Chapter 6

Arsen

The sudden darknesstaught me something.

My sight of the man in front of me went beyond my eyes. The second those lights went out, Matthew began spiraling.

I didn’t understand. I had no idea why. But the why wasn’t important. His anxiety made me antsy, filled me with an overpowering and urgent need to calm him down.

The sound of his jeans brushing together alerted me of movement, and I tracked it, willing my eyes to adjust faster to the inky dark. His white T-shirt made it easier to follow him, but even if it didn’t, I would have known his position because of the way he tested the wall of metal enclosing us. It rattled and clanked almost like an old chain-link fence but was new enough that it didn’t give way.

Prism let out a helpless sound and fought against the metal one last time before smacking his hand into it so hard the entire frame vibrated.

“Hey,” I said, moving toward the bright spot his T-shirt made. I realized then that I liked him in white. Because of it, I’d been able to find him more than once tonight. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” I scolded.

He spun, back pressed against the cage, and slid down toward the floor. Drawing his knees up, he pressed his forehead against them. And it was here in the dark that I saw him—a side no one else got to see.

Instead of helping conceal all the things he kept hidden away, the dark seemed to expose his secrets—parts of Prism I never would have guessed existed.

His shuddering breath was slightly muffled against his legs as I crouched beside him on the floor. “What’s the worst thing right now?” I asked, wanting to touch him but afraid to make things worse.

He settled a moment as though the question caught him off guard. Or maybe he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. His face lifted from hiding. “What?”

“Tell me the thing upsetting you the most right now,” I repeated.

He started to rock. Something about that vulnerable, self-soothing motion broke my heart.

“I don’t want to be in this closet,” he answered. “I hate closets.”

It didn’t matter that we weren’t actually in a closet. The small, dark box did feel much like the place I’d forced him into back at the party. It set him off then, and it was setting him off now. My mind scrambled to come up with a way to eliminate his biggest stressor. There was no getting out of here, not until morning. But it was clear this was a place he couldn’t stay.

Low on options, I rose to my feet, reaching down to pull him up. He stiffened, trying to curl in on himself, but I muscled him up, using the fact he was weak and shaking to my advantage.

“What are you doing?”

I replied by wrapping my arms around him and pushing his face into my neck. His nose was frigid, and I gritted my teeth against the startling cold. “You’re fucking freezing,” I complained.

He started to pull away, and I tsked in disproval, instead wrapping more of myself around him. “No more closet, princess. Now you’re in my arms.”

His breath puffed out against my neck, lifting the hair at the base of my skull. Everything about this man affected me, burrowed deep beneath my skin.

He surrendered, and I considered it a win when he didn’t start rocking to self-soothe.

You don’t need to soothe yourself anymore. You have me now.

I laid my forearm between his shoulder blades and anchored my hand around the back of his neck, gripping tight enough to satisfy the sudden urge in me to guard and defend.

The territorial action seemed to mollify him, and he hummed, surrendering more of his weight.

“Come on,” I said quietly, shuffling us toward the rudimentary cot on the side of the room.

Tense all over again, Matthew perched on the side of the mattress, locking his body and refusing to lie down.

Instead of forcing the issue, I crawled in behind him and lay down. “Come here,” I beckoned, brushing my fingertips against the back of his arm.

Indecision warred on his features when he stared over his shoulder.

“It’s me or the closet.” I reminded him.

His eyes flickered, and guilt for bringing up the thing he clearly hated the most ate at me. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay,” I told him. “I can move to the bench.” I started to get up.

His hand lay against my chest, pushing me back down.

Color me surprised when, instead of putting his back to me, he rolled to face me. The cot was small, probably not even a twin. Neither of us lacked in size, so there was no option of leaving space between us.

I watched him tuck an arm beneath his head, then cringe.

“What is it?” I asked, ready to fix whatever it was.

“Nothing,” he whispered. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

Pretty sure that last part was said to reassure himself and not me. Remembering the blanket draped across the foot of the cot, I snatched it up and snapped it out. It was thin and scratchy, probably the shittiest piece of fabric they could find. Fucking dicks.

“Let’s warm up,” I said, draping it over us.

He reacted instantly, jerking away from the blanket so hard he rolled over the side of the cot. He grunted on impact with the floor but didn’t stay down, scrambling up to stand instead.

He paced away, agitation bleeding out of him as if he were covered with invisible cuts.

“What happened?” I asked, frustration welling beneath my skin. Why wouldn’t he just let me make it better?

How can you make it better when you don’t even know what’s wrong?

Maybe he doesn’t want you to make it better.

That last thought was more of a taunt and filled me with angry denial. Stalking toward him, I pulled him around, forcing him to look at me. “Tell me.”

His eyes darted away, and I hated it.

“Look at me, Matthew.”

He did, and I nodded in approval. Grasping his chin, I stared intently into his eyes. “I want your submission but never your surrender.”

That seemed to surprise him, and I watched awareness flood in, making me realize he’d been on autopilot before.

“Tell me,” I prompted.

His eyes flicked toward the blanket I didn’t even realize I still clutched. “It’s scratchy.”

Brows furrowing, I glanced at the shit fabric.

“I don’t want to touch it.”

I dropped the offending object instantly. Does he have sensory issues?

“It’s gone,” I said, showing him my empty hands. “Come lie down now.”

His eyes went back to the cot, and he scrubbed his hand up and down his arm.

I realized then that the material on the mattress wasn’t any better than the blanket. I moved back to the bed, pulling my T-shirt off as I went. If he’d been aware before, he was full-on alert as he stared at my naked retreating back.

Good.

It was cold, but I’d endure it. His comfort meant more to me than my own.

Since when? a voice inside me taunted.

Since right fucking now.

Getting on the cot again, I spread my shirt over the space he’d been occupying. It wasn’t enough to cover everything, of course, but it was only his arms and face that were exposed to the bed. The rest of him was protected by his clothes.

“Best I can do, princess.”

“You’ll be cold.”

“Come over here and keep me warm.”

I left him to stare and stretched out the rest of the way, lying on my side as I had been before. He came forward, and my stomach flipped, knowing I’d won him over. The metal legs creaked under his added weight, and I prepared myself to grab him and roll if the thing suddenly collapsed.

It held, and he settled on his side facing me, tugging so my shirt was the only thing that touched his skin. I started to roll to my back, thinking he could use my shoulder as a pillow, but his hand fell onto my waist, stopping the movement.

“Stay like this,” he whispered, scooting just a little closer.

I was fucking putty for him. Literal goo. Never in my entire life had anyone claimed me so fast, earned my loyalty so decisively.

Rolling back onto my side, I laid my arm out, palm up. He settled his head in my hand like he knew exactly what I intended. His ear was cold against my palm, and my fingers curled into his hair, rubbing over the prickly strands of his undercut.

Breathing became unnatural when his knees brushed against my lower half as he brought them closer to his chest.

His eyes never left my face as he curled himself into a half circle right against me, the vulnerability of the position piercing my heart. It was as though he couldn’t keep from protecting himself but was willing to let me do it too.

My free hand fell between us, fingers twisting into the hem of his shirt and creating tension in the fabric as I anchored him to me.

“Can you whisper?”

My eyes flew to his, but he was actively avoiding my stare.

“They took my AirPods,” he said for the second time tonight. “That sound…” He shuddered, pressing his hand over his exposed ear.

It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. I had to really focus on the room around us. “The dripping pipe?”

He shuddered again.

“You like whispering?” I asked, feeling another of his secrets unlock.

He went silent a moment, then, “Sometimes,” the reply so shy it made my heart beat faster.

Unfisting his shirt, I wrapped my arm around his waist, pulling him in until his knees were crushed between us. The hand already cradling his head tugged him closer, and I brought my lips down near his ear.

“If you want me to whisper, I will whisper.” I spoke in a breathy, soft tone.

I felt his surprise, and he even tried to lift his head. I kneaded deeper against his scalp. “Listen to me now, princess,” I whispered again. “Listen.”

He stared, his bottomless eyes guileless and captivated. Never in my life had anyone’s attention been so heavy.

“The clock is broken. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Time doesn’t matter. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Be a good boy and relax. Relax…”

The hand covering his ear slid away.

“Good boy. Relax.”

Tension seeped out of his body, and honestly, it was a fucking rush. Knowing the sound of my voice was calming him, knowing he was focused on me and me alone… Fuck those drugs at the party. This was my addiction.

“You like ASMR?” I whispered, speaking slow and deliberate.

He nodded, face nearly pressed into my shirtless chest.

I spoke again, this time using an unintelligible whisper, speaking fast and low so there was no clarity in the words, no coherence. It was pure sticky sound. He didn’t have to concentrate on what I said because comprehension didn’t matter. It was the white noise the whisper provided that soothed him in a way I found fascinating.

He exhaled with his whole body, wiggling closer as if he couldn’t get enough. I smiled even as I continued whispering, directing the words right against his ear.

His hand slipped onto my bare chest, making him still. I kept talking, wondering what he would do. My words stuttered when his hand flattened and began rubbing in a small circle. I felt rather than saw him peek up to gauge my reaction. I squeezed my thighs together and smoothed my voice back out, reminding myself that we were literally in jail and he’d been panicking.

He’s not panicking now. He’s feeling me up.

His hand dragged over the swell of my pec, brushing against the metal in my skin. He stilled again, and I sucked in a breath, voice falling silent.

“Your nipple is pierced?” he asked.

They both are.“Yeah.”

“Can I touch it?”

Oh, the sweet fucking torture. Everything about this man was sweet torture. I could never deny him.

“You can,” I whispered. “But don’t be surprised if my dick springs between us.”

His tentative fingers traced the titanium bar pierced horizontally through the center of my nipple. “I’m gay,” he whispered. Something about it seemed like a confession. “No one really knows.”

“So why’re you telling me?”

He tugged on the bar, and pleasure shot down to my groin. The groan I’d been holding back ripped free, the guttural tone low and deep.

“Can you whisper some more?” he asked, his voice so shy in contrast to the fingers boldly plucking my nipple.

I started whispering again, closing my eyes as he continued to play with the piercing, somehow settling into a pattern with his movements.

Between us, my dick was rock hard. I didn’t even try to fight against it. With every tug and twist, it swelled more until it was throbbing with need. Instinctually, I thrust, looking for friction, finding it against his drawn-in legs.

His fingers paused when I stabbed against him but started moving again just seconds later. I fought the urge to shove his knees down and roll on top to grind against him until I unleashed inside my boxers and was forced to spend the entire night with sticky underwear.

My whispers turned husky, but I didn’t stop, giving him what he asked for until my throat was dry.

My dick remained rigid against him, the pressure of his knees tempting, but I forced myself to remain still. To let him soothe himself with my body and my voice.

I don’t know how much time passed, but when he tipped his chin, his stare was heavy-lidded, the tension around his eyes and mouth smooth.

His fingers still curled around my nipple, holding the barbel like it was his. The air enveloping us was warm, our body heat creating a cocoon. I watched his lashes flutter, his fuzzy stare gazing into mine.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

I’d grown up with old money, but now I knew what it was to be rich. In that moment, the hoarse throat, swollen nipple, aching balls, and leaking dick were absolutely worth it.

In that moment, his gratitude was far greater than anything I’d ever been given.

Cupping the side of his face, I traced his lush mouth with the pad of my thumb and watched him wet it with the tip of his tongue.

I leaned in slowly, holding his stare, knowing mine glinted with want. His lashes swept down, but his chin tilted up in sweet offer.

I fit our mouths together, settling over him completely, wanting to touch every inch I could. He swallowed, and my hand drifted down so the pad of my thumb could settle over his Adam’s apple and own that too.

His lips parted, and I made it my mission to take him apart. To kiss him so thoroughly he still felt me when I pulled away. His breathing hitched, and I quickly swallowed the sound, rolling him under me so I could have him entirely to myself.

Our lips never once lifted, fusing in a long, languid kiss. Everything grew hazy except for the feel of his throat beneath my hand, the way our lips rubbed, and the warmth of his breath. I started to burn with starvation, needing more. Needing it all.

Pushing my tongue between his lips, I groaned, feeling the silky heat of his mouth, licking deep the second his jaw went slack. My other hand came up so I could cradle his face, holding him in my palms as our tongues twisted and stroked until we weren’t two separate flavors but one.

His mouth grew wet, his attention so singular he’d forgotten to swallow and the way he salivated for me started to build up. I sucked his tongue into my mouth, slurping it up and savoring the flavor of his desire.

His hands gripped my biceps, fingers biting into muscle as though he were afraid I might disappear. Half over him, half off, I thrust my hips into the mattress, one of my legs falling over the side of the cot.

He pulled back enough to tug my upper lip between his, and the soft suckling sound echoing around us had my balls drawing tight against my body.

Panting, I disconnected, lowering my forehead to his shoulder. My lips felt bruised, my head was fuzzy, and I was seconds away from coming in my pants.

“Decking that cop was totally worth it,” I mused.

The shoulder my head rested against started to tremble, and I pulled back in time to see Matthew’s teeth flashing in the night. His smile was beautiful, and I was jealous of the dark for keeping some of it to itself.

“Are you laughing?” I asked, going for incredulously offended but knowing it was probably coming off as moronically endeared.

Because I was—utterly besotted with his smile. It felt like a victory after a long battle.

His lips covered his teeth, but then they flashed again. “No.”

Unable to keep my hands to myself, I stroked the side of my finger along his cheek. The hint of smile left on his face was replaced instantly with caution.

“That’s some smile you got there, Matthew. Fucking beautiful.”

His swallow echoed between us, and he glanced away. “It’s Matt.”

“I prefer Matthew.”

His brows dipped, creating a dark line over his eyes. “Why?” he practically demanded, and something in me fluttered with glee.

Oh, I do love a brat.

“Why not?” I purred, wanting to see his reaction.

This was doing nothing for the chronic stiffy I was rocking, but he was irresistible.

He scowled. “Matt is shorter.”

Amusement curled my lips. “Exactly.” I agreed. “And calling you by your full name means I get more of you on my tongue.”

He blinked rapidly, completely taken off guard, and turned his face away to hide, but he couldn’t hide his quickened breathing.

I lowered my lips, brushing them against his ear to whisper, “Are you blushing, Matthew?”

Overhead, the pipes groaned, the sound of water rushing through them intruding on the moment. The little bubble around us burst, and his body went rigid.

Shifting, I took my place beside him on the narrow cot and dragged his back against my front. Our bodies fit together, the little extra size I had the perfect amount to wrap around him. Anchoring my arm over his lean waist, I rested my head near his ear.

The second the rushing water quieted, the sound of constant dripping took over. Near my arm, his hand fisted, and I released his waist long enough to pull it into his body so I could hold it too.

And because I didn’t know what else to do, I began to whisper.