the second time I came up here. You don’t even want to know what happened the first time.” He smiles broadly and doesn’t give me a chance to ask. Not that I was going to. “Cereal breakfast, lunch, and dinner for four days.” He laughs riotously at that. “Four days. I was here for four days.”

As amusing as the thought of Miller suffering is, I feel a little hurried. You know the feeling you have when you have someplace to be, but you can’t remember the details. You know you can’t chill, but you can’t remember where you’re supposed to be or what you’re supposed to be doing. That’s how I feel. Think it’s from being in the middle of nowhere. The great outdoors has never really been my thing.

“Should we have the chicken curry tonight?” I ask.

“Sure, why not.”

He uncorks an expensive bottle of red and pours it into a set of pink plastic cups.

We carry our wine and food outside and sit on an old quilt that Miller has laid out for us. There’s a clearing all around the cabin covered in long grass that urgently needs mowing. Red oak and black cherry trees lean over us, a comforting canopy that frames the night sky.

It’s uncomfortable as hell.

“Told you we needed furniture,” I say when he straightens his legs, flexing and stretching to recover from sitting cross-legged for too long.

He takes my cup from me and sets it down beside his. “Yeah, and I told you we didn’t.”

He pulls me down onto the blanket with him, stretching a beefy arm out and offering it to me in lieu of a pillow. We lie back and look up at the sky. There are stars galore. So fucking many of them. A million. Maybe more. My cock is a little confused about the platonic nature of stars and gets the wrong idea, stiffening for no good reason. Miller talks at length about things like the Little Dipper and Zeus and something about bears. He points upward and makes me follow his finger across the sky. I don’t know shit about this kind of thing, so I have no way of knowing if he’s bullshitting me or not. I have no choice but to nod now and again and let his voice lull me into a trance of sorts.

It’s one of those balmy nights that confuses your senses. It starts out so warm and sultry that I don’t realize when the temperature drops. I only know that at some point, Miller is the warmest thing in the middle of nowhere, and every time he drops a hand on my chest, it warms me too.

I’m still feeling hurried. Waiting. Somewhere to be. Something to do. It’s late now. We’ve eaten and finished the wine. I’m getting antsy. Miller said free use. He said it so many times that I was left in no doubt whatsoever that he loves the sound of his voice saying those words. He said he’d fuck me from morning till night. He said he’d fuck me so many times my belly would swell from all the loads he put in me. He said he’d fuck me so long and so hard my ass would feel strange without his dick rammed inside it.

We’re in the middle of goddamn nowhere for the express purpose of a fuck fest, so why the hell isn’t he making a move?

“Want to head in?” he asks at last.

I jump up with speed but manage to catch myself, slowing my movement before I do something stupid like alerting Miller to my…hurriedness.

He showers first, and after a great deal of deliberation, I come out of the bathroom, head held at a moderate height, sleeping shorts tied tightly around my waist. Miller raises a sleepy brow, head already buried into his pillow.

“You’re adorable, you know that, Ry? God, those little sleeping shorts and that stick up your ass…so sweet. So, so sexy.”

I roll my eyes hard enough to strain them as he opens the covers for me.

The bed is big, a California King with crisp white linen, but still, it feels crowded. Miller is stark naked, and Jesus, there’s a lot of skin. His skin and mine. He takes my hand and rubs his foot over the arch of one of mine, murmuring happily.

I allow it.

I’m still waiting. Still hurried. Hurried as fuck.

Why isn’t he making a move? This is Miller fucking MacAvoy. He should be on me or in me or down my throat, at least. Instead, he’s holding my hand.

My fucking hand?

My dick is throbbing. It’s beating with a dull pulse that’s rattling my brain. I’ve been hard on and off since we got into his car. Before then, even. I got hard the second I heard the words free and use next to each other. I close my eyes and lie still. My skin is crawling with need. I use all my energy to keep my breathing steady and even. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

It does less than nothing to help.

“Night,” Miller croons, kissing me lightly on the cheek. “Sleep tight, baby. Tomorrow’s a big day for you.”

My eyes fly open.

Sleep tight?

Sleep fucking tight?

Is he insane? No man in history has ever slept fucking tight as horny as I am right now. It’s never happened. I don’t need Google to tell me that either. I know it.

Miller’s breathing slows and lengthens into a soft, happy purr. I toss and turn for hours, painfully aware of every inch of his body in its proximity to mine. I wake every time he rolls over, every time he breathes deeply or nuzzles his face into my neck. He’s all over me. He’s everywhere, touching me but not touching me enough.

Close, but not mine.

He’s all I can smell. All I can taste. All I can feel.

By the time the sun cracks through the curtains, I’m feverish and dying. Drowning in lust. I wait for as long as I possibly can, hours, it feels like hours, before getting up to use the bathroom to prep before Miller wakes so I don’t have to deal with his knowing looks and grateful glances.

I get back in bed, rousing a sleepy murmur from him as the mattress dips from my weight.

Miller wakes in a predictably good mood. He’s always chipper in the morning, and today is no different. If anything, he’s more chipper than usual.

“Aw, poor thing.” His voice is notably without sympathy as he pulls back the covers and witnesses my gargantuan erection. There’s no way to disguise it, so I don’t even try. “Are you horny, baby?”

“I’m…in a hurry. That’s all.”

“A hurry, huh?”

I realize my mistake instantly as Miller starts moving slowly. Slower than usual. He brushes my hair out of my face and places my arms, palms facing up, at the side of my head. I focus all my attention on the timber ceiling above me. Narrow, yellowed planks run horizontally. Small, dark knots in the grain cause a dappled effect that starts to rotate when I look at it for too long.

Miller is uncharacteristically quiet, completely silent except for the odd hum as he runs his hands over my body. It’s a light touch. So light it’s hardly even a touch. More like a suggestion. A hint. A slow, steady promise of what’s to come. Goosebumps erupt on my sides, quickly chased back and teased out again by soft fingertips and blunt nails. I try not to move, but my hands find their way under my pillow, fingers clasping handfuls of soft feathers, as the rest of me hardens beyond what I thought possible.

Miller crouches over me, legs astride my hips, still not touching. Not touching enough. Not nearly enough. He’s stark naked, with smooth skin and tightly wrapped muscle. Fuckboy perfection in human form. He watches his hands as they move over my body, lips quirking at the corners every time I quiver from his touch.

He takes his time untying my shorts, tugging at the tie, pulling it this way and that before yanking it loose. He takes even more time working my shorts off me. He tugs slowly, making sure the waistband scrapes down the length of my shaft, studying my face the whole time to see my reaction.

God, he’s making a meal out of it.

I do my best to lie completely still. My body and my face too. It takes every ounce of my strength and gives me plenty of time for regret. I regret many things. Many things, but most of all, I regret telling Miller MacAvoy I was in a hurry.

When I’m naked, he gets up and opens the curtains. It’s late. From the strength of the light, it looks like it’s around ten or eleven. Sun pours in, hitting tiny dust particles, refracting and sparking before bouncing off them. He comes back to the bed and kneels beside me, kissing me full on the lips but pulling away before my tongue finds his.

The urge to groan and attack him is strong.

I do my best to mask it with a smile I hope looks strictly professional.

His eyes dance as he breathes on my neck and my chest. He works his way down, igniting a rash of gooseflesh that wouldn’t go down even if he did have the decency to touch me the way I want to be touched. He blows on my nipples. Left and then right, and smiles when I can’t hold back the tremor that threatens. Air that’s been inside Miller washes my belly, splashing down lower and lower until his mouth is inches from my leaking erection. It pulses to get closer to him. He smiles at it like he’s looking into the eyes of a person he loves. It pulses again, and my hips shift even though I don’t mean for them to. He looks up at me. The look on his face hasn’t changed from before. It’s soft and gooey, and the next second, it’s not. It’s fire and heat wrapped in a scarily beautiful bow.

He breathes in and breathes out, exhaling a long, hot breath from the root of my cock all the way to my tip. The light sensation is maddening, infuriating enough to make me thrash and whimper into the sheets.

I fucking whimper.

His head tilts back and his lips peel apart. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he was waiting for.

“Come on.” He offers me a hand and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s get you fucked.”

I stumble along behind him, trying to keep up but badly curtailed by lust so thick my heart has to work double time to pump blood.

By the time I get to the living room, he’s placed the bar stool in the center of the living room on the shitty old rug. He looks pleased with his work. It takes my addled brain a while, but I get there eventually. The stool isn’t for sitting on. He said I wouldn’t be sitting. He said I wouldn’t need to. He said I’d be bent over or flat on my back.

I walk to the stool, gait wooden, and bend over it gingerly. Miller, ever helpful when it suits him, guides my hands to the bottom wrung of the stool and spreads my knees so my feet are on either side of the cane legs. He fusses with the cushion top, moving it so it perfectly pads my torso and there’s no risk of me slamming into anything but foam covered in worn floral cotton.

I’m humiliated, of course. There’s no getting around that, but fortunately, I’ve had so much exposure to the emotion recently that it doesn’t feel as bad as it used to. It feels almost normal to be naked and willfully exposing my asshole to Miller. It feels almost like a relief, knowing the waiting is over. I shift my feet, planting them firmly on the ground, and curl my fingers tightly around the smooth wrung of the stool. I close my eyes and wait for the first heady touch of Miller’s fingers against my hole.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, I hear cupboard doors opening and shutting and the unmistakable sound of a coffee maker being cranked up. I glare at Miller, unleashing the full force of my negative intention on him. He doesn’t flicker. Just keeps humming happily as he sets out two mismatched mugs and gets the cream out of the fridge. I shut my mouth and turn my head to face forward. If it wasn’t for the fact I’m completely unable to think about anything other than getting his cock inside me, I’m positive I’d be fantasizing about committing a serious act of violence against him.

Don’t you worry, I’m not going to beg. I’m not even going to ask nicely. I won’t do it. I’d cheerfully rather die than ask him to fuck me. And it’s a good thing, too, because Miller makes me wait until dying feels like a very, very real possibility.

By the time he comes over to me, I’m no longer the best version of myself. He runs his hand lightly along my spine, from my neck to my tailbone. It’s a light touch that turns me inside out all the same. I fight the urge to shudder for as long as I can, but the second he circles my hole, that fight is lost.

He takes his good goddamn time prepping me. He takes longer than he’s ever taken. Longer than he took the first time. Longer than any time since. A fingertip traces my entrance, drawing around it, probing it, teasing until my face burns with frustration and the room is vibrating from the rasping struggle to get air to my lungs. Nerve endings sing as he sinks into me. There’s no relief, though, only more torment, as he uses one finger only for so long the coffee goes cold and my temper reaches boiling point.

“Miller, you dick,” I groan.

“I know, baby, I know, but I have to take my time. Got to stretch you and take care of you before I wreck you, you know that. Got to make sure you’re ready so you can take what I’m going to give you.”

“I am ready.”

Oh, piss off. I’m stating a fact, not asking to get fucked.

He cups my balls, causing the skin to pucker and tug my balls closer to my body. He takes my dick in his hand and pulls it back so it’s pointed straight down instead of being wedged between my belly and the cushion beneath me. It’s an offhand, removed touch, almost clinical. I respond with a sound that is in no way hinged. Completely the opposite, if anything. It’s unhinged and proud of it.

A long string of precum oozes from my tip, dangling precariously but refusing to drop to the floor. I can feel it, and I don’t like it, but I can’t do a damn thing about it.

“Hey, ‘member back when we were starting this thing, and you wouldn’t let me make you come,” Miller smiles loudly. I don’t like the sound of that either. Not one little bit. “That was so hot.”

“It wasn’t.” I can tell Miller is distracted and veering down entirely the wrong path. He needs to be set straight. “It was…silly.”

“Yeah, ‘course it was silly,” he says agreeably. “But fuuuck, it was hot.”

He rolls my balls in his hand, still gentle but laced with the potent threat of more, drawing a line along my seam when he’s done with my balls. I shift my hips, blood pooling in my face until I can feel my pulse in my lips. I turn my head and press my lips against my shoulder, biting down when the temptation to speak gets too much.

The entire room is shaking by the time Miller’s dick makes contact with my hole. The relief is indescribable. The slow stretch. The deep sting. The burning sensation of his shaft prying me open. It’s incredible. He holds my hips and tunnels into me. His thrusts are long and true, like always, but there’s something removed about it. Almost impersonal. Don’t get me wrong, it still feels fucking personal, given it’s my guts that are being rearranged. It’s just that it feels different somehow, less close, less intense than usual. It takes me a while to register, and when I do, pure dread mixes with arousal so intense I cannot name it.

It’s good, and it’s different.

It’s good because it’s Miller. It’s his dick and my hole, so of course it’s good. It’s different because he isn’t fucking me, this isn’t for my pleasure. He isn’t grinding my gland, and he isn’t caressing me.

He’s using me.

He comes with a coarse shout and three jerky thrusts that force his load so deep inside me that, for a second, I think I can taste it. He pulls out without so much as touching my dick. I reel in shock from being taken like that, from the way he pulled out of me, and mostly, from the fact that if I thought I was turned on before, holy fuck was I wrong. I’m rampant now. Outside myself. I try to push myself up, but Miller eases me back down.

“No, no, baby, you stay right where you are. I’m going to have my coffee, and then I’ll put another load in you.”

To drive his point home, he lands three or four soft, sloppy slaps right on my hole. I grunt effusively as I take each one, legs giving way when the last one makes contact. I quickly correct and get back into position, legs open for access, head lowered for no reason other than the fact that it feels impossible to hold it high right now. Miller stands a few feet behind me, leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking his coffee and watching the slow trickle of his nut running down my inner thighs and splashing onto the rug.

As soon as he’s finished his coffee, he penetrates me again. He doesn’t ask for permission, and he gives me no warning other than a couple of soft grunts as he lubes himself up. It’s the same as before, though it lasts longer this time. His bulbous head drills a deep well into me, battering my ring and pummeling my insides. It’s heaven and hell rolled into one. I love it. I can”t get enough of it. My orgasm swells under my skin, expanding and stretching until there’s nothing left of me. I thrash against him, desperately throwing my hips back for more sensation, struggling as I try to reach between my legs and get hold of my cock. He’s quicker than me, and he’s at a distinct advantage due to the vulnerable position he has me in. He’s the one slapping my hands away now, and I can’t say I care for it.

“Miller,” I groan. I feel myself slipping, losing, giving in, and I don’t care. I don’t care at all. “Miller. Fuck. Please. Please. You said there’d be stars. You said…”

“What do you want, baby? Tell me. If you say the right thing, I’ll give it to you.”

“I want, I want to…” Come. I want to come, I want to come, I want to come. That isn’t the answer he wants though. I know it isn’t. The one he wants is harder to say, almost impossible, but with the right motivation, anything’s possible. Go ahead, ask me how I know that. “You. I want you. Please, God, I want you!” Oh Jesus, what’s happening? Now that I’ve said it, I can’t seem to stop. “You, Miller, please. Fuck, I want you.”

It’s the right answer.

He pulls me up by the back of my neck and holds me up with one arm under my armpits. I arch my back and drop my head back against him, a marionette with its strings cut, limp everywhere except for my dick. Trust me, that thing is far, far from limp. He holds his hand near my mouth, and when I fail to spit fast enough, he simply scoops up a little of the drool running down my face and uses that to stroke me. The way his fingers wrap around me is torture. It’s electric. Euphoric. My balls ache and my belly cramps as my muscle starts spasming around him. His touch is sure and decisive. Devastating in its efficiency. Almost surgical. My vision fades to black, and then bright bolts of yellow and white light up the room as Miller does exactly what he said he would do: he makes me see stars. Celestial bodies crash through space. Silent, fiery orbs of gas that have traveled light years to find me. Semen flies, spraying out of me in thick, sticky ribbons that Miller collects in his hand and later offers to me.

It’s a gift, so I accept it.

He drops to his knees behind me, holding my cheeks open and sighing happily until he finds what he’s looking for. The exact part of me he deems worthy of his mark. He sinks his teeth into the apple of my left ass cheek and gives it to me. This time, I see pink, purple, and red. It’s exquisite. Agony. Almost orgasmic.

It too is a gift.

So I accept it as well.

And though I’d deny it with my last breath, under my skin and deep in my bones, I might even be grateful for it.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. A blur of hands and cocks and mouths. At some point, Miller stops fucking me and makes me eat something. I’m shaking and furious about it. Afterward, he strokes me and blows me and waits for my body to function the way bodies do before they can be fucked again. He talks openly about it, and that makes me furious too. I hate that he knows me like this. Inside and out.

And motherfuck, I hate how some stupid part of me likes that someone finally got through my walls.

An even stupider part likes that it’s him.

The second day is more of the same. A close encounter with the bar stool that lasts for ages and sees Miller carve three more marks on my ass and thighs before we concede defeat and rest for a while. Most of the day is spent in bed or the shower. When our legs start to quake and we can’t make it from the shower to the bed, we roll around on the floor together.

By the time the light changes from late afternoon to twilight, I’m thirsty and ravenous, lightheaded and high from the excess of endorphins in my blood. I lie naked under the stars and eat my food from Miller’s fingers.

“What’s her name?” I slur, looking back at the cabin. The sad naked bulb in the kitchen is badly upstaged by a kaleidoscope of Christmas color that spills from the porch windows.

“Edith,” he replies without hesitation.

“Why Edith?”

“‘Cause Edith means prosperity.” I don’t ask for more information, but by now, we all know that in no way means Miller won’t freely volunteer it. “Edith is the start for us, Ry. She’s going to put us on the map.”

“Are you sure?” I side-step the crap about our future because I’m too spent to find it in myself to argue.

“Yeah.” He pushes me up to a half-sitting position and moves behind me so I’m leaning against his chest. “See that?” He indicates to the southwestern corner of the property.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Know what that is?”

“A clearing in the middle of goddamn nowhere,” I say with some confidence.

His smile wraps gently around my jugular. “No, baby. It’s more than that. It’s an access way. The only access way to a major, major development that’s currently in planning.”

“Huh?”

“Wanna know whose development it is?” As usual, he doesn’t wait for my answer. “Derek MacAvoy. My old man. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to buy Edith from me, or his entire development won’t get off the ground.”

“What?” I sit up unsupported and crane my head back.

“Yep.” He looks tired and unbearably happy. “Gonna make him pay through his nose to access his own land.”

It takes me a while to digest the news. As I do, Miller prattles on. Something about his dad being an asshole, and something about there being no possible way of getting through his whole life without being disinherited, the implication being that this course of action is calculated and sensible.

The way he explains it, it almost makes sense. It almost seems right. Almost, but not quite.

“You’re a monster, Miller. You know that?”

“I do.” He kisses my neck until my head rolls back. “But I’m your monster.”

For some reason, I find that very funny. I find it straight-up hilarious. Hysterical, really. I find it so funny that I fall back and curl onto my side as I laugh. Miller does too. We roll around laughing and then stop abruptly, taking each other’s cocks in our mouths, sucking gently. Sucking for the pleasure of having a dick inside us, for the comfort of having a full mouth and a warm cock. We stop and start for ages, forever, taking what we want and what we need. Giving each other as much as we can. It doesn’t end until the sky is alive, a canvas of light painted by magic, and worship, rather than orgasm, is our sole goal.

I wake bruised and aching. Aching down to my bones. My lower back protests from days spent excessively arching and my hamstrings squeal at the first hint of exertion. We don’t make it to the living room today. The cane stool stands dejected as I find myself on my back on the bed with my legs in the air, thoroughly and decadently used before I’ve had time to rub the sleep from my eyes. After I come, I find myself twisting, voluntarily lifting one hip, and marking the spot with a circle drawn with my finger, offering it to Miller and looking on as he takes it.

The cry that follows is piercing and proud.

A long while later, I find myself dragged down and bent over the edge of the bed, undergoing an inspection that would have been sure to result in death by mortification a few short weeks ago. Things being what they are now, I reach back with both hands and hold my cheeks open to give Miller a better view of my battered hole.

“You’re swollen and pink,” he says, easing a single digit out of me. “Almost completely wrecked, but not quite. One more fuck, and you’ll be done.”

As soon as he says it, I want it.

Of course, being Miller, he doesn’t give it to me. He makes me wait. He edges me until my mind is as wrecked as my body. Until I stop being a soul and muscle and bone. Until all that’s left of me is raw, grating need. He makes me wait all day. All afternoon and into the evening. He makes me wait until I’m writhing and begging, and I’m not in the slightest bit sorry about it. He makes me wait until he’s dripping with sweat and his face is bright red.

He’s no longer perfect. Even his hair has forgotten its place. It’s knotted now and sticking wetly to his forehead.

He’s no longer pretty, but he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

He’s on his back, and I sit astride him so I can control the depth and speed when he finally enters me. Still, the pain is unreal. I’m broken, battered, better and worse than I’ve ever been. It’s physical, sure, but it’s more. There’s a hole in my soul, and I can’t tell if Miller made it or if it’s always been there and he’s just the first person to try and fill it.

As soon as I come, the pain doubles. It’s pain in my soul, not pain in my body, and I know it has the power to break me. I can’t stand it. I can’t survive it. It’s panic and fear that it”s over. It’s the fist in my chest, wrapped all around me, and it’s squeezing the life out of me. I can’t breathe. I can’t get air. I can’t. I can’t inhale or exhale. I can’t breathe unless I’m joined with Miller.

It’s the end.

I know it’s the end.

It has to be the end.

I’ve known since the beginning that it has an end date. I’ve known all along this isn’t real. It’s a dream or a nightmare. I can’t always tell which, but one thing I know for sure is that it isn’t real. Things like this don’t happen. They don’t happen to anyone, but most especially, they don’t happen to me. I know that completely. I believe it. I know it’s ending, and it’s right for that to happen. I need it to. I need to go back to normal and work out who I am once I’ve managed to dust myself off. I want that. I’m ready. I’m ready to do the work.

I’m just not ready yet. Not yet.

“Again,” I say when he slips out of me. “Again.”

“No, baby. No more. You’re done. You can’t take anymore. You’re sore and inflamed. I’ve wrecked you. I said I would, and I have, but I won’t ruin you. I won’t make you hate me no matter how much you want to.”

“Noooo!” It’s a howl that turns into a roar. “I-I can’t. We can’t. One more, I need one more time.” I’m lost to reason, rocking my hips frantically against him, desperate to ride life back into his cock.

He looks up at me and opens portals to places I’d never have believed existed if he hadn’t shown them to me. He reaches up and strokes my cheek gently, holding me there, in between galaxies and worlds. Then he smiles and pushes me up, away from him, gaining a little space and using it to roll over onto his belly. I look down in amazement. Shock and amazement. Shock, wonder, and amazement.

Miller’s back is broad, his face is turned to the side, looking back at me over his shoulder. For once, there’s no hint of a smile on his face. He arches his back, lengthening the line of his spine, drawing my eye down his back and up the curve of his ass. My legs tense, clamping him tightly between them when I feel the softness of two globes of flesh between my legs.

This is it. The last thing. The one thing I said I’d never do. And this thing I meant. I really meant it. I meant it with my whole heart. My whole chest.

My reasoning was sound. An addiction, that’s what I told myself. Miller MacAvoy is an addiction waiting to happen. I’ve tried to be sensible. I’ve tried to keep him at bay. I’ve done my best. His eyes track me slowly, and a heavy hand reaches back and sweeps up and down my thigh, and like that, I know I’ve lost. I know I’m going to give in. I know I’m going to spend years, possibly decades, possibly the rest of my life trying to get out of the hole I’m digging for myself right now.

I know it’s a mistake. It’s the opposite of sensible.

It’s going to make leaving tomorrow much harder.

I watch, almost removed, as my hands glide over his skin. He’s paler than me, his ass milky beneath my hands. My fingers sink into his flesh, kneading it, kissing it, tasting it until it pinkens under my touch. I taste him too. I spread him and suck him and taste him until he’s tensing and moaning into the mattress. One finger sinks into him, pressing glistening lube into his hole. I watch in amazement as it disappears. His ass suckles on my finger, swallowing it sweetly, tugging at it until I give him another.

For once, Miller is quiet. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. He communicates with sounds, with hands that rake the bedding and hard muscles that cord in his back. I understand every word.

Despite what our bodies have been through, both of us are wired. We’re live. Rock-hard and charged. He shifts his hips, lifting his hole to accommodate me, as I open his legs and kneel between them. He’s warm and tight, strangling the life out of my cock as I ease my head into him. It drowns me. It flows up my cock and through my balls. It beats in my chest and radiates outward. It’s pure pleasure. Pleasure with no hint of pain. And yet I ache. I ache from the beauty of him. From the beauty of what we’re doing. And mostly, I ache from the fact it’s ending.

He cries out beneath me, eyes slamming shut, teeth gritted hard, grunting and groaning as he takes the very thing he’s given me time after time.

When we’ve both come, he rolls over, eyes damp and unfocused as they find me. His chest is still heaving, lines and indents casting shadows with each spasmodic exhale. He lets his hands drop back in surrender, offering me swathes of smooth skin.

This, too, I understand. I choose with care, fully aware that while my body is covered with more marks than I can count, this will be the only one I ever give him.

A silky spot near his navel calls to me. There’s a light freckle above it. The North Star to my planet. I stroke the spot gently, kissing it lightly, rubbing my lips back and forth until his ribs rise up to greet me.

When it’s done, when he’s screamed and his skin has turned pink and purple and red like mine, he looks up at me and smiles drunkenly. I hear my own words in his voice, worn and beaten, better and worse than usual, as they distantly echo the same words I’ve heard myself saying the last few times he marked me.

“Thank you, baby.”

I lean over him, licking into his mouth until the fog lifts.

He senses the change and tries to stop it, holding on to my arms to trap me. “Ryan.” He pulls himself up as I start moving away. “Ryan, I lo—”

“Don’t,” I snap, covering his mouth with my hand. “Don’t say that.”

When I’m able, and I’m sure I’ve extinguished his words completely, I go to the bathroom. On the way back, I riffle through my bag to find a pair of sweatpants. Miller’s face is unlike anything I’ve seen as he watches me pulling them on. Impassive and helpless. Frightened. Steel-gray wide, nostrils flaring.

I hate it. It upsets me and enrages me more than I can say. It unsettles me badly. It turns me upside down, shaking whatever it is in me that acts as my very foundation.

I get into bed and roll onto my side, away from him, careful to ensure I stay on my side of the bed. Miller moves closer, reaching out and putting a hand around my waist. That enrages me too. It makes me so angry it hurts. I take his hand in mine, holding it for a second because, for once, I don’t want to be rude, and then I place it gently on the bed away from me.

Instead of taking the hint and giving me space, Miller moves closer, all but crushing me with the weight of his body.

“It’s midnight, Miller. It’s done.”

His voice is thin and feels like it finds me through a thick wall of brick and mortar. “It isn’t over. It doesn’t have to be.”

The rage that insights in me is instant and explosive. It propels me out of bed and onto my feet. My heart is thudding with fury, my hands hot, and spittle flies as I speak. “Of course it’s over. And of course it has to be.”

A bank of sadness ripples in his eyes and his bottom lip trembles as it starts overflowing. “You could stay. You could, you could choose to stay. You could stay because you want to. Or, or, I could buy you again.”

Red hot turns white and then blue. Blood sizzles and runs cold.

“You can’t actually buy people. You know that, right?”

There’s a pause. “Yeah, I know.”

“You say that, but I’m not sure you do ‘cause you act like…”

“I do know that!” Miller says with more heat than I was expecting. “Of course I fucking know that! I know because if it was possible, I wouldn’t have a cent to my name, and you would be mine.”

His words rattle my brain, cracking concrete footing and solid steel beams. I move fast, almost running, crashing into the doorway in my rush to get away from him.

“Ryan, stay! We can try. Stay, and we can make something of this. Something good. We can make something good out of this.”

“Nothing good ever comes from one person paying to fuck another!” I bellow so loudly the roof of the cabin creaks.

I lock myself in the bathroom and sit on the floor, leaning against the tub as Miller bangs on the door.

“Open the door, Ryan! For fuck’s sake, open the door.” I don’t move, and for a long time, neither does he. I hear his breathing through the door, raspy and heaving until it slows. At last, he says, “I’ve put a blanket out here for you. Use it if you want to sleep in the bathroom like a dumbass. I’ll be in bed waiting for you if you get your head out of your ass and decide to let yourself be happy.”

I stay where I am until, eventually, I topple onto my side on the floor. Despite the fact it’s a warm night, I shiver whenever I open my eyes and see where I am. I physically ache. I feel like I’ve been run through by a freight train. My chest is a big gaping hole. The fist has been victorious. It’s reached into me at last and ripped out the beating, bleeding organ it’s sought out for years.

Far from relishing its victory or even celebrating, it takes me by the jugular now and clenches hard. Shooting pain sparks where my jaw and neck meet. It’s vicious and sharp. A long probe. A steel blade that makes my eyes sting.

The entire time, the whole night, I repeat the same thing. The one thing I know. The thing I told Miller. The thing that’s obvious and has always, always been true.

Nothing good starts like this.

Nothing good starts like this for me.

Nothing like this happens to me.

I wake, still shivering, to the deep rumble of a car engine. It’s shocking on many levels. In one way, it’s shocking that there are other people nearby, people who know about this place and know how to find it. It’s shocking that while we’ve been here, life has gone on. People still exist. Reality is still a thing too. But most of all, it’s shocking because, at some point in my stay here, I completely and utterly forgot what I came for.

A car.

That seems insane now.

Everything seems insane.

I wait in the bathroom until I hear the sound of another vehicle leaving, and then I take a long shower before getting dressed and packing my things. Miller is in the kitchen in blue jeans and a black T-shirt, complete with sneakers and a whiff of cologne. That’s a shock too. People still wear clothes. Miller still wears clothes. And shoes. And cologne. It’s not just the clothes that are a shock. It’s the look on his face. He looks like he’s aged. He’s gone hard around the mouth. Haunted under the eyes. His hair is back where it belongs, swept off his face, not a strand out of place. Pompous perfection with fine platinum highlights.

“Your car’s here,” he says after an uncomfortable silence. When I don’t answer, he holds out the keys. I take the three leaden steps required to get to him and open my palm. He drops the keys into it and covers my hand with his, curling my fingers tightly around the key. “Wanna see it?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly. “I mean, sure. That’s…what I came for.”

I blink, stepping onto the porch, allowing my eyes the time they need to adjust to the harsh glare of the outside world. Of a new day. Of reality.

There, parked in the clearing Miller and I worshipped each other in, is my new car. It’s overly shiny, look-at-me red, with long swoopy lines and sporty tires. A Dodge Challenger SXT. It’s ridiculous. It’s impractical.

It’s my boyhood dream come to fruition.

A laugh as big as the sky rips out of me without any warning. It doubles me over, weakening me until I can hardly stand.

“You, you got me an asshole car?” I say when I can.

He has both hands in his pockets. A single shoulder rises, dragging one side of his mouth up with it. “I mean, if the shoe fits.”

That threatens to double me over too, but the look in his eyes knocks the wind out of me. It feels like it did in the beginning when we first met. When we were two people who knew nothing about each other, two people sizing each other up. It’s like that, except now we’re two people who know everything about each other.

I put my bag in the trunk and walk around the car a couple of times, looking at it while Miller talks at length about things like fuel consumption, torque, and zero to sixty. Things I usually care deeply about but find hard to take in right now.

“Ryan,” he says when there’s nothing else left to say. “I regret it. I regret everything.” He breathes in slowly, holds it, and lets it out slowly. “And I regret nothing.”

“Sounds about right,” I reply because, as usual, I have to have the last word. I don’t say I know. I don’t say I understand. And I certainly don’t say I feel the same way.

He shows me his palms like he always does, open and threateningly unthreatening, and I go to him. I stop inches from him and drop my head down, resting my forehead against his shoulder like I’ve done once before. He circles me in his arms, and I gulp big, desperate lungfuls of him. I move my lips against the soft skin on his neck. I make them mouth Thank you without letting any sound out. When I try to step back, he cages my head in his hands, long fingers carding my hair as he leans down and kisses my cheek. I close my eyes as he speaks directly into my ear.

“I love you, Ryan,” he says, kissing me again. This time, his lips press against my temple. “It’s the truth. It’s my truth, whether you believe it or not.”

He releases me before I’m ready to let go, slicing through a thick cord between us, and doesn’t say a word as I open the driver’s door and get in. The door shuts and my safety belt clicks. The engine roars to life, awakening a trapped metal beast. I put my foot on the gas cautiously, trying to rein the beast in or at least let it out slowly. I feel like a man playing myself in a movie. An actor. Someone I’m outside of. Someone empty inside. I watch myself as if from above, as I hold the wheel at ten and two and the landscape starts passing me by.

I’m nervous, obviously. The fist is pounding against my sternum, obviously. It’s beating like a drum. It’s exhilarating driving a brand-new car, but it’s terrifying too. Kind of like driving a newborn baby home for the first time. Everything is exaggerated around me. Trees, rocks, and even the gate post at the end of the drive. All of them are fraught with danger and the possibility of causing carnage.

Don’t do it. I tell myself not to. I tell myself over and over, don’t do it, don’t do it, but a deep voice inside me insists. It commands it. As I stop at the gate at the end of the drive, instead of looking left or right for oncoming traffic, I adjust the rearview mirror and look back.

The sky is blue, the grass is green, and the cabin still looks about to fall down. Miller is still outside. His tiny figure is sitting on the bottom step of the porch, knees bent, one hand lying limp at his side, the other sweeping semi-circles under his eyes. The fist in my chest releases, carefully extricating itself from my chest, opening its palm at its leisure, and slaps me so hard in the face my ears ring.

It takes me less than a second to recover. I gasp, sucking a massive breath. A big breath, a huge breath, the life-affirming breath of a man who’s been underwater for most of his life.

I stomp on the clutch, gears grating loudly until I find reverse, and then I step on the gas. There’s no caution now. No exaggeration. No fear of carnage. No fear at all. The vehicle screams into motion, hurtling back at Miller only knows how many miles per hour.

Gravel flies as a huge cloud of dust is kicked up around me. Miller grows bigger and bigger in the mirror until he’s life-sized, and the second he is, I slam on the brakes and throw myself from the vehicle. I leave the door open, engine still running, as I fly into his arms.

I beat at his chest, tearing at his T-shirt. “Stop that!” I yell, wiping his face angrily. “Stop it! You’re Miller fucking MacAvoy. No one makes you look like that.”

There’s a painful swallow and the start of a slow, uncertain smile. “Not even you?”

I wind my arms around his neck, crushing him to me, feeling his heart beat against mine. Both hearts racing. Beating in time. The dust settles around us, slowing things down. I pull away just enough to face him, to look into his beautiful eyes.

“Especially not me.”

His smile changes. Sun cracks through the clouds. Steel glints and starts glowing. In the distance, I hear angels weep. “Especially not you, huh? How come?”

The fucker. He’s going to make me say it. He’s Miller, so of course he’s going to make me say it. I roll my eyes and shake and nod my head at the same time. He tightens the arm he has around my waist and slides his other hand up my chest, and like that, I breathe easy.

“‘Cause I love you, you dick.”