No Filter (No Shame Series Book 1)

by Nora Phoenix

  “I want to stay,” Indy said. He rolled over to the other side of Josh, wrapped the sheet around his body, and leaned back against the headboard on the far edge of the bed.

  Noah clenched his fists. “I don’t have it in me to be gentle right now,” he gave a last warning.

  Josh shot Indy a look over his shoulder, then smiled that slow, sexy smile at Noah. “Who says I want you to?”

  Noah held on to the last shreds of his control. “Lube me,” he told Josh.

  Josh silently grabbed the lube from the night table. Noah groaned as Josh spread a generous amount of lube on his cock. Somehow, Josh seemed to grasp that this was not the time for foreplay, or games, or even a blow job. He needed it to get out of his system, this sizzling anger burning so dangerously hot and close to the surface.

  Josh piled two pillows on top of each other, lowered himself on his stomach on top of them and pushed his ass back, opening his hole wide for the taking. It was still stretched, probably from Indy taking him. Good. Noah didn’t wait a second, but dropped his weight on top of Josh, grabbed his hips and entered him in one desperate thrust.

  “Ohh!” Josh groaned, pushing his ass back even farther to accommodate Noah.

  Noah shoved his arms under Josh's chest, gripping his shoulders in a tight hold, then started moving him downward on his cock, while slamming upwards at the same time. Josh's tight ass engulfed him, and the sweet friction was too much.

  His vision went red and he plunged in, again and again and again. He felt nothing but his cock, wanted nothing but to thrust it in deeper and deeper, so hard and so deep that he would stop feeling at all. He kept drilling, didn’t stop when Josh came with a loud moan, not even when he came so hard himself it made him dizzy.

  With the waves of his release crashing through him, he kept up the feral rhythm, his cock still hard as hell, burying it deeper in Josh's warm cavern than it had ever been before. When his muscles started giving out, he grunted in frustration. Letting go of Josh for a second, he lifted his stump in the right position, then sat up, dragging Josh with him. He leaned back against the headboard, jammed a pillow behind his back for support. He didn’t wait for Josh to adjust, merely lifted him up, his biceps and chest bulging, and sat his lover down on his cock, facing away from him.

  “Ride me,” he commanded with a low and broken voice, lifting Josh's hips and shoving them down again.

  Josh rose up, slammed down, taking him hard and fast and deep. They were completely in sync. No dirty talk or sweet whispers, the only sounds were slapping and grunting and moaning and ragged breaths. Noah’s heart was racing, his body hot and sweaty, his need blinding him. His vision blurred, his balls throbbed and wrenched flush against his body. His muscles clenched and strained as he lifted his hips and slammed with desperation.

  Noah’s fingers dug into Josh's hips, lifting him and jamming him down on his deep thrusts. When Noah came again, his orgasm was so hard it almost knocked him out. He cried out in a fierce wail. He held on to Josh, putting his head on Josh's shoulder, their bodies pressed together as he shuddered and shook with the force.

  And then he broke. He hadn’t cried when his mother died, leaving him with his asshole of a father. He hadn’t cried when he had lost friends to roadside bombs and attacks. He hadn’t cried when he’d discovered what had happened to Josh. He hadn’t even cried when he lost his leg or when he’d been in the hospital, desperate with pain. But he cried now, big sobs that tore through his body.

  Josh lifted his hips to let him slide out, then turned on his lap to face him. He opened his arms wide. Noah leaned in and, rocking Josh on his lap, held on for dear life. He didn’t know how long they sat there, Josh silently hugging him and Noah’s body shaking with violent sobs and shivers. He wasn’t even crying tears, but seemed to be letting something out that was way deeper.

  Finally his body and mind found peace and he stopped shaking. Josh let go and cupped both of Noah’s cheeks, kissing him softly on his mouth.

  “Josh…” Noah said, his head full of apologies. Where could he start? How could he possibly apologize for what he had done?

  “I love you,” Josh said, kissing him again. “God, I love you so much.”

  It brought him to his knees, this declaration of love. Josh still loved him, despite it all. He had let his anger out, taken it all out on Josh, and the guy came back with “I love you.” I don’t deserve him. Neither of them.

  “I love you, too.” Suddenly he was desperate for Josh to know that, to understand that he did love him, even when he’d used him to release his anger.

  “I know you do. Lie down, Noah, you need to sleep.”

  Too tired to protest when Josh gently pushed him back, Noah let himself slide down on the mattress. He opened his arms to hold Josh, but instead, his lover straddled him.

  “What are you doing?” His eyes sank closed. He was so tired.

  Josh's hands fisted his still half-hard cock, guided it back into his ass that was still dripping with cum.

  “Go to sleep, Noah. I’ll ride you till you fall asleep.”

  He wanted to protest, needed to, but was too exhausted to even lift a finger. When Josh set the most tender, sweetest rhythm ever, he found himself smiling. Barely awake, his cock responded to the love it was getting from Josh's ass. He drifted in and out of sleep until he released so gently, it rippled softly through his body. He fell asleep with his love’s name on his lips.

  “Indy.”

  16

  He was a fucking mess. There was no other word to describe the emotional chaos in Indy’s head. Despite everything he’d been through over the years, he’d never had so much to process as right now. Leaving Duncan—and the whole Fitzpatrick clan for that matter—had been an easy decision, despite the dangers. It had been a life-or-death choice, and he’d wanted to live too much to stay.

  But Noah and Josh and all the feelings they evoked in him, that was an entirely different matter. Topping Josh had been exactly what he needed. It had been healing, he’d realized afterward. The deep satisfaction he got from bringing Josh pleasure, from making him come—it had been an amazing experience. Plus, Josh had touched his scars, both literally and figuratively, and had not bolted in the slightest. Of course, he was used to Noah, who was as damaged as Indy was. In more than the physical sense.

  Indy hadn’t truly grasped how broken Noah was on the inside as well, not till last night. Noah had always been the strong one, the one keeping it together, but yesterday he had broken. Grief, that’s what it had felt and looked like to Indy. Grief over the loss of his leg, maybe, over the life he’d had to give up. And it hadn’t come out until Josh had given him an outlet for the anger that had contained it.

  It had given Indy hope. If Noah had so much pain inside of him, pain that caused him to do things he regretted, maybe he’d understand Indy’s pain as well. Maybe Noah’s damage wasn’t all that different from Indy’s. Maybe they could be damaged together—at least for a little while, until Indy had to go.

  The sex, it had scared Indy, until he’d seen how willingly Josh had taken it, how much pleasure it had brought him. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Indy he got off on bottoming, being dominated, and rough sex. Noah had been too deep in—Indy smiled at his own choice of words—to notice, but Josh had come so hard. But even when he’d been hammering Josh so hard the bed had shaken, Noah had still held Josh, touched him. He hadn’t truly hurt him, had kept his physical strength in check even when he’d been blind with need.

  And oh, when Josh had ridden him, Noah half asleep, it had been such a beautiful sight. Noah hadn’t realized it, but Josh had been saying goodbye. Indy had felt it, had seen it in the way Josh hadn’t held back his love for once, in the tears that had streamed down his face as he’d softly fucked Noah into oblivion. Afterward, Indy had held Josh, kissed him, wiped the tears from his face while Noah had slept peacefully. And Josh had held him too, had whispered in his ear, “He’s yours now, too. Take good care of him.”

  J
osh had rolled off Indy, to the other side of the bed, had pushed Indy to the middle. He had fallen asleep between them, snuggled up to Noah, with Josh spooning him from the back.

  Loved. He was loved, for the first time in his life.

  When he had woken up, Josh had been up already, but Noah had still been asleep. He’d been spooning Indy, his strong arms holding him close and his chest warm and safe against Indy’s back.

  Safe.

  No panic at being held, no fear at the thought that Noah had the strength to crush Indy. He wouldn’t. Sweet fuck, Indy wanted him so much. But Noah needed to sleep, so he’d managed to crawl out of Noah’s arms without waking him.

  It was past noon when Noah finally came downstairs on his crutches in just boxers, his eyes still soft and cloudy from waking up. Indy watched him as he stretched, the powerful muscles in his chest and arms rippling.

  “Hey,” Noah said softly when he spotted Indy at the breakfast counter.

  “Hey yourself.”

  Noah lowered himself on the bar stool next to Indy and dropped his crutches.

  “How are you feeling?” Indy asked, pushing the fresh mug of tea he had made for himself in front of Noah.

  He took a careful sip. “Still tired. Better than last night.”

  Indy turned his stool toward him. “That was some serious fucking you did.”

  He winced. “We’re skipping the pleasantries, I see?”

  “We are.”

  Indy studied Noah, the emotions that played on his face. Resignation, but fear as well. Indy understood where that was coming from. He’d seen Noah at his most raw and vulnerable. Surely Noah had to be afraid it had been too much. Having your damage, your issues so out in the open, it was scary as fuck. It was time to restore some balance. Before they had sex, Noah deserved to know at least a little of his story.

  He took a deep breath. “My real name is Stephan Moreau, and I grew up in South Boston.”

  For the second time within twenty-four hours, he told his story. But he didn’t stop there. Noah deserved to know it all. The whole ugly truth.

  Two and a half years before

  “Fucking hell, where are you?”

  Stephan woke up instantly at the sound of Duncan’s snarl and a door that was slammed shut. Fuck. He’s angry. Possibly high. He was out of bed in a second, not even bothering to put on more clothes than the boxers he’d been sleeping in. Duncan would only rip them off anyways.

  “I’m here,” he said, walking into the small parlor, hoping against hope he was wrong.

  Duncan threw down his Red Sox cap, unbuckled his belt. He turned and faced Stephan, his dilated pupils and flushed face confirming Stephan’s suspicions. Damn, he was high as a fucking kite.

  “I’m horny,” Duncan grumbled, unbuttoning his pants and dropping them. “Suck my dick.”

  He was already hard, his cock jutting forward. Stephan hesitated for only a second. Once, only once had he refused Duncan in the four years since he’d been bought—and it had not ended well for him. He’d broken Stephan’s arm, blackened his eye, and had fucked him so viciously his ass had hurt for a week. Not an experience he was keen to repeat. Not that he couldn’t defend himself by now—he’d recently gotten his brown belt—but fighting back would only cost him more in the end. You could not escape the Fitzpatricks, and if he ever lifted a hand against Duncan, retribution would be swift and fucking deadly.

  Stephan dropped to his knees—Duncan preferred him in that position—and reached for the guy’s member. He could do this with his eyes closed, literally. When Duncan was jacked up on coke, he would come in a minute, two at the most. It was one of the very few advantages Stephan could spot in Duncan’s increased drug use. For the most part, it was a fucking nightmare.

  He took Duncan’s dick in his mouth, grabbed the base with his other hand, and started. The one thing he was grateful for was that Duncan wasn’t all that big. It’s how the guy had gotten the nickname Tiny Tim, though no one ever used it to his face, not without consequences at least. It was one reason why Duncan wasn’t keen on fucking Stephan—or any of his other whores—in public, as many of his lieutenants did with their whores. He didn’t want everyone to know what a small dick he had, understandably. The women he fucked were too impressed by his status to say anything and the few who had ridiculed him had paid a steep price. You did not fuck with Duncan Fitzpatrick, no matter how tiny his dick. Not that Stephan had any right to say anything, because his dick was even smaller. A crayon, Duncan had called it.

  Duncan started thrusting in his throat, as he always did. Not that big a deal with a dick his size, once Stephan had gotten used to it. The first ten times or so he’d gagged violently. That sensation of choking while your mouth was full of dick and the tears were streaming down your face, damn, he’d gotten nightmares from it. It hadn’t deterred Duncan in the slightest, obviously. He’d merely told Stephan to get used to it and learn to relax. He had, but he’d also learned to hold one hand around Duncan’s base. That way, he could at least control some of his moves, prevent him from choking him with his dick.

  Blowing Duncan was mechanical by now, nothing Stephan was even remotely invested in emotionally. It had been a hard transition from the still somewhat naïve fourteen-year-old who had a boyish crush on the high and mighty Duncan Fitzpatrick, to the jaded eighteen-year-old he was now who knew exactly what a first-class motherfucker the man was. And with his mother in prison for drug trafficking, he didn’t exactly have other options.

  Duncan moaned, thrusting harder. Stephan groaned with him, as if it brought him pleasure to suck the asshole off. It was expected of him, and he had become quite the actor. One did not survive otherwise. He’d always pretended everything was fine. In school, being Duncan’s bitch—Duncan’s term—had brought him a weird status amongst his peers. No one had ever dared mess with him and his teachers had been repulsed. Not one of them had been concerned or even asked if he had chosen that role himself. Fucking idiots.

  He’d loved school, though. One reason was because he was away from Duncan. In school he could at least pretend his life wasn’t fucked up. The bigger reason was that he liked learning new stuff. Maybe he got that from his father—the man whose name he didn’t even know. He actually did well in school, managed to graduate with pretty decent grades. In another life, he would have gone for college. Instead, he was stuck here, with his crime lord boyfriend who didn’t show any inclination of getting enough of him. Stephan’s only hope was that Duncan would accidentally OD—though fuck knew where he’d end up then. Or with whom. There were worse fates in life than being Duncan’s bitch—that much Stephan did know.

  Duncan was close now. Stephan recognized the signs and increased his own moaning and motions. He hated to swallow and if he couldn’t avoid it, often made himself throw up afterward. He pulled the dick out of his mouth, pointed it at his face, pumping him furiously.

  “Come all over me, baby,” he breathed seductively.

  Fucking Oscar-winning performance. Having cum on his face beat the hell out of having to swallow it, and Duncan seemed to find it highly rewarding to spray him all over. How the guy could be so dimwitted he’d believe Stephan was enjoying this was beyond him, but whatever. It worked.

  “Mark me with your cum, Duncan. Fuck, you’re so wicked hot!”

  Yup, Mr. Predictable erupted and blew his wad on Stephan’s cheeks and neck. By the translucent quality and the little amount of it, he’d been doing some more fucking before with fuck-knew-who. Fine with Stephan. It meant he wouldn’t be able to get it up again to fuck him, so yay.

  “Fuck, Steph, nobody sucks cock like you,” Duncan grunted. “That was the balls.”

  “You know I take good care of you,” Stephan panted.

  Duncan dropped back on the couch, not bothering to pull his pants up.

  “I’m gonna go clean up,” Stephan said, retreating into the tiny bathroom. For someone who supposedly made a fortune dealing drugs, Duncan sure had bought a shitty house for Ste
phan. The house wasn’t his, of course. It was Duncan’s. Stephan only lived there like a kept man. A whore, really. Duncan bought houses left and right, a solid investment, or so he’d assured Stephan, and incidentally also a good way to launder drug money.

  The Fitzpatricks weren’t stupid. They didn’t draw attention to themselves with tons of expensive houses and over-the-top cars. So, a shitty house it was for Stephan, while Duncan stayed at expensive hotels often, wasting money on liquor and ridiculously pricey food, entertaining his friends and business partners. And of course, Duncan stopped by Stephan’s house for a fuck at least daily—often more than once.

  Stephan was smarter. If he ever, ever wanted to get away, he needed money. So he’d been siphoning off cash. He’d ask for money to buy groceries, clothes, to go to the movies, buy gadgets. He’d give Duncan fake receipts, inflated prices. Nothing so much over that he’d get suspicious, ‘cause Duncan wasn’t stupid. That was the whole problem. If he’d been stupid, he’d be way easier to fleece. Stephan had to take five, ten, maybe twenty dollars at a time. A few times, he’d been able to take bigger amounts, but for the most part it had been slow gathering.

  And he’d taken notes. Detailed notes, about everything he heard, every transaction he witnessed, every act of violence he saw. He had some pictures and videos, too. Duncan wasn’t dumb, but he was a digital amateur—as opposed to Stephan. His smart phone had been all he’d needed, in addition to a cloud backup and wipe he had installed. Once his phone had sent off the info, it deleted everything, and you had to have some serious hacking skills to get it back. Or the password to his cloud backup, which was all but unbreakable. If Duncan ever tried to fuck him over, Stephan needed insurance. No one else would have Stephan’s back, that much had become clear over the years.

  He cleaned the cum off with a washcloth. Thank fuck he hadn’t gotten it in his hair; that was a bitch to wash out.

  Duncan was talking on the phone to someone when Stephan walked into the bedroom to get dressed.