Save Me

Chapter Eighteen

He took all of me quickly, and I remembered how difficult Tom had found it had first, how easily it came to Luke. My grip tightened on his hair, pushing his head down slightly, and back up again, over and over. I knew he could take it. I tried to hold in ragged breaths, heaving while he sucked me, harder, and then faster, and then slower, as I came close to coming into his mouth.

He was teasing me, I noticed. I liked it.

He took me out of his mouth and quickly pushed our lips back together, rougher this time, our lips wet, our tongues clashing. He sat himself on top of me again, his body gyrating slowly, his hips moving, his ass rubbing along my dick, and I felt ready to burst. But I forced myself to hold it, quickly flipped him over and grabbed him by his legs. I grabbed the hem of his boxers and yanked them down, ripping them off. He smiled, his eyes afire, his legs held up over my shoulders. I positioned myself hastily against him, tugging at my dick, spitting down and rubbing it along. Then, I slowly began pushing into him.

He gasped, his legs shivering, his body quaking on that mattress. His hands went up into his hair, gently pulling it while I pushed myself into him.

"Just take me," he said, "take me like you took Tom."

I looked him in the eyes, stopping for a moment. It suddenly felt a little weird, but I didn't let it stop me. My mind went rushing back to how I used to fuck Tom, and god, I missed fucking like that. Not just fucking without a care in the world, but letting out all of your aggression at the same time. I knew it had always felt good, and I knew I'd always regret it too. But in the moment, I didn't care. I let those old memories wash over me, and I decided to give him exactly what he wanted. I was going to fuck him, just like I fucked Tom.

So I thrust myself into him without a second thought, fast and rough, and craving it, realising how much I'd missed it.

I began pounding into him, picking up a rhythm in my thrusts, feeling all the hate and all the anger in me rise up to the surface.my hands pushed him off and flipped him onto his stomach, slipping back into him and fucking him harder.

"Is this how you fucked him?" he asked, his voice hard and breathy. "Is this how you fucked Tom?" His tone begged for an answer, pleaded, and so I picked up the pace of my thrusts, our boding bashing together.

"This is exactly how I fucked him," I whispered into his ear. One of my hands grabbed his hair and pulled it hard, the other he took into his mouth, his teeth clasp down, biting, drawing blood. The bed creaked loudly from the hard thrusts of my hips, holding him there in the mattress.

I ran my nails over his back fast in reaction, breaking skin. He called out, moaning, moving in time with me perfectly, letting me take him. Then I felt a sense of deja vu wash over me, of all those times with Tom, and it felt like he was lying there under me once again, writhing in pleasure and pain, his face buried in the pillow, biting it harder as I fucked him. The memory of him felt good for once, so I kept fucking him, and I felt myself loving it.

I slowed down after a while, our bodies soaking in sweat against the sheets, feeling the draft against our skins. I grew slower, more sensual, slowly overtaken, until I felt myself release into him, and I collapsed down on the bed beside him, panting and heaving and completely spent.

"So," he said, his voice still catching its breath, "Tom liked it rough, did he?"

The lies came easily. "He loved it. You seemed like a natural," I complimented.

"I know my way around the bedroom," he said.

"Oh yeah?" I asked. "How many boys have you shagged?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does if you have AIDS," I said.

"What if you've given me AIDS? You're the slut here, darling, don't forget."

"I'm not a slut."

"Maybe not," he commented. "But you fuck like a dom top."

"And you fuck like a power bottom," I laughed.

"And I can fuck like a power top too," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I don't like to limit myself."

"That's where you and Tom were different, then," I said.

"Did Tom not want to fuck you?" he asked, turning on the bed so that our naked bodies were pressing together. His hand stayed over my chest, his fingers trailing lines along my ribcage, down the curves of my hips. "I can't see why. I'd love to fuck your arse. Is that inappropriate to say?"

"N-"

"I don't care anyway, I stand by it. Why didn't Tom want to fuck you? Or, wait, did you not want him to?"

"It just never happened," I told him. "I just... I don't like it. It brings back bad memories."

"What? Having a dick up your butt? It only brings back good memories for me," he laughed. "Good, hot, steamy memories. And now I can add another."

"Glad to know I'm good in bed."

"I have a feeling you already knew that," he quipped. "Isaac, will you answer something for me?" he asked, while I stared up at the ceiling, still catching my breath.

I didn't know what to expect, so I said, "Depends what you ask."

"Just tell me the truth. You hurt Tom, didn't you? Not mentally, but physically. Maybe both. I'm right, aren't I?"

"What gave you that impression?"

"It isn't hard to figure out. You're more guilt-ridden than I am. I've been trying to piece you together, because you're a fucking mystery to me. As soon as I met you, I could see exactly why Tom fell in love with you. But I'm not an idiot. I can see that you're not proud of your time with Tom, that you mistreated him. That's the only thing that makes sense to me, that's why you're chasing me."

"Chasing you?" I asked, suddenly unsure if I wanted to keep talking about it. "What do you mean?"

"Bumping into me all over, standing outside my house, chasing me, trying to sleep with me. I know it's because I remind you of Tom. Well, I don't care. Being with you reminds me of him too, makes me feel closer to him too. That's not a bad thing, is it? It can't be, can it?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

I didn't want to say much else. I felt like he could see straight through me. This whole time, he'd seen something strange about me, and he'd been trying to figure it out. I was only glad he hadn't figured out the whole story, because I knew as soon as that would happen, he'd feel betrayed, and he'd leave me. Maybe I was being greedy and selfish, but I didn't care, I didn't want him to leave. I'd grown comfortable with him, or at least, more comfortable than I'd ever felt with Tom.

With Tom, the feelings were messy and confused in my head, love and hate all muddled with anger, self-hatred and bitter resentment. With Luke, I didn't want to keep myself walled up. I didn't want to play games. I just wanted to be with him, in the moment, like I was finally ready.

So I decided, and said, "I don't care either. Luke, I want you to fuck me."