I rake my nails down his sides and slam into him, pulling a ragged sound from his throat that is half-snarl, half-plea.
Then I take him. Ruthless. Demanding.
I don’t allow him thought, don’t allow him space to spiral. I rip every ounce of control from him and replace it with nothing but sensation. My thrusts are punishing, merciless, and when I fist his hair, yanking his head back, he arches and gasps—a sound caught between agony and ecstasy.
“You needed this,” I breathe against his ear, lips ghosting his skin. “Didn’t you?”
His growl is refusal, denial, but his body tells the truth.
I chuckle darkly, fucking him harder. “Come on, Deimos. Use your words.”
He curses instead, voice breaking, and I feel the tremor that runs through him, the tightening around me that betrays his unraveling.
“Stroke yourself,” I order, voice dropping into shadow.
His hand moves, desperate, wrapping around his cock, stroking in time with every thrust I drive into him.
“Good boy.”
The words drag a sound from him—low, unsteady, helpless. He bows his head against the couch, body trembling, caught between shame and need, between fury and release.
I don’t relent. I push him further, deeper, until the inevitable hits. His entire body goes taut, shuddering as he comes with a strangled cry, spilling hot cum into his hand.
The sight alone is enough to break me. I thrust once more, burying myself deep, and come hard inside him, my grip bruising as pleasure rips through me.
For a long, heavy moment, the only sound is our breathing.
He’s loose beneath me now, his body boneless, his edges softened. Exactly as I intended. I drag my hand up his spine, savoring the way he shudders beneath my touch, and lean in close, my breath against his ear.
“Feel better?”
He rolls his head enough to glare at me over his shoulder. “Shut up.”
But there’s no venom in it. No fire. Just exhaustion, steadiness returning where chaos had been.
I chuckle, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied stretch. “You’re welcome.”
He scoffs, shoving a hand through his messy hair. He doesn’t move. Just stays there, lingering, breathing uneven, body still lax from release. The silence between us stretches, but it isn’t sharp anymore. It’s softer. Calmer.
I close my eyes, letting my head tip back, content with the heat still coiling between us. And then, so quiet I almost miss it?—
“…Thanks.”
Begrudging. Raw. But real. And that’s enough.
FORTY-NINE
The door clicks shut behind me, sealing us into a bedroom that feels like a mausoleum of my past.
The posters on the walls, the neat rows of books, the floral comforter smoothed across the bed—all of it is familiar, yet wrong. Ghosts of who I used to be linger here, but none of them fit anymore. None of them are me. The air is too thick, pressing against my ribs until each breath comes shallow and fast. My fingers twitch restlessly at my sides as I pace, a caged animal in a room that once felt safe.
Cassiel doesn’t move. He sits on the edge of my bed as though he belongs there, silver-blue eyes tracking me with that unnerving patience of his. Always waiting. Always still.
Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice low but unyielding. “You won’t age.”
The words cut through me. I stop pacing, my body going rigid as I turn to face him.
His gaze doesn’t falter. “Your parents will grow old. But you won’t.”
