Breaking (Fall or Break #2) (13 page)

I want him to fuck me.

The thought flashed through him like a shockwave. Caught fast in the tangled net of lust, he’d fought even though he knew the outcome, wanted this outcome. He ached with pain from his injury, from the confusion in his head and the raging need in his belly.
Am I going to do this?
He didn’t have to do anything but lie there. More than twenty years since he’d had anything more than a finger up his arse. What if—?

He let out a deep groan as Archer trickled lube from the base of his spine down the seam of his butt until it dripped onto his balls. He clenched his butt cheeks.

“The. Most. Beautiful. Backside,” Archer whispered.

“It’s won prizes.”

He heard a muffled laugh.
Oh Christ, that wasn’t even funny.
Panic twisted his stomach. He sucked in a breath when Archer’s finger followed the same path as the lube. When it touched the ring of his anus, he clenched every muscle in his body. He wanted Archer’s teeth back in his shoulder. Wouldn’t ask. And then Archer leaned over his back and did just that and Conrad wondered if he’d spoken out loud.

The bite worked. His shoulders tensed and every other muscle relaxed. His reason was dissolving. All he could feel was sensation racing from the point Archer’s teeth slid along bone until he was sure he must have drawn blood, stupidly wanted him to draw blood. Conrad couldn’t pull sense back into his head.
He’s going to fuck me. Is that really what I want?

“No,” he whispered. But the word sounded weak, sounded like yes.

“I wanted to rim you but I’d have come before I got inside you.” Archer gave a quiet chuckle.

His finger pressed and teased the muscles of Conrad’s hole and Conrad’s breathing turned erratic. His body tensed again, vibrating with tension. If Archer told him to relax, he’d hit him. If Archer told him to beg for it, he’d hit him. A finger slipped inside and goose bumps erupted over Conrad’s body. Wanted, didn’t want, didn’t know what he wanted. Then the finger slid deeper and he couldn’t think at all.

Archer thrust in and out and Conrad gulped air that barely made it into his throat before he gasped it out again. With a curl of his finger, Archer nailed his prostate and Conrad found his knees shifting until he’d raised himself up and could rock his backside into Archer’s hand.
How the fuck did I manage that?
He was angry at himself, and eager and needy all at the same time. One finger turned to two, and it hurt, then the burn of stretched muscles faded, and Conrad gave a deep sigh, lost in sensation, adrift in pleasure.

The sound of a foil packet being ripped brought reality back in a jarring snap. As he began to pull away, Archer wrapped a hand around his hip.

“I don’t—”

“Yeah, you do.” Archer reached under Conrad’s belly and wrapped his fingers around his cock.

“Fuck,” Conrad muttered.
Stop being a wuss. I can fuck him after. Just let him do it.

But when he felt the head of Archer’s cock sliding in the crease of his butt, panic tightened its grip on his heart and lungs. The muscles of his anus spasmed when Archer’s cock settled there, but the rhythmic touch and pull back, the harder push before retreat lulled him toward acceptance. It felt good, more than good.

It was Archer who cried out, the noise seemingly torn from his chest and it was that sound of pleasure, the knowledge that he’d caused it that enabled Conrad to bear down and let him in. Archer drove long and hard and deep, forcing him down flat on the bed and Conrad buried his face in the pillow and clenched his fists.
Jesus Christ. What have I done?
But the world didn’t erupt in a ball of fire and his arse didn’t explode. It felt…sort of weird but good.

“Oh fuck,” Archer gasped. “You’re so fucking tight. Jesus. I need to move. You okay? Tell me you’re fucking okay.”

“I’m fucking okay. Do it.” Conrad groaned.

Hips pressed against Conrad’s arse, Archer pulled back and fucked the remaining air from Conrad’s lungs, fucked the fear from his body, pounding in and out until only desire and pleasure were left.
And inside Conrad’s head, a reassuring voice told him he hadn’t lost the battle. He’d won
.
He might have given up his arse but Archer’s desperation thrilled him and although Conrad didn’t want to admit it, this felt right being taken like this, filled like this. Even better, every thrust rubbed Conrad’s cock against the rumpled sheets, which would be enough to bring him off.

But Archer pulled him up, supported his weight, hands gripping Conrad’s hips as he pulled out and drove back time after time. Conrad fleetingly wished he’d let Malachi try it, wondered if it would have made him stay before Archer drove all thought out of his head except the need to come.

“You…” Archer panted. “The moment I saw you. On the beach. Even half-dead. Wanted you. I saw you in bed. Deefor licking you.
I
wanted to lick you. Christ, you feel so good.”

Archer had seen him that morning before Conrad had found him on the doorstep? The thought dissolved under the hard and relentless rhythm with which Archer pounded into him. Conrad loved it, hated it, needed it. All that mattered was that orgasm had begun to gallop through him, exciting every part of his body, but leaving the best place, the finishing tape place until last.
I need your hand on my cock.

As though he’d read Conrad’s mind again, Archer’s hand slipped to Conrad’s dick, pumped it at the same pace as he drove into his arse and Conrad came, his balls exploding, come flying from him in almost painful, yet deeply satisfying spurts. As Archer moved his hand back to Conrad’s hip, Conrad heard the change in his breathing and felt him stiffen against him as he came.

Impossible not to collapse. Conrad sank down with Archer on top, still inside him, still gently thrusting, the pair of them enveloped in the scent of sex and sweat and hot male flesh.

Finally, Archer stilled.

“Christ Almighty,” Archer whispered.

Words were beyond Conrad.

When Archer finally slipped out of him, Conrad missed the sensation, missed the warmth. His butt hurt yet wasn’t painful. Even his back was okay. Archer rubbed his stubble on Conrad’s shoulder and nipped his neck. Conrad just held back his whimper.
Don’t say anything.
His mental plea was directed at Archer because he didn’t need to be told that he
had
wanted this, that he was Archer’s now, his bottom,
his
fuck because it wasn’t true. Irritation surged in Conrad’s chest and Archer wrapped a leg over his thigh and pulled him close.

“Stop it,” Archer whispered.

“Stop what?”

“You know.” Archer nuzzled his mouth closer to Conrad’s ear. “Thinking. It’s overrated.”

“Even if I was thinking that wasn’t too bad?” Conrad asked.

Archer laughed. “Wasn’t too bad? You fucker! That was the best you’ve ever had.”

Conrad’s lips curled in a grin. “Since I was fourteen.”

“That was the best I’ve ever had.” Archer’s words were quiet and clear.

Conrad’s flush of pleasure faded. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest.” Archer gave a short chuckle as he flopped onto his back. “Christ, I’m exhausted.”

“I was exhausted before we started.”

“Need a hand to the bathroom?”

“No.”

But Conrad had to take it steady. His legs weren’t cooperating. By the time he made it back to bed, Archer was under the covers.

“I’ve never spent a night with a guy before,” Archer said.

Conrad’s eyes widened. “And I spent seven years’ worth of nights with the same one.”

“You’ll be used to the wet spot then.”

“Fuck off. I made Malachi sleep on that.” Conrad climbed into bed and realized Archer lay where he’d just spurted over the sheets and he smiled.

“Did you really collapse on my doorstep?” Conrad asked.

“No. I looked through the window. Saw you laughing with Deefor and wanted you to laugh with me.” Archer blinked. “If you knew how hard it was for me to admit that.”

“That you’re a peeping Tom?”

“Yeah.”

Conrad chuckled. “It nearly killed me dragging you over the threshold.”

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize how badly hurt you were. I knew I shouldn’t stay but I couldn’t leave. I’m glad I didn’t.” Archer was mumbling, sliding into sleep.

“I’m not a bottom,” Conrad said through gritted teeth, thinking how his arse had just been in the possession of another guy and wasn’t complaining too much. He wanted to hurt Archer, damage him, bite him, taste him, lick him, suck him, kiss him, fuck him—be fucked by him.
Oh God. What’s happened to me?

“Yeah, you said. I know. I get it. Neither am I. I’ll fight you too, but not now. I’m too tired.”

“I’ll try not to wake you when I fuck you,” Conrad said.

He felt Archer shaking as he laughed.

Chapter Eleven

When Archer woke in the morning with Conrad pressed up against his back, he almost lost it. It took no small amount of deep breathing before he calmed down. He thought his agitation might have woken Conrad but the guy’s exhalations remained steady on his shoulder. Last night, after he’d fucked him, Archer had fallen asleep. He’d fucking slept all night. Was that all he’d needed to cure his insomnia, silence his nightmares? Some guy lying next to him? Not some guy.
This
guy. Or was it just that this house was safe—for the time being at least?

But although a good night’s sleep might in one way be something to celebrate, it was also worrying. Archer needed to stay alert. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down or he could get them both killed. He felt responsible for Conrad, which was the best reason to leave him the fuck alone or conversely to never leave his side. One or the other, and since he’d always been a selfish prick, he suspected which way he’d ultimately roll.

He eased out of bed, retrieved his toiletries and gun from his bag along with a fresh set of clothes and padded to the bathroom. Once he’d closed the door, he hid the gun under a pile of towels. His head was full of Conrad. Every time Archer tried to think about what he needed to do, how to find a way to stave off the inevitable violent end heading his way, his attention drifted to the guy lying in bed a few feet away. Archer ached this morning, so he guessed Conrad would feel even worse, maybe mentally too. Archer had pushed and pushed, and he wasn’t sorry, but…

Now he wanted more, wanted his cock back in that hot, tight arse, wanted Conrad panting in his ear, writhing when he bit him. He knew just the place to drive Conrad crazy. He wanted him on his back with his legs shoved to his chest, wanted him up against the wall, on his hands and knees, tied up, gagged, still fighting…
oh fuck
. He had his hand on his thickening cock before he could stop himself. He leaned back against the wall of the shower and closed his eyes.

Freeing his head of images of what he’d like to do to Conrad only made room for what he was trying hard
not
to think about. What would it be like to have Conrad’s cock in his arse? Could he let that happen? He knew Conrad thought he would, but Archer only said what he needed to in order to get his own way. He squirted shower gel onto his fingers, reached between his butt cheeks to find his hole, and pushed into it while he worked his cock with his other hand.
Fuck. That feels good, though the gel stings. But maybe not as good as a cock.
It wasn’t the size of the thing fucking him that was the issue, but the power and control it gave the other person. That was what he couldn’t get his head around.

He heard a creak and snapped his eyes open.

“Don’t stop on my account,” a naked Conrad said from the doorway.

Archer took his fingers out of his butt, his hand off his dick. Conrad’s remained on his.

“
Please
don’t stop on my account.” Conrad moved up to the glass and pressed his face against it, twisting his features, mashing his mouth and leering while he continued to wank, and Archer laughed.

Conrad stepped into the shower at his side. “I do admire people who can multitask.”

Conrad’s cock stretched up over his belly, the head flushed dark red, his balls hanging heavy beneath. That line of short dark hair stretching to his navel was the sexiest Archer had ever seen. Would it go peppery gray like his hair?
You won’t be around to find out.
His heart pumped harder. Conrad wrapped his hands around his own cock and worked it as he stared at Archer. Enough of an incentive. Archer slid two fingers into his own arse and jacked off with his other hand as they looked at each other.

Who’d come first?

“Are we racing or going for the slowest?” Conrad asked. “No, don’t answer. Fastest wins. Shit.” He jerked and gave a deep groan as he came, chomping on his lower lip, thick ropes of come spurting from his cock. “Christ. That’s your fault.”

The breath caught in Archer’s throat. Conrad’s eyes were bright blue now, so different to when he’d first seen him. Had life in them.
Him
in them maybe. Ripples of pleasure trickled down Archer’s spine. He was on autopilot, doing what his dick liked best—
had
liked best—tight short tugs at the head, long corkscrew pulls up, straight sharp drags down, getting faster while his fingers curled and twisted in his arse, caressing that small gland until he wanted to sink through the floor.

His breathing turned noisier as he neared his limit, hovered on the edge, yet he wanted to make this last, wanted to
show
he could make this last and then the bastard dropped to his knees, pulled away Archer’s hand to take his cock in his mouth, deep into his mouth, and Archer exploded. Those lips, the right pressure, Conrad’s intense concentration.
Perfect.
Archer’s knees shook as he emptied himself, tremors of satisfaction racing through his body.

He pulled his fingers from his butt and washed them behind his back. Conrad still held his cock in his mouth, still sucked gently as he massaged a spot behind Archer’s balls. He couldn’t come again, not that fast but he let Conrad play with him, closed his eyes against his better judgment and wondered what the hell that place was that Conrad had found on his taint. Conrad licked and fluttered his tongue and teased and lapped at him as water poured over his head and impossibly Archer’s cock stirred and twitched and thickened in Conrad’s mouth.

“I can’t come yet,” Archer said.

Conrad let him loose with a pop. “I know, but now you’ll ache like you want to.” He laughed and pushed to his feet.

Archer glared and wrapped an arm around his neck. They tussled under the water, though Archer was careful of Conrad’s back. He found himself letting Conrad wash him, rub soap over his shoulders and down his back, over his pecs and the muscles of his abs. His throat tightened. No one had washed him since he’d been a small boy. And when Conrad dropped to his knees again and soaped his legs, massaging his thighs as he’d done for him, Archer felt himself opening up in a way he’d not managed for a long while.

“Put your foot on that ledge-seat thing,” Conrad said.

“Why?”

Conrad rolled his eyes. “Santa’s come early.”

Archer lifted his foot and tension raced back as Conrad pressed his face against his butt. When he ran his tongue down the seam of his backside, Archer tipped back his head with a groan and choked on a mouthful of water. Conrad eased his buttocks apart and flicked his tongue over his hole. Archer dropped his head so the water sprayed on his neck but he still found it hard to breathe. Conrad pushed and pressed his tongue against the ring of muscles, teased with just the tip, and the sensation was so exquisite Archer shuddered with pleasure.

“Don’t stop doing that,” Archer muttered.

“Don’t give me orders.”

Archer smiled and his smile broadened when Conrad resumed, pressing and circling his tongue. If Archer couldn’t use words to keep him doing that, he’d have to reach back and grab Conrad by the ears to keep his face there.
He’s fucking me with his tongue. Oh Christ.
Strange sounds gurgled out of his mouth. He braced his arms on the shower wall and his toes curled. He was so intent on what Conrad was doing with his tongue, the guy had wrapped a hand around Archer’s cock without him even noticing. Conrad worked in a syncopated rhythm, his tongue surging inside as his hand completed the slide on Archer’s dick.

I can’t come again.
But he felt like he wanted to. That urge, that need, the wrongness of a tongue reaming him, the irresistible rightness. He pushed back against Conrad’s face, wanting more. Conrad obliged, still working Archer’s cock with one hand while the fingers of his other curled and dug into Archer’s hip. Conrad’s tongue flicked so fast in and out of the entrance to Archer’s body, he felt as though his insides were liquefying into molten lava. Archer leaned farther forward, rested his face against his arm, gulping air in short noisy bursts. The sensations in his lower body were so intense he worried his knees would collapse. Anything Conrad wanted, he’d give him. Anything. Just as long as he didn’t stop.

Fingers teased Archer’s cock and balls back to full hardness. The sounds he was making echoed around them in the shower stall. Grunts. Whimpers. Gasps.
Christ.
He wasn’t begging but his body was.
More. Don’t stop. Fuuuuuck.
The hand on his cock tightened, rolled from root to tip and pumped fast. At the same time Conrad pushed so hard with his mouth against his arse that Archer almost fell.

“No, no, no,” he mumbled with no idea why when he was thinking
yes, yes, yes
.

Archer shook, his supporting knee beginning to buckle. Conrad’s finger joined his tongue and thunder rolled in Archer’s head. His body jerked as he came, stars exploding behind his eyes. Not much come but the intensity of the supernova orgasm blew his mind, stole his vision, his breath…
my fucking heart
. He felt himself sliding, Conrad holding him, and then they were together on the floor of the shower, wrapped in each other’s arms. Conrad rinsed out his mouth and then kissed him and Archer knew something had shifted inside him, something he didn’t recognize, or at least didn’t want to identify. He sensed it would be his downfall, would destroy him if he let it and he didn’t care.

A feeling that lasted no more than a minute. He
had
to care.

He stepped from the shower, grabbed a towel and his clothes and retreated to the bedroom. He dressed, picked up his bag and left the room before Conrad came out. That couldn’t happen again.
They
couldn’t happen again. He’d lost control, needed too much, had let Conrad manipulate him.
Bastard.
Archer had to take charge or he’d get them both killed.

But deep inside, something
had
changed. That flood of dark hunger had been like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Much as he might tell himself this couldn’t
be
anything, for the first time, he wanted that not to be the case. He wanted to believe Conrad was a guy he could be with, but if Conrad knew the truth about him, he’d run.
If I tell him, then I won’t have to be the one running away.

Conrad took his time in the shower. He somehow didn’t expect to find Archer in the house when he emerged. Maybe rimming him was a step too far, but Archer hadn’t complained, and Conrad knew how good it felt. He’d been able to turn Malachi into a puddle. But where Malachi would have begged him to do it again, just for an hour or so, and teased Conrad that his tongue was longer than his cock, and Conrad would have felt everything was right in his world, everything was
not
right in Archer’s world.

Archer had got what he wanted.
My arse.
And Conrad had enjoyed it more than he’d thought he would but that didn’t mean he was going to be Archer’s or anyone else’s bitch. He wished he wasn’t attracted to the guy, wished he’d never met him. It was time to retake control of his life. He stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel.

So what now?
He had no phone to call a taxi. He’d have to walk to the nearest town. He didn’t think he’d bother telling the police what Archer had seen at the cottage. What was the point? Archer wouldn’t be there to confirm it, and Conrad wasn’t sure he believed it.
Some elaborate ploy so he got to fuck me?
Well, it had worked.
And I fucking rimmed him.
He started to grind his teeth.
This is a guy who’ll never belong to anyone.

He grabbed another towel for his hair and froze.
What the fuck?
Archer’s gun? It didn’t have to be, but he knew it was.
Shit.
He put the towel back in place. Conrad dried himself, and as he dressed in the bedroom, he heard Archer pounding up the stairs. His heart thumped.

“Forget something?” Conrad asked.

Archer paused at the bathroom door and looked back at him.

Conrad met his gaze. “Who the fuck are you?”

When Archer didn’t answer, Conrad turned away and packed his bag. He heard Archer go downstairs and let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He stripped the sheets from the bed and winced as his back went into spasm. Something told him this wasn’t a place Archer had rented but one he’d broken into. Conrad didn’t want to leave their mess for someone else.

The house was warm but a chill seeped through his bones as he carried his bag, coat, and the sheets and towels downstairs. He dropped the first two items in the hall and went looking for the washing machine. Archer sat in the kitchen feeding toast to Deefor. Conrad ignored him, found the washer and detergent, and set the machine going.

He gave Archer time to say something but he didn’t. Conrad wasn’t going to beg. He was a barrister, Queen’s Counsel; he couldn’t associate with someone who was illegally carrying a weapon.
Why the hell does he have a gun?
He didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know. The less he knew the better. He could guess plenty. He walked out of the kitchen, put on his coat, picked up his bag and left the house.

It was a miserable, gray, drizzly morning and that suited him fine. He’d take it steady and once he reached a town, get a cab to a station and from there…home, London. Maybe he ought to start work. It would stop him thinking how much his life had changed in a matter of days and how long it would take to put all this behind him.

Less than a hundred yards down the road he heard the car coming. Archer pulled up alongside and the window went down.

“My name’s Archer Hart.”

Conrad stared at him. Archer offered him his driver’s license.

“Your real name?” Conrad didn’t take the card.

“That’s what it says on my birth certificate. I don’t have that with me.”

Conrad huffed. It started to rain more heavily and he gritted his teeth and started to walk again.

“Get in the car.”

“What do your family call you?”

“I don’t have any family.”