34. Echo

34

Echo

F orgiveness is fucking hard .

I'm halfway across the living room of our suite when I realize he's still leaning against the door, watching me miserably, and the regret painted on his features brings all my old frustrations rushing back.

"I'm sorry," he says, for what feels like the millionth time. My least favorite words from his mouth, even if, this time, I know I should want them.

I take a breath, forcing the words out calmly through the spike of rage. "Why are you always apologizing for giving me your truth? I never asked you to fucking coddle me. I want your truth. Even if that truth is that you fucked my shit-stain brother and let him break your heart."

"I'm not apologizing for lo—fucking Gabe. I'm apologizing for keeping it from you for so long."

He's afraid. Again . Does he think I'll leave him now? No—that would be vindication, not fear—fulfillment of the prophecy he's been so sure of all along.

Does he think I'll hurt him, here tonight, taking what he promised?

God, I want to. I want to throw him up against that door and drive into him until the only name he knows is mine, and it bursts begging from his lips.

I close the distance, and something darkly eager blooms in his eyes alongside the fear. And yes, when I turn him to face the door, I'm not gentle. A sigh escapes him, laced with gratitude. He's expecting punishment—for me to soothe his guilt by giving it life.

His body vibrates with tension as I strip him with rough hands, all the cracks he tries so hard to control as sharp and clear as ley lines on his skin. When he's naked, I trace my fingers around the base of the plug, drawing a shuddering gasp from his throat. It's small, too small to have really prepped him properly, and I press my thumb against the top, stretching his rim, before giving it an experimental tug.

"You shouldn't have done this without me," I admonish. "Now I'm going to make you tell me everything you did and everything you were thinking while you were alone in that trailer."

He shakes his head and drops a hand to grasp his swelling cock.

"Were you thinking about me?"

"Of course," he whispers, hoarse with the remnants of his fear.

"Did it make you hard? Did you stroke that thick cock of yours like that while you fingered yourself open? Did you suck on this"—I tap the base lightly with a finger—"to get it all warm and slick before you slipped it in?"

" Jesus ."

"Or did you just lube it up and go for it?" I tap it again, harder, and he groans into the door. "Tell me."

"I—yes. Christ . I lubed it up after I fingered myself. I pretended it was you entering me, and I almost came all over my tux."

The clink of my belt buckle makes him shiver, and I breathe out one last sadistic flare of pleasure before pressing my lips to the nape of his neck.

"I'm not your sister, trying to protect you from your own desires while you make yourself small in my shadow."

I trail my tongue down the valley of muscle along his spine and let my fingertips drift over his hips.

"I'm not your ex-wife, needing you to hide your passions behind false reassurances of my importance."

His forehead thumps against the door and his knuckles whiten where his hands press into the wood at his shoulders. I drop to my knees and dip my tongue into his crease, tasting the fear and the want on his skin.

"I'm not your shitty ex-boyfriend—" God, it fucking hurts. "—Threatened by your power, doling out affection like a reward every time you put me above you." I trail my mouth down his crack and sink my teeth into the sensitive flesh of his taint, hard enough to make him jolt against the door.

Not nearly as hard as I want to.

"I crave your truth," I tell him, spreading his cheeks with my palms. "All of it and always. The way I've given you mine." The last is whispered into the dark heat between his thighs, a breath across his quivering balls. He makes a broken sound and tries to turn around, but I keep him spread and press his hips into the door.

"Echo, I know ." One hand drops as if to reach for me but hesitates, curling into a fist at his side. " I'm so—"

Maybe it's not another useless apology about to fall from his lips, but I don't wait for him to finish the thought.

I stop admiring the way he stretches around the base of the plug and cover his entrance with my open mouth, teasing my tongue around the circle of warm metal and turning his words into a gasping groan. Then I make my earlier fantasy a reality by drawing the toy from his body with my teeth.

He clenches gorgeously around the sudden emptiness, and it's my turn to groan at the sight. Letting the plug fall, I squeeze my dick through my briefs and fumble through the pockets of his discarded jacket for the lube I know is there, before returning to devour his hole with wet, sucking kisses.

When I spear him with my tongue, he opens easily, drawing me in and drowning me in the silky taste of his hidden flesh, even as he fights the sensation.

He doesn't want me making him feel good right now .

Too bad.

Short, aborted moans escape through his clenched jaw, and when I add the first finger, he says my name like a curse.

I stand abruptly, fisting a hand in the loose bun at the back of his skull and adding a second finger.

"Say it again," I command.

"Please," he mumbles. "I can't—"

"No." I give his head a shake and shove both fingers deeper, twisting to press against his inner walls. " Who am I ?"

"Echo." A whisper, defeated. But defeat leads to surrender, and that's my favorite sound from him. Surrender means my Byrd is coming out to play.

I brush his prostate until his knees buckle and he arches back against my palm.

"Are you ready for me? "

He's not, not really. But he's craving punishment and I'm chasing revenge, and this is how we both get what we want. When he hesitates, I pull my fingers free and step outside the heat of his body, leaving him open and empty. "Give me the truth."

"No," he admits, then shudders at the sound of me slicking my cock with lube. He tilts his head as if to look back at me, but his eyes are still closed. "And yes. Give it to me ."

There it is .

I slide the tip of my cock through his crack and nudge at his hole. He's gone tense and shaky again, but I'm done with foreplay.

"Remember what I told you about the pain? Make it matter. Let me in, Coen ."

He tries, but I still have to force my way through the first ring of muscle. As I breach him, he sucks in a breath, squeezing the head of my dick almost hard enough to bring me into his pain.

But holy fucking shit, I'm inside Byrd Baardwijk.

Well, barely.

"That's it." I catch his hands and lace his fingers with mine, drawing them up above his head. "Strangle my cock with your tight virgin ass. You can't stop me. You've never been able to stop me, and you don't want to now. You want me to fuck all that worthless guilt right out of you."

He nods, a short jerk of his jaw, and I feed him the rest of my cock in one hard thrust, covering the line of his body with my own as his eyes finally fly open, a whirlpool of panic and need.

"I'm not Gabe, " I say, low and ruthless, letting the name tear through us both. He goes rigid with shock, but it's too late—I'm inside him, and he's never getting rid of me now. "I'm Echo , and this ass is mine . "

And then he melts for me, and it hits me everywhere . His head falls back onto my shoulder as the last tension leaves his muscles and his tight, hot channel stops strangling my cock enough for me to start to move.

My anger is a distant, buried thing, drowned out by the sheer wonder of finally having him like this. Each stroke is rough and deep, and each time I bottom out, I grind my hips, straining to get even closer.

My name rumbles in his throat, an unending prayer, and I know I should slow down—make him come first and take care of him the way I promised. Instead, I release his hands to yank his hips toward me and punish his prostate, using him ruthlessly until my knees buckle and the sweat on his back turns into stars.

" Mine ," I growl again as I explode, filling him, the heat and slick of my cum coating his walls and my pulsing cock. I give him a few more lazy thrusts, reveling in the new sensation. Holy fuck .

No wonder he fucking loves this.

He turns to look at me over his shoulder, flushed and panting, and I lean in to capture his mouth.

Is this the first truly honest kiss between us ? I can taste the desperation on his tongue, and I slide my hand around to grip his neglected cock. He moans into my mouth, bruising my knuckles against the door as he ruts into my fist.

Reluctantly, I slide free, and he rotates to face me, hurt and hungry.

"Don't worry," I tell him, backing toward the bedroom as I unbutton my shirt. "That was only the first round."

His eyes drop to my dick.

"You're still hard."

I give myself a squeeze. "I'm twenty-one, and my cock was made for this. It was made for you . I'm not gonna be done until I've fucked away the memory of every other cock you've ever tasted."