12. Byrd

12

Byrd

I think I'm going crazy.

Echo on his knees, mouth begging to be fucked.

Ican'tIcan'tIcan't.

I can.

"I can't." I'm crouched in front of him, running my hands over his hair, his face, his neck, and he's closing his eyes, head falling back. And then he stands, pushing away, away, away, and walks to his room without a word.

I make him dinner and bring it to his room. He's sitting on the bed, watching something on his phone, wearing headphones that he doesn't take off when I enter.

"Thanks," he says. "I'll do the dishes." And then ignores me while I hover in the doorway, torn.

When he emerges, I flee up the stairs to my own room and spend an agonized half hour listening to the water running and pots banging and the clink of plates being fitted into the dishwasher.

Now the house is quiet, and I'm lying in the dark, slowly losing my mind .

Fifteen years and a half-dozen lovers, and it's always been me on my knees.

Gabriel was the first, needy and perpetually unattainable, even when I thought he was mine. Lara was the last, fragile and weighed down by her fears, always looking for reassurance.

And now Echo—vital, immediate, real— offering something I never knew I wanted. Am I brave enough to take it? Am I foolish enough to keep pretending I can resist?

"Have you ever just taken what you wanted?"

"You need to learn to be selfish every once in a while."

Will Reggie forgive me if I betray her trust to take her advice? Will Echo forgive me if— when —he finds out I loved his brother first? Do I even care anymore, when my body is an anguished roil of need, sweating in my sheets and shivering in my cool, dark room?

It's after midnight when I swing open his door and step through into a dream.

Echo is sprawled on his stomach, angelic by moonlight with his face pressed into the curve of a bicep and the sheets low on his hips. With a deep breath, I lower myself next to his pillow, my fingers hovering between the sharp angles of his shoulder blades like I could touch his vanished wings.

He stirs when the mattress shifts beneath my weight, turning his face toward me and opening his eyes. There's no surprise. No recoil or rush of breath. He looks at me like he's been waiting to wake and find me in his bed. All his vibrant color is bled away, leaving him a creature of liquid and shadow, sleep-soaked and warm, and I drop my hand to his back and brush along his spine until my fingers tangle in his hair.

Without a word, he throws an arm across my waist before tugging me closer and shifting to bury his face in my lap. A low, drowsy hum rumbles in his throat, vibrating over my groin and frying my last remaining brain cells. Heat pools everywhere his bare skin touches mine—the inside of his elbow curled around my hip, the smooth contour of his chest against my thigh, his ear brushing along my abdomen above the elastic of my briefs. His breath is hot through the thin cotton as he nuzzles my cock, and my fist tightens in his hair.

He rolls his own hips lazily into the bed, the sheet slipping to reveal half his naked ass, and the sight of the pale skin and round flexing muscle sends me back onto the pillows with a groan.

Echo lifts his gaze at the sound, rubbing his jaw lazily over the swollen head of my cock as he takes in my expression.

"You done saying no?" he asks, voice husky with sleep.

"Yes." I brush my thumb over his lips, and he catches it between his teeth, swirling his tongue around the pad. It's enough to have me thrusting beneath him, grinding my cock against his throat and into the hollow under his jaw.

He grins, a white flash in the dim, before dropping his head to lick along the groove at my hip. I run my hands over his silky shoulders, kneading the firm muscles as he works his way across my abs with wet, sucking kisses and trailing teeth.

When he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my shorts and exposes my hard length, I go still, irrationally shy under his dark, heated gaze. His breath breaks free in a rough sigh, feathering over the sensitive skin.

"Wow," he whispers, gifting me another grin. "This is going to be fun."

It starts slow, with his tongue teasing circles over the delicate ridge beneath my crown and trailing down the thick vein to suck gently on the softer skin at the root. His free hand skims over my hip and up my ribs, pausing to tug gently at my nipple before continuing its exploration .

The heat of his mouth is tantalizing, his hair tickling my inner thighs, and I'm strung taut with barely contained urgency, one fist in the pillow at my head and the other frantic in his hair. It's unexpected and maddening, this languid torture when always before, he's been riot and need.

"Echo." It's a warning growl that rises from the dark corners of desire. He swirls his tongue once more around the head of my cock and raises his eyes to mine, mischief and moonlight dancing in the blue.

"Need something?" He wraps his fingers around my base and squeezes, far too gently.

"You know what I need." My voice is almost unrecognizable, low and dangerous. A shudder runs through him, and he flicks his tongue against my slit.

"So take it."

It's challenge and sass and retribution , and he watches me, lips parted, while I fit the pieces together in my lust-addled brain.

Be selfish.

The fist in his hair tightens, and my other hand drops to cover his, feeding him my cock with one invading thrust, until the blunt head hits the back of his tongue and he starts to suck in earnest.

And holy fucking hell if my soul doesn't leave my body for a second before crashing back to relish every gluttonous, carnal second of Echo's slick, wet throat constricting around my flesh.

It's been years since I've had anything but Lara's perfunctory mouth on my dick, and this is altogether different—rough and messy and entirely erotic, my fingers threaded in his hair, my body clenching from ass to abs as I try to keep from driving into his mouth and ending it too soon .

" Fuck, y ou feel good." I'm mesmerized by the bob of his ebon head and the way he swirls up my cock with his whole body, rutting into the sheets every time he dives back down like he's the one being driven wild. Saliva coats his fingers, and he releases the base of my shaft with a final squeeze, tugging lightly on my balls before trailing a finger into the crease of my ass. When he presses against my tight rim, I lose what's left of my control, fucking into his mouth as my rhythm dissolves and I clutch at his skull, locking him against me.

"I'm gonna come," I warn through gritted teeth, with no intention of letting him go. And then he fucking purrs, a low rumble that starts in his chest and vibrates through every inch of my buried cock until it hits the tight coil of my balls, and I'm done, pulsing and arching and roaring my release while he swallows me down.

"Jesus Christ," I gasp, once my brain can form words again. "Don't you have a gag reflex?"

"Mmm." He climbs up my spent and quaking form to plant a kiss in the hollow of my throat and grind his erection against my thigh. "We train that shit out as baby twinks these days." Another kiss, nipping at my jaw. "Didn't you ever practice on dildos as a kid?"

"No, Christ. You really are a deviant."

"Lucky for you." He licks along my lower lip until I open to his questing tongue, and he feeds me the taste of my own undoing.