Bad Things (42 page)

Hands shaking, Carson looped the belt around Xavier’s forearm and threaded it through the buckle.

“
Tighter.”

He pulled it tight, then threaded the leather back under so the friction held it in place. A weird, cool, calming relief seeped through Xavier’s body. Easier to breathe, now that the restraints were doing the work of keeping Carson safe.

“Can you do it like this?” Xavier asked him.

For a minute, Carson stared at him like he really didn’t know if he could. But finally he said, “Yes.”

“Go to my room. Get what you need from the night stand.”

Carson was back thirty seconds later, condoms in one hand, lube in the other. So nervous. Frozen there, not knowing what to do next, or knowing, and too shy to do it. Xavier was about to start talking him through it, but Carson set the stuff on the side table, then meeting Xavier’s eyes, shuffled forward until he was standing between his splayed legs, then planted a knee on the seat of the chair, and straddled Xavier’s thighs. The fresh tattoo stung like fuck as Carson settled his weight in his lap, and Xavier drank up that pain with almost as much pleasure as he did Carson’s shy gaze.

Xavier kept straining against the leather, wanting to pull Carson against him, wanting to grab two handfuls of hair, pull him in and taste his mouth. Wanting to curve his fingers around that dick-shaped bulge in his pants, tease it, squeeze it. Turn him around. Bend him over. Yank those pants down. Get into his hole. Strange, sweet torture, being held down. Kept still.

“
Can I kiss you?” Carson asked. Fuck. Had anyone ever asked him anything so sweetly?

A little of Xavier’s seething need roiled up to the surface in a grin. “Don’t ask. If you want to kiss me, do it. Do whatever you want with me. You want to fuck my mouth, fuck my ass, I’m here. At your disposal.”

It probably shouldn’t have, but it shocked him, how sweetly Carson kissed him. Not just shy and tentative, not just for those first moments of nervously testing his unfamiliar power. It was a sustained, slow tenderness. Xavier had to fight not to tear it to shreds.

God. God, those soft lips. The velvet caress of his tongue. Xavier forced himself to be almost passive. To accept and answer each kiss, without lunging forward, bending him back and plunging into his mouth.

The strangest feeling, Carson cradling his face in his hands and looking into him, nervous and hopeful. Hopeful of what? That he wouldn’t laugh at him? That he wouldn’t suddenly yank himself free of the belts and take back control? That he would?

“
If I do something badly, if you want me to do it differently, just tell me, okay?”

Never. Never in his life had he been touched and kissed like that. Carson just gazing at him, slowly combing his fingers into his hair. Gently waking all the nerves in his scalp. Tender lips brushing over the bruises on his cheek. Then touching his lips again. Soft. Just a tease. A whisper of a kiss. Xavier hungry, fucking starving for more, ready to fucking beg. Feeding on the pleasure and pain of denial.

Carson lifting Xavier’s shirt, holding the hem up under Xavier’s chin with one hand, tracing the lines and curves of his big Aztec tattoo, the hard edges of armor, the biomorphic curves of the serpentine body. A timid glance up to meet his eyes, as if he was embarrassed to be looking at him and touching him like that. So fucking possessively. But like a man who treasures his possessions and treats them with infinite care.

Soft, warm, wet kisses along the curve under each pec. Along the sinew between shoulder and jaw. Tender press of lips gently rousing a nipple.

Jesus. Yes. Carson looked at him, like looking for permission, then slipped off Xavier’s lap, torturing the raw flesh of his freshly tattooed thigh again, sank to his knees, carefully lifting and pulling the waist of his jeans, letting his hard dick find its way upward, the tip emerging into sight, and holy fucking Christ, another tender kiss, lips just barely brushing against the crown.

Unbuttoning, unzipping, Carson worked his jeans and briefs down. Xavier raised his ass off the chair, sucking air through his teeth when Carson dragged the stiff denim over the tattoo, tearing the saran wrap free.

“Shit. Xavier. Why didn’t you tell me?” Guilt and reproach mingled in those stunning blue eyes. God, Carson was beautiful. “You’re bleeding.”

“
The pain felt good. Just stick the tape back in place. It’s fine.”

As cautiously as if he were treating a suffering burn victim, Carson gently put the plastic wrap and the tape back in place. Then he got on his knees, and pushing his thighs wide apart, mouthed Xavier’s balls with utter devotion, like it was his life’s fucking mission. When he finally got around to kissing his cock, Xavier was hissing, shuddering for it, tortured half to death, not being able to take control, pull Carson down onto his dick, that helplessness making every lick and slurp too delicious to bear. He grunted in ecstatic frustration.

Carson stopped and looked up at him, eyes full of apology. But then, meeting Xavier’s gaze, seeing the desperate agony of need in his face, Carson grinned. Every second, Xavier wanted him more, even before the added torture of watching Carson undress. Still shy, but not hurrying. Making Xavier wait for every inch of bared skin.

Every second not fucking, not being fucked, not filling his mouth up with that perfect, hard cock was an agony of delicious despair. But Carson was just standing there. Looking at him. Looking lost.

This time Xavier grinned, realizing that somewhere among all of Carson’s tender kisses and his obscenely endearing guilelessness, Xavier’s rage, the vicious hate that had been stalking and clawing at him since Elena’s phone call about Max, had quietly died, or at least gone to sleep for a while.

“
Do you know what you want to do?” he asked.

Carson nodded.

“What’s stopping you?”

“
You can’t move. Much.”

“
Do you need to put me in a different position?”

Carson shook his head.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Another shake of the head.

“Do you want to ride my cock?”

A beautiful, deep blush that said everything. Xavier glanced down, and watched his cock blush a shade deeper, as if it was trying to match Carson’s cheeks.

“Jesus, Carson. Do it. You have no idea how much I want you to.”

He looked embarrassed as hell, but that little nudge was all he seemed to need. He picked up a condom, tore open the wrapper, and got the orientation sorted. Then froze.

Xavier couldn’t help grinning again. “Carson?”

It took his breath away, the hopeful trust in those eyes. Maybe because of that, his tone was a little gentler than it might have been, without that look. “Didn’t you put a condom on Dario? Or Aidan?”

Carson shook his head again.

“
But you’ve put one on yourself, right?”

“
Yes.”

Xavier laughed, not trying to be cruel. “So, go ahead. Don’t worry. My cock won’t bite your fingers.”

Good. Smiling.

God, he was being careful, like he was afraid of breaking Xavier’s cock. But it felt nice. Absolutely great, those soft, caressing strokes of Carson’s fingertips as he rolled the condom down his shaft, then as he slowly slid his grip down his cock, crown to root, smearing it with lube.

But when Carson climbed onto his lap again and started to get into position, Xavier said, “I think you forgot something, lover.”

From the way Carson was looking at him, slightly abashedly, like he’d been caught in a deliberate omission, Xavier knew he knew what he was talking about. But he wasn’t going to admit it.

“I know I play rough, but even at my worst, I never fucked you without getting you ready first. Trust me, you’re gonna want to do that.”

Jesus. Every time Carson turned red like that, Xavier’s dick got even harder.

“Does the idea of putting your finger in your ass gross you out?”

“
No.”

“
Does it embarrass you?”

“
In front of you, yes.”

“
You’ve done it to yourself? When you were alone?”

“
No,” he confessed.

Xavier didn’t even try to hold back the massive smile that came over him. “Let me watch you.”

Blushing like crazy, Carson obediently picked up the bottle of lube again, and when he had filled the channel between his index and middle fingers, he set the bottle down, reached between his thighs, and lifted his balls, clearing the way. Now he reached back with the other hand. Xavier couldn’t see his asshole, but that was okay. The flex and motion of his hand painted a teasing but pretty vivid picture of what he was doing. And the really priceless thing was his face. Expression all sweet torment provoked by the pleasure of what he was doing to himself with those two fingers, and the arousing humiliation of Xavier watching him do it.

As much as Xavier was relishing the torment of the restraints, he wanted to touch. Push two fingers between Carson’s parted lips. Wet his nipple with a spit-slick fingertip, after. Feather a few fingertips up and down his turgid cock. Steal that tear of pre-seminal fluid, and lick his finger clean.

“Are both fingers inside you?” Xavier asked.

Another gorgeous blush. “No.”

“Only one?”

“
Yes.”

“
You know that’s not enough. Not if you’re going to sit on my cock. Go on.”

He loved it. That fretful look on Carson’s face, the way his breathing got caught up on his strained effort, then came back, erratic.

“Are they all the way inside?”

“
Yes.”

He could hardly stand it. “Kiss me while you finger your hole.”

That kiss. Charged. Maxed out voltage, both of them quivering, both panting.

“
Can I now? Please?” Carson panted against his lips.

“
Jesus. Yes.”

Adorable, the way Carson hesitated for a moment, not sure what to do about his two lube-coated fingers once he’d pulled them out of his ass. Finally, with a shy grin he furtively wiped them against his own thigh. Then, holy hell, he took hold of the base of Xavier’s dick, then rose up on his knees, slowly settling down on it, until he got everything lined up.

When Carson began sinking down on Xavier’s cock, terribly slowly, Xavier grunted, straining against the leather lashing his wrists to the chair. Like a snake incrementally working its body over its twitching prey, Carson gradually swallowed the thick length of Xavier’s lurching cock.

Finally. God, yes. Inside. Carson’s body squeezing him so hard, it was like he was trying to wring him out, just sitting there, panting with the strain. Looking at him.

Fuck, Xavier wished he could put his arms around him.

Carson gave him a shy, strained smile, then kissed.

Still kissing, he started moving. Unsure. A little awkward. Seeking his rhythm. Trying for a good angle. But the whole set-up, being bound and Carson’s endearing uncertainty had Xavier hissing and panting through a pleasure too delicious to last long.

“
You’re so good,” he murmured against Carson’s lips. “You feel so fucking good, I’m dying.”

It shocked him, the wild thrill of every movement, how close to the edge he felt already, Carson barely even fucking him.

“Stroke yourself while you fuck me,” Xavier said.

What a vision, beautiful Carson shyly meeting his eyes as he touched, hand moving over his rigid, inflamed cock, gorgeous torso rising, descending, undulating.

Blue eyes heavy-lidded, brow furrowed. Mouth open, moaning. Jets of white launching, snaking through the air, warm on Xavier’s skin.

Carson, shy and proud, knowing, still trembling, wiping up his come with his finger and giving it to Xavier to suck. Riding him while he fed him. Oh, Christ. Three fingers, glazed and musky, filling his mouth, Carson’s ass devouring his dick, wringing his balls dry. Fuck.

While he panted, waiting out his tremors, Carson gazed at him, the way people stare at those optical illusion puzzles, waiting for the solution to emerge and show them something they hadn’t seen before.

“
You don’t seem angry anymore,” Carson said softly.

Xavier smiled. Laughed. “I don’t feel angry anymore.”

Sphincter still grasping the base of Xavier’s cock, Carson undid the belts.

Xavier wrapped his arms around Carson, pulled him against his chest, kissed him. A magic-charged circuit, bodies so interconnected Xavier was dissolving. A euphoric disappearance.

Strange, waking up, Carson still wrapped in his arms. Just like their last morning at the hotel. Except for Carson these last two times, when had Xavier last spent the night with someone? Even Dario had never stayed. They’d both been so careful, always, to take care of the distance that helped guarantee Dario’s fear and Xavier’s control.

Such gorgeous, milky skin. He imagined giving him a tattoo, mostly dark, but with two or three deep, saturated colors worked in, just over his shoulder blade. Before he resolved what the image should be, Carson woke.