Frederick’s hands slid up his thighs and over the curve of his ass, then came to rest there, squeezing softly. His thumbs slowly stroked down between Mikey’s cheeks, one after the other, the light touch just brushing down his crease and over his hole before it lifted away and started over.
Mikey groaned. His breathing deepened, and his shoulders slowly unwound. Frederick’s touch was like magic. Somehow having his ass caressed like this was the most relaxing thing he’d ever experienced, and as it went on Frederick’s fingers began to knead his ass as his thumbs gently passed over Mikey’s entrance.
His eyelids fluttered, then closed.
“Good?” Frederick murmured.
“Amazing,” Mikey mumbled.
“Mmhm.” Frederick’s hands shifted down a couple inches. It meant his thumbs started their motion lower down, but also made them finish further down too. They drifted over Mikey’s puckered flesh and on across his taint, and then circled around to start it all again.
“Ahh!” Mikey squirmed. His knees parted, and his ass raised up into the touch. It was so soft, so gentle, yet it was making him hard and wet all at once. He could feel the precum ooze from his own dick and slick the sheets under him, and every motion Frederick made caused his cock to slip against the dampening bedsheets. “Oh my God.”
The chuckle behind him was low, throaty, but Frederick didn’t speak. Instead Mikey had a moment’s breath against his ass, and then that tongue replaced Frederick’s thumbs. It lapped slowly from balls to hole, then repeated itself.
Over.
And over.
The back of his neck prickled. Adrenaline coursed through him. He shuddered with need and dug his fingers into the pillows but that only seemed to lessen the tension by a hair.
Whatever the hell Frederick was doing to him, he knew he’d go insane if it stopped.
Frederick ate him up like a five fucking course dinner, and the pressure built up inside him until it made his mind go blank and everything in the world was washed away. There was nothing left but pleasure, riding him toward a cliff edge, and he couldn’t turn away.
The abyss was coming for him.
But then it waited.
Mikey cried out, desperate to get closer. He writhed until a hand pressed him against the sheets and kept him from moving. This was maddening. He needed more, needed it now.
Frederick laughed and stepped away from him.
He blinked several times. His brain was in free fall. He couldn’t figure out what was going on. The abyss began to recede, and he howled in anguish.
“Please,” he sobbed. “Don’t stop. Oh, God, please don’t stop!”
“Now that,” Frederick growled, “is what I call begging.”
Mikey heard a click, and the sound which followed was instantly recognizable.
Lube.
His breath caught, and he buried his face against the pillow. The wait was too much. He was losing it, pulling back from the edge, teetering on falling apart, and he let out an anguished groan. “Please! Please fuck me! Oh, God, Frederick, I can’t take this! I need you! Jesus fucking Christ, have some goddamn pity, please! I’m begging you, I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t stop now!”
The mattress dipped again. Frederick didn’t answer him, not with words. His tongue returned to tease and taunt Mikey’s entrance, and as it licked and lapped, Mikey’s strain dwindled and the blissful pressure mounted once more.
Then Frederick’s tongue pushed inside him.
“Oh, fuck! Fucking hell!” Mikey gasped for air, but he wasn’t given time for anything more. That tongue was in him, and it breached his ring and made his insides melt. It was pushing and probing and every thrust of it made him hungry for more.
He got more.
Cold replaced warmth. Hard replaced soft. Frederick’s finger eased inside, slick with lube and pausing whenever Mikey thought he might not be able to take more. Each knuckle was a thrill, and when Frederick found his prostate and began to stroke it with all the gentle calm he’d displayed with Mikey’s taint, the universe exploded behind his eyes and blinded him.
He gasped and cursed and moaned and pleaded and his cock felt like it was going to burst.
But Frederick was too slow. Too gentle.
Mikey’s mind couldn’t take much more of this.
Another finger slid into him, more easily than the first. The pressure against his prostate sent a shudder through him, and he bucked helplessly into the sheets.
Everything Frederick did to him was just on the cusp of what he could take, but no more. As the abyss rose to claim him he finally felt the stretch of Frederick’s dick as it began to breach him, and all he could do was lay helpless and wordless and give up everything he was to the man who knew him better than he knew himself.
It’s called trust.
He trembled as Frederick filled him. There was nothing left of him but this enormous sense of fullness, of being completely at the bigger man’s mercy, and as that vast and powerful body closed around him, he toppled over the brink and fell into the bottomless chasm beyond.
As though being dragged away from his orgasm twice made it harder when it finally arrived, it ripped through him, and only the weight on his back held him down. He felt his throat become raw before he was even aware that the screams came from his own mouth, and as he pumped and jerked against the bed, sweat trickled down his skin and he gasped for breath while the tremors still shook his body.
He was done. Over. Finished. Death could claim him and he wouldn’t fight it. Frederick was inside him, and Mikey was totally unraveled by him as his cock twitched and filled Mikey so much that he could feel the cum dribble out and down over his balls.
Mikey’s flesh rippled with tiny little jolts of aftershock. He wasn’t sure whether he’d blacked out or not. The world was on pause, and there was just this. Here. Now. This thing between them, whatever it was, it didn’t compare to anything in his experience. He couldn’t put a name to it, but he never wanted it to end.
The man who’d stolen Mikey from his own life had just stolen his heart too.
33
MIKEY
Frederick was above him, elbows on either side of Mikey’s shoulders, and his cheek against Mikey’s hair. The weight wasn’t crushing, and Mikey sighed softly at the sense of security it gave him, to be in this man’s shelter.
There was a kind of freedom in knowing that Frederick was in his head. Mikey didn’t have to pretend, he didn’t have to fake anything. He didn’t have to try and be something he wasn’t, because Frederick saw through it all and liked what he’d found.
He smiled weakly and closed his eyes at the softening of Frederick inside him. Frederick made no move to withdraw, waiting instead until he was so flaccid that his cock eased out almost of its own accord, and Mikey let out a small mumble of reluctance at the absence.
Frederick chortled at him and kissed behind his ear. “You’ve come all over my bloody sheets,” he purred.
“You’ve come all over me,” Mikey croaked. He did his best to open his eyes and, after a few tries, managed it.
“You did ask,” Frederick countered. “In fact, I distinctly recall that you actually begged, of all things.”
“Oh my God, you total—” He broke off at Frederick’s raucous laugh, and twisted to swat weakly at one of his arms.
“Mm. Having fun yet?” Frederick dipped down to nibble his shoulder.
“Fuck, yeah.”
The weight shifted, and then eased aside, and Mikey turned to look at the man who as good as owned him now.
Frederick was radiant. His blond hair was dark with sweat, and a sheen of it covered his skin, making it glisten in the light from the open bedroom door. He had a faint smile on his lips, and he lifted a hand to trace it along Mikey’s spine. “Alas,” he mused, “we cannot lie here forever.”
Mikey stifled a yawn and shuffled onto his side, then grimaced as his butt rolled around in the wetness. There was something about it after the sex that m
ade it a whole lot less sexy.
Frederick let out an easy laugh and rolled away, then stood. He offered Mikey his hand.
Mikey took it, and scrambled feebly from the sheets. The air was cold against his butt, and he hopped into Frederick’s arms for warmth, but the big guy picked him up and tossed Mikey over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Mikey squealed and grabbed for whatever he could, but Frederick’s ass was slick with sweat and his fingers slid free of it.
Frederick bore him through to the bathroom and back into the shower, then set him down on his feet and held him until he was steady. “We’re going to wear this shower out,” he said dryly.
Mikey shrugged. “If we manage that, this fancy suite ain’t worth whatever you’re paying for it.” He reached past Frederick to turn the water on, then eyed up at him. “You’re gonna make me sleep in my own bed tonight still, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. It depends.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he asked anyway. “On?”
Frederick grinned. “On whether we can get housekeeping up this late, or whether I have to take your sheets instead.”
He stuck his tongue out. “Oh you better pray they come change your precious damn sheets, ‘cause if you think I’m sleeping in your bed you can think again.”
“If you insist.”
HOUSEKEEPING WERE, it turned out, more than happy to come fix up Frederick’s bed despite already having done it once. Mikey guessed that fancy penthouse money would probably get them out to clean up their jizz at one in the morning if necessary.
The downside was that, true to his word, Frederick didn’t suddenly change his mind and invite Mikey to share his bed once the time came. The guy liked his personal space, and while Mikey wasn’t thrilled, he figured it could have something to do with the telepathy. Maybe Frederick slept best without another brain in the same room, fucking with his night time. For all Mikey knew it was hard enough already for him to get to sleep in a hotel, but then the guy lived in London, right? He had to be used to having other minds around him while he slept.
Mikey huddled down under the sheets and tried to convince himself that he wasn’t alone.
HE WOKE SUDDENLY. Something had made him fall, but he bumped into a hard, warm thing before he could roll off the bed.
“Shh.” A hand clamped over his mouth.
Mikey tried to scream, but it couldn’t get past the hand.
Someone was in his bed. Someone big. Strong. A man.
“It’s okay, kid. It’s me.”
Mikey blinked quickly and tried not to panic. The voice was quiet, but it sounded familiar, and it came with a smell he knew. He could make out the stubble on a square jaw, and the silver line of a thin scar across one cheek.
Uncle Paul.
He took a breath and blinked. What was Uncle Paul doing in his bed? The weight of the man had made the mattress dip, and Mikey’d rolled into him in his sleep. Once he realized that, he flailed and tried to roll back onto a more even, flat surface, but Uncle Paul’s big, heavy hand moved to his shoulder and held him fast.
“Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Mikey felt trapped. Between the dip and the hand, he was stuck. But Uncle Paul wouldn’t hurt him. Mom wouldn’t let anyone into the house who would hurt him.
“You won’t tell your mom, right?”
Mikey shook his head numbly.
“Girls don’t understand boys’ games. Just like we don’t understand their games either.”
Uncle Paul smelled of beer and old sweat. Mom said he was a veteran, said he fought in Iraq and came back different, but he was a good guy at heart. He was her brother, she said, and he just needed a home for a while because the government didn’t look after veterans like it should.
So Mikey nodded. He didn’t understand, but he nodded, because Uncle Paul was a good man. He fought for Mikey’s freedom.
“Women,” Uncle Paul sneered. “You don’t need ‘em, kid. They’ll just mess with your head.”
Mikey nodded again.
He didn’t remember Uncle Paul getting into his bed. All he knew was he woke up and he wasn’t alone any more. Uncle Paul was way bigger than him, and he’d killed three men in Iraq. Mikey didn’t know where Iraq was, but he knew Uncle Paul did it to protect his country and his family, and everyone owed Uncle Paul.
“You wanna see something cool?”
Mikey considered, then whispered, “Okay.”
“Check this out.” Uncle Paul pushed the sheets aside and wriggled a bit. Mikey thought he heard a zipper. Then Uncle Paul smiled to him. “Look.”
Mikey followed Uncle Paul’s hand down to see what he was pointing at, and was confused by what he found.
Uncle Paul’s peepee had fallen out of his pants, but instead of flopping about it was standing up. Like a little soldier.
Mikey laughed, though he didn’t really know why. There was just something weird and funny about seeing a weenie stood up like that. “That’s cool,” he agreed.
“You wanna touch it?”
Mikey’s laugh dried in his throat. You weren’t supposed to touch each other’s noodles. He didn’t know where he’d learned it, but he knew it the same way he knew not to jaywalk.
Uncle Paul shrugged and turned onto his side. He put his strong arm around Mikey’s shoulders, and the weight of his weenie landed heavily across Mikey’s leg. Then he pulled Mikey toward him, slid his hand down, and dragged Mikey’s other leg up until his private parts were between Mikey’s legs. “There,” he grunted. “Now you’re not touching it, right?”
Mikey swallowed nervously, but nodded.
“Good kid. You’re a good kid, Mikey. I wish I had a son like you.”
Mikey lay in the dark with a gnawing sense that this wasn’t right, but he didn’t say anything.
After all, Uncle Paul was a hero.
MIKEY STRUGGLED to wake up with a scream trapped inside him that wouldn’t come out. He thrashed against the cloying hold of Uncle Paul — no, the heavy bedsheets — until his limbs were weak and his body drenched in sweat. The scream came out of him at last, as nothing more than a choked cry, and he lay panting and exhausted in the darkness.
Jesus fucking Christ, he hadn’t thought about Uncle Paul in years. The guy shot himself in the goddamn head on Mom’s back porch when Mikey was thirteen, and Mom was never the same after that, but then she was the one who found him there. Bits of brain and skull and shit all over the place, stinking like crap after it’d cooked in the afternoon sun all fucking day. But Uncle Paul was dead, and over the years Mikey had managed to put away the games they used to play.
He dragged himself up the bed and curled his arms around his knees as he sat against the plush headboard. His body shook like everything was fresh again, like a scab had been torn off and left the wound bleeding, and he began to cry quietly.
Always quietly. ‘Cause he never wanted anyone to know that the games made him unhappy. Games weren’t supposed to do that. They were fun. They made people laugh. So if he didn’t like this game that meant there was something wrong with him, because Uncle Paul sure liked it.
“Fuck,” he croaked.
He’d managed to leave this all behind him for years. He thought he’d even managed to find some way to understand what Uncle Paul had gone through. Now Mikey was an adult he knew war did things to people, broke them, no matter how strong they were. He knew Uncle Paul’s fiancee had slept around while he was deployed, and that probably hurt him even more than killing strangers had.
But God damn it if someone had just fucking helped Uncle Paul then maybe he wouldn’t have crawled into Mikey’s bed that night. Or any other night. For three fucking years.
Maybe he wouldn’t have blown his own brains out over the guilt at what he’d done to his sister’s only kid.
Maybe his mom wouldn’t have thrown herself in front of a fucking train five years later.
Mikey’s sobs weren’t quiet any more. He twisted so that he could press his side up against t
he headboard, ‘cause at least that way it felt like someone was there to comfort him, and he bawled like he hadn’t done since he was little.
“Michael.”
He flinched and gulped down air. Only his mom ever called him Michael.
“May I come in?”
Mikey wiped his eyes with the back of his forearm, and sniffed to try and stop his nose from dripping. He peeked toward the open door and caught sight of Frederick’s large frame silhouetted against the night sky beyond.
Oh, shit.
If Frederick hadn’t dug that deep into his head before, he didn’t need to now. It was all there, floating about on the surface like pond scum.
“Sure,” he croaked.
Frederick padded toward him quietly, and sat with care on the very edge of Mikey’s bed. He said nothing for a while, looking back toward the door, and then he murmured, “What do you need?”
Mikey sniffed so hard he wished he hadn’t. “I dunno.”
“If you would prefer to spend the night with me, you are welcome to do so.”
“You don’t mind?”
Frederick tilted his head. “You don’t want to be alone right now,” he said. “I have a duty of care, Michael. You have given yourself to me, and therefore it is my responsibility to do what I can to keep you safe.” He finally turned to face Mikey, his expression grave. “I may not be able to give you the counseling you require myself, but I can at least ensure that you get it once we are in London. Until then I must do all that I can.”
Mikey eyed him. His brain was too tied up in knots, too exhausted to understand fully what Frederick was saying, other than to grasp a single truth.
Frederick offered safety. Actual safety.
He nodded a little. “Then yes, please. If it’s okay.”
“Of course. Make your way through whenever you feel comfortable doing so.” Frederick reached out and gently brushed tears from Mikey’s cheek, then left the bed and wandered back toward the door.
Mikey shivered. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he mumbled.
“I know. But if you ever do need to wake me, don’t hold back, Michael.” Frederick glanced over his shoulder. “Do you understand?”
Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4) Page 21
