26. Byrd

26

Byrd

" F ucking fuck ." Echo steps out of the handstand with less than his usual grace and collapses, flopping over onto his back at my feet. "I get why Reggie's pissed at you ," he grumbles, "but why is she punishing me? She's the one who decided to trap me in an isolated mansion with a hot-as-fuck rope god. What did she think was gonna happen?"

"Feeling a little petulant?" I smirk down at him, admiring the sheen of sweat on his bare torso and the succulent pout of his lips. He's adorably bratty today, and it probably shouldn't turn me on as much as it does, but I've given up rational thought where he's concerned.

"I'm feeling frustrated ." He squints up at me. "I haven't gotten laid in almost three days, and my hand is too sore and tired from these stupid handstands to jerk off."

Reggie sent the skill list for Echo's evaluation the morning after I came clean, and I've been running him through the requirements nonstop to make sure he's ready. I'm not worried about the rope portion—five compulsory skills he's going to nail with no problem and a list of ten recommended tricks to choose another five from. The list also includes some basic acro moves, which Echo says are all pulled from his original audition video and has been able to demonstrate with reasonable confidence out on the lawn. Once he's on the spring floor at the gym, he should be more than fine.

The last set Reggie's requesting is three handstands: a kick-up, a press, and a one-minute hold against the wall. All three should be in Echo's wheelhouse, based on his prior training, but handstands put a ton of pressure on his wrist and the small muscles that support the bones of his hand. It's a good way to measure his recovery, and I don't think it's meant as a punishment, but after watching him struggle all morning, it's starting to feel like one.

"We can take a break." I lower myself to the floor next to him and take his hand, massaging the sore muscles as I lean back against the couch. He moans in pleasure, snuggling closer to rest his head on my thigh. "Feel like getting out of the house for a bit?"

"I was thinking about a different kind of training." He turns his head and sinks his teeth into my jean-clad inner thigh. "Two hours of you hovering over my ass spotting me is giving me all kinds of dirty ideas." He raises his eyes to mine and bats his smoky lashes. "Three days , Byrd."

"Poor baby," I murmur, but not in protest. It's well-established at this point that being around Echo has destroyed any restraint maturity might have gained me over the years. As soon as I stopped fighting the inevitable, it became painfully obvious that I am completely gone over this man. My heart is a shipwreck waiting to happen, and I can't make myself care. "I'm not sure you need any more ‘training' in that area, but I'm happy to put you through your paces if you're feeling deprived." I move one hand from his wrist to his hair, tugging in that way that exposes the pale line of his throat and leaves him gasping .

"The training part is for you," he pants, rolling up onto his knees and sucking my lower lip into his mouth.

"Mm-hmm?" I chase the kiss, tightening my grip at the base of his skull before he can pull away. His lips part and melt molten under my invading tongue. Yeah, three days is definitely pushing it. My heart is beating hard, its echo a heavy throb in my thickening cock. "What did you have in mind?" I ask, pulling back enough to breathe the words across his lips. Personally, I'm thinking how pretty he'll look with rug burns on his knees and my cum dripping out of his ravaged hole, but after that, I could be up for anything his deviant mind desires.

"How many times have you had my fingers inside you?" he asks, and despite the heat of the words, he's not teasing now.

"A few." Not that I don't enjoy it, but I can never hold myself back for long without taking over, turning the pleasure back on him and the way he lets me play his body like my favorite instrument.

"And never more than two at a time. What about on your own? Ever tried taking a dildo?"

"Um, a long time ago."

"In a galaxy far, far away." He rolls his eyes. "Before Lara, I'm guessing?"

I shrug. The more time I spend with Echo, the deeper I understand the tragedy of my formative sexual years under Gabriel's tutelage. Sex was about making him feel good—the teacher with the never-quite-explained assignment and the student who always fell shy of the perfect mark. It was brutal to brush the edge of rapture but never quite capture it, always wondering what more I could find to give. Over the years, I made myself very, very good at reading the language of pleasure in other people's bodies. As if by filling them all the way up, that rapture might spill over into me, but I never took much time to learn the language of my own.

I told Echo there was no magic in my bedroom skills, and it wasn't a lie, whatever he believes. But there is magic between us—magic that comes from him and the miracle of how he wakes to me. With his constant, fearless heart, and his body so wide open, his rapture fills me up a thousand times over every time we touch.

So yes, most of our encounters involve me turning him inside out and piecing him back together, all the while both knowing who's really in control.

"You need practice." He smirks at me, stroking his cock lazily and no doubt reading my last thoughts. "You think if I get three fingers inside you, that will prepare you for taking this cock?"

My eyes drop to the hand wrapped around his erection, thick and straining in his thin joggers, a wet circle of precum spreading from the tip.

"Maybe four?" I arch my eyebrows at him, and he rewards me with a wicked grin.

"Four?" He drags his tongue across his fingertips and brings them to my lips, forcing them inside until I'm sucking on all four long fingers. The calloused texture is so different from the silk of his cock, but when he twists deeper, the strain in my jaw is familiar, as is the brief flare of euphoric panic when he presses against the back of my tongue and I struggle to pull in air through my nose. Right before I choke, he pulls them back, glistening with my saliva, and uses them to coat his now exposed shaft, teasing over the thick head. "Practice," he says again, in a low tone that sends electricity straight to the spot behind my balls. "And it's my turn to play coach."

He sends me to my room with the slightly ominous promise of gathering "supplies." And I climb the steps slowly, trepidation and excitement beating feathered wings in concert behind my ribs.

Gabe never wanted to top me, and at the time, I never questioned it. Knowing him now through Echo's eyes, I think his bravado couldn't risk appearing less than perfect, or how it might have changed the way I looked at him to fall short of his own demands. The only guy who ever did ask—a two-week hookup on tour in Germany—I turned down, too unsure of what we meant to each other to offer up that vulnerability, even in my curiosity. But Echo… Is this what love feels like when it's bound with trust?

He enters the room already naked, because, god, this man was built to be bare before the angels that made him. He has a blue TheraBand—medium weight—dangling from the fingers of one hand.

I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, still in my jeans and T-shirt, hands fisted in the covers at my sides.

"Nervous?" he asks, amusement and something else, something predatory, alight in his cobalt eyes.

"A little." I give him every truth I can, poor penance for the one huge secret still hidden.

Soon.

After the evaluation. We can't hurt him until he's free to choose.

He moves to stand between my thighs, dropping the TheraBand on the mattress and slipping his fingers up under my shirt.

"Arms up." He strips me like a child. Like a lover. Slow and gentle, with his eyes locked on mine and his hands brushing lightly over each inch of newly exposed skin. I shiver under the weight of his attention, chills along my flesh warring with the mounting heat inside. When I'm fully exposed, he kisses me—a soft press of satin lips against my trembling mouth—and steps back with a smile .

"On your stomach," he commands, still in that gentle tone, so at odds with the blue flame of his eyes. "Arms over your head."

I obey. I don't think I'll ever say no to him again, my well of resistance drained dry in the futile battle against his fire. I press my face into the pillow and close my eyes as he climbs up my body to kneel astride my shoulders. When he leans forward and reaches for my hands, his dick drags through the loose tumble of my hair, and we both moan.

"Fuck," he whispers, losing himself for a moment to grind against the back of my head. The pillow smothers me under the pressure, but I don't fight it, my own hips rolling into the rough linen duvet, chasing friction over breath. When he releases me to begin binding my wrists in the thick elastic TheraBand, I turn my head, sucking in air and staring at the smooth slope of his inner thigh, inches from my head.

He uses a simple figure eight to capture both my wrists and then loops the slack through one of the slats in the headboard and ties it off. There's enough stretch in the band that I can pull my arms down about six inches before the loops on my wrists get tight enough to cut off my circulation, and the thick rubber is smooth and cool against my skin. It's improvised and barely restrictive—if I wanted, I could use one hand to free the other and be loose in seconds.

And yet, somehow, it changes everything.

My breath is coming quick and sharp as he slides back down my body, this time teasing every inch with his heat and hard muscle.

"You okay?" he asks, a low purr against my ear. His hands stroke along the undersides of my arms, soothing and barely shy of tickling with the slightest brush of his blunt nails.

I want to ask him to go easy on me .

I want to beg him to wreck my body like he's already wrecked my heart.

All I can manage is a nod.

"Need a safeword?" Now the amusement is clear in his voice.

"Do I?" What the fuck is he planning?

"Probably not. This is only practice , after all. But I should warn you, I'm gonna edge you until you can't think straight before I let you come around my four fingers. And that is punishment for depriving me these last couple of days."

"Oh fuck." I bury my face in the pillow again, and my cock leaks onto the linen.

"That's a terrible safeword," he teases. "It's supposed to be something you don't normally scream during sex."

"Brat," I grit out, but my shoulders shake with a suppressed chuckle.

"I can work with that." He sits up and smacks me on the ass, not quite hard enough to sting but enough to turn my mirth into a moan. " Really? "

I'm glad my face is hidden so he can't see me blush. The second spank is harder, leaving heat behind like a brand, and even as I flinch, I'm already arching back into the promise of his touch.

"Oh, Byrd." The next sensation is the soft rasp of his stubbled jaw along the pinkened flesh. "Maybe we really do need to get you a safeword."

I shake my head. Too much . He's barely started, and it's already too much. It's like the day he climbed into my lap in the truck and all my walls evaporated in half a second of blue hair and the pressure of his hand on my thigh. " Break for me ," he whispered, and I did.

He's been inside me ever since .

I'm bracing for another slap when he spreads my cheeks and runs his tongue up my crack from the base of my balls to my rim. I come off the bed with a shuddered sigh, and he hums against the sensitive flesh.

"Oh fuck ," I say again, and he bites into the inner slope of one cheek above the crease of my thigh so my balls go tight and I squirm away from him.

"Told you," he murmurs, and then sucks on the spot, soothing the marks left by his teeth with the heat of his mouth. He trails the tip of his tongue lightly across to the other side, dipping briefly to flutter against my hole, before repeating the whole bite-suck-flutter on the other side. The warring sensations have me alternately thrusting into the mattress and arching up to chase his mouth. The rough fabric of the duvet is soaked with my precum, a delicious chafe along my cock that borders on pain, and the unfamiliar feeling of being toyed with is wringing little growls of frustration from my chest.

When he hauls my hips up off the bed, I almost whine at the loss of sensation on my cock, but then he spears my entrance with his tongue, and it turns to a gasp. He threads one arm between my thighs, wrapping over my hip and splaying his long fingers over my ass, holding me still and spread open for his questing tongue. His other hand tugs lightly on my sac, rolling my balls gently in a warning grip.

And his mouth— holy fuck, his fucking mouth . With all the times I've had my dick inside it, I thought I knew the depth of that slick heat. Now I'm being invaded, and all the hot, wet, hard-soft textures are focused in one small place that feels like everywhere , lapping and sucking and plundering until too much becomes not enough. I'm pressing shamelessly back into him, trying to fuck myself on his tongue. My hands tug at their elastic restraints in a mindless, desperate bid to touch my weeping cock.

"Echo. Baby ." I'm trying to growl, but my voice is a hoarse plea, ignored by the sadistic nymph with my balls in his hand. Right when I think I might actually tear the slat from the bed frame, he tightens his grip, and the sharp jolt of pain has me clenching on his tongue. Immediately, he pushes back, delving even deeper, and slides his dangerous hand up the length of my cock to squeeze the head.

I collapse on the bed, driving my cock into his palm as my knees give out with a shudder.

He lets me fall, trailing kisses up my spine as I rut into his hand, seconds from what is sure to be one of the most insane orgasms of my life. But as soon as I start to swell in his grip, he pulls away, leaving me bereft of sensation. When I grind against the bed, his hand comes down on my ass again, the hardest slap yet, and I grunt, jerking in my restraints.

"Ow," I complain, drunk on desire and ripped from the edge of release to the startle of pain.

"No coming yet," he chides, his fingers gliding over the hurt, cool this time and slippery with lube. When did that happen ? "Four fingers, remember?" He leans in close and tugs my chin around, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I offered three, but you said four. Now you're gonna take everything you asked for."

I'm loose and heavy, almost drugged. His words wash over me, but I can't catch enough meaning to be afraid.

Only the fragments of his beauty taste real—a smear of blue like neon through mist, the midnight lust of bright eyes blown dreamless, the halo shine of white skin eclipsing lines of hieroglyphic ink along a curve of bicep. I blink, and he's kissing me, deep and thorough, the inexorable force of his tongue in my mouth creating an echo— Echo —of another invasion. Between one heartbeat and the next, I'm back on the brink, groaning into his mouth and fighting to keep still on the bed.

He pins me with his weight, settling the slick curve of his cock between my cheeks. With one hand tangled in my hair and the other firm on my hip, he rides me for his own pleasure, sliding roughly along my crease.

"Fuck, Byrd," he grunts. "It's gonna feel so fucking amazing when I finally bury myself in this perfect ass."

"Yes," I gasp, trying to arch into him, each drag of his thick head over my rim exquisite torture. The throb in my sac has climbed my spine, lodged now in my throat, escaping in rough grunts. He chases his orgasm, and I cry out the moment his hot cum spills over my lower back.

Did he come on my face?

No, those hot tracks are tears.

"Shhh," he whispers. "I've got you."

He smears his fingers through his cum and slips one down to tease my hole. " One ." He pushes gently past the first ring of muscle, and I'm too gone to resist. All I feel is eager. "Oh, good boy ." I can hear the smile in his voice as he sinks the rest of the way inside, curling slightly to brush against my prostate, and I forget my own name.

" Echo ." His name, I can remember.

" Two ." The second finger burns but melts almost immediately into that feeling of full, of more. This time, he scissors them, twisting and stretching, and my ass comes off the bed as my fists curl in the pillow.

"More. Please more." My voice is a low rasp, beyond pleading, dredged from the ache at the base of my dick. The rough pulse of Echo's breathing beats in my ears, matching my own.

" Three ."

I'm dying. This is what it feels like to fall into heaven .

There's pain. Pain like the fire of his palm on the curve of my ass. Pain like Echo on his knees, begging me to take .

Pain like falling in love when you least expect it.

He takes his time now, and his other hand comes around to stroke my neglected, sobbing cock, swirling the precum lazily over my crown. He pinches the tip and runs his tongue up through the mess on my spine, and I open with a sigh. Lapping me clean, he pumps his fingers to the rhythm of my heart until I'm rocking into his hands and my orgasm builds again in the space between each frantic beat.

I'm so close. I hear the words " four, four, four " and realize I'm chanting under my breath. His tongue is between my shoulder blades now, and he kisses each crest of my spine, a scrape of teeth and suction that echoes in my dick.

And then suddenly, he's gone, hands and teeth and weight lost to the weeping edges of my skin.

" Echo ." I tug on the forgotten restraints and curl my toes against the duvet and wonder if I'm broken.

"Turn over," he says, and his voice does profane things to my overstimulated nerve endings.

Somehow, I manage to rally my trembling muscles and roll onto my back, squinting in the sun that streams through the skylight to paint Echo's image in green and gold.

"Still with me?" His smile is dreams and demons, and I have no answer but please .

He straddles my hips, a wild god with a wicked cock, and grasps the base of my erection in a vicious grip. "Show me that ‘old man' stamina now," he taunts and starts to lower himself onto me.

It's rough and so, so tight—the only lubrication is what's left on his fingers and the precum coating my crown. If he's prepped himself at all, I missed it in the haze, and I hiss as he works himself lower with hypnotic little rocks of his hips.

"Jesus fucking Christ ." My hands itch to touch him, to trace the smooth planes of his chest and wrap around the proud jut of his cock. "Let me go," I beg as his ass hits my pelvis and his head falls back with a sigh.

"Say it," he commands, clenching around the base of my cock.

"Brat," I groan. He shakes his head.

"Not that." He swirls his hips, adjusting to my size, and arches impossibly backward to fit the head of my dick into that perfect spot inside him. His cock leaks on his abs, and my whole body trembles at the blaze of his beauty. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, messy and obscene, before dropping his hand to trail them up the inside of my thigh. "Bend your knees," he purrs, "and say it ."

" Four. " I plant my feet and tilt my hips, giving him access even as I drive my cock deeper into his tight hole.

His eyes collide with mine, and his thumb braces on my taint, the tips of his fingers teasing my entrance. I continue to thrust up into him, a fractured, frantic rhythm, as he strokes himself and slips first one, then two fingers inside me. Right before I break, he beats me to it, spraying my chest with thick ropes of cum. As his ass clamps down and a hoarse shout escapes him, he pushes the last two fingers through my ring and curls all four hard against my prostate.

I come forever.

Blink .

His lips are pressing soft kisses to the inside of my knee.

Blink .

His hair is tickling my cheek while deft fingers free my wrists.

Blink .

A warm, wet cloth trails down my ribs, caresses my exhausted cock, and dips between my shaky thighs.

Darkness.

"I love you." A familiar body wrapped around my own.

"I love you too."

Don't leave me.

Fuck.