"Bells." My voice comes out as a hoarse growl. "You don't have to—it's?—"
"Shut up, Rex."
Her tongue drags up the length of me. Slow. Deliberate. Avoiding the worst of the scar tissue, the parts that make me flinch. Finding the parts that still have the good kind of feeling. Mapping every inch.
I'm not getting hard again. The scar tissue pulls when blood tries to rush there and the pain is a dull, insistent throb that my braintranslates aswrong wrong this is wrong you're broken you're disgusting she can see you she can see everything she knows what you fucking look like now and?—
Bells's tongue does something.
This fuckingtwistagainst the head that sends a bolt of sensation through me so sharp it cuts through the static like a knife through fog. My hips jerk. A sound tears out of my throat that I didn't authorize.
She does it again.
And again.
Each time, the darkness gets a little further away. Each time, my body responds despite itself, despite the scars, despite the decade of self-imposed isolation telling me this can't happen, thisshouldn'thappen, not to me, not?—
Her mouth is warm. Wet. Her tongue curls around me and she sucks gently.
I'm half-hard. Maybe more. The scar pulls and it hurts but the hurt is getting tangled up with the pleasure in ways I can't separate anymore. My hand is still on the bookshelf. My knuckles are white. Books are scattered across the floor around us.
She takes me deeper.
"Fuck—"
My hand leaves the bookshelf and finds her hair, white strands threading between my fingers as my brain keeps trying to shut down like it's fucking rebooting. Keeps trying to drag me into the dark where it's safe.
Where it'spredictable.
Bells is fighting it off somehow, her hand working the swelling knot at the base of my cock while her mouth covers the rest. My head tips back and hits the bookshelf with a thud. I can hear myself panting like I've sprinted a mile and some distant part of my brain is embarrassed by that but the rest of me is too busy being alive to care.
The scar snaking down my shaft twinges and the sharp lance of pain makes me snarl and go soft again at the same time.
FUCK.
I grab her.
I don't decide to do it. My body just moves, hands under her arms, hauling her up off her knees and pinning her against the one wall that isn't covered in shelving and books. She yelps, legs kicking air, and I crush my mouth against hers before she can say another word.
The kiss is messy. Desperate. I taste my own salt on her tongue and she kisses me back with a ferocity that matches mine, her fingers fisting in my shirt. My hands are on her waist, her ribs, everywhere at once.
She lets out a breathless laugh that goes straight to my cock. "Rex?—"
I'm already dropping.
Already sinking to my knees the way she did, my hands sliding down her sides to her hips and easily supporting her weight against the wall as her hands grip my wrists. I yank at the waistband of her jeans with my teeth and she helps, wriggling, kicking one leg free.
Her silicone dick flops out of her pants and lands on the floor between us with aslapsound like a dead fish.
Bells loses her shit laughing. "Oh my gods, I forgot about that."
I manage a puff of air through my nose. Not a laugh, but rare enough. "For fuck's sake," I mutter, kicking the dildo… prosthetic… whatever the fuck it is out of the way.
"Don't kick my cock!" she hisses. "That shit was expensive!"
"Why does it have to beexpensive? Who the fuck is going to see it?"
She flashes a bright grin at me. "What? Are you jealous?"