Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2 (12 page)

Archer rocked his hips, mashing one hard cock against another. “This one?”

“You’re not going to fuck me.” Conrad dragged the words from the messy whirlpool in his head.

“Yes, I am.”

Archer pressed his lips hard against Conrad’s, pushing his head back against the wall.
Oh God, fuck, hell.
Torn between anger, fear and lust, he shook as Archer ran his tongue along the seam of his mouth, shoving, pressing until he’d forced his way in to twist his tongue against Conrad’s.
Stay in control.
The thought popped like a soap bubble.

Conrad’s tongue was just as desperate to explore, and when it had the chance, it surged into Archer’s mouth.
Neither my cock nor my tongue is listening to me?
Archer’s grip didn’t lessen on his wrists but Conrad was no longer trying to get free.

The longer the kiss went on, the less Conrad felt able to move. They were wedged together from head to toe and despite all the clothing between them, it felt as if they were naked. He tried to tell himself this wasn’t what he wanted, but his rock-hard cock proved it a lie and the rapid pounding of his heart confirmed it. He was frozen in a state of shocked awareness of how much he liked this, needed this. He’d never been kissed, had never kissed with this sort of violence, this degree of physical energy. If it hadn’t been for the tinge of desperation coming from Archer, he might have tried harder to resist but to be wanted this much, to be needed this much, blew to smithereens what was left of his sense of self-preservation.

Archer finally released him and slid his hands inside Conrad’s coat, around his waist and onto his butt. He spread his fingers and dug them into Conrad’s pants, groaning into his mouth, yanking Conrad forward, then shoving him back against the wall. All Conrad could think about was this man and the way he made him feel.

This mouth-bruising, air-stealing, mind-fucking kiss was like no kiss he’d ever had or ever given. It deprived every cell in his body of oxygen, and flooded them with lust. That had to be why his head was swimming, and why he’d collapse if Archer moved. Archer pulled back only long enough for them to take quick gulps and then his mouth was back on Conrad’s, his body pressed against Conrad’s, his hands all over Conrad. Thoughts of having any control evaporated. Like an addict desperate for a fix Conrad couldn’t step away from his supply. He needed Archer as much as Archer needed him. Without Archer, he was lost. Hated that. Loved that.

Archer tugged Conrad’s upper lip into his mouth, sucked and nipped, and Conrad groaned. He slid his hand to the back of Archer’s hair and held tight as they slid faster and faster toward oblivion, control spinning away. They were anchored together, welded, enmeshed, merged into one slab of raw, crazy greed.

Conrad wanted him, even though he knew he’d never keep him, wanted him even though he knew he was dangerous, wanted him because he made him feel alive. He hadn’t forgotten the dark essence in Archer. Maybe he could turn it into light and make Archer his, and maybe then
he’d
walk away and leave Archer wanting more.
Right, like that’s going to happen.
Conrad tilted his head and
he
deepened the kiss, heard Archer groan into his mouth, felt the guy’s fingers tightening on his butt until Conrad was sure he’d leave bruises. Black dots danced in Conrad’s vision and breathing became imperative. He wrenched free and sucked air like a surfacing free-diver.

Gripping each other tightly, they exhaled into each other’s faces, inhaled each other’s air and stared into each other’s eyes. Then Archer made the mistake of smiling, an expression too close to a smirk, which broke the spell and enraged Conrad.
Fuck you. This is not just me who wants this.
He let Archer go and wrenched away but Archer caught the lapels of his coat and pulled him back. Distress surged inside Conrad and welled into his throat. Unwillingness to accept what he knew was coming made him want to beat the shit out of Archer, to destroy the very thing he wanted because then he could deny he’d ever desired it. He needed another Malachi, not this guy.

Not this guy.

Not.

This.

Guy.

Archer countered every one of Conrad’s blows, parried every lunge and kick. Occasionally, Conrad managed to inflict pain but Archer never hit him back. Instead he concentrated on getting Conrad out of his coat and shoes and getting himself out of his as they struggled and thrashed and tussled, moving from wall, to floor, to bed and back again. Archer confined his moves to defense, and that seemed to inflame Conrad even more. It inflamed Archer too, but in a different way.

“Fight back, damn you,” Conrad gasped.

“Fuck. You’re hard work.”

“Good.”

Archer laughed. He’d managed to pin Conrad on his back on the bed and he rocked his hips as he nuzzled Conrad’s neck. “Ready to admit me you want me?”

“Ready to admit
you
want
me
?”

“Oh yeah, I fucking do. You do know the more you fight, the better I like it? The way you smell, taste, and feel when you’re aroused like this—it all turns me on. Fear, anger, lust. You’re fucking irresistible.”

Conrad stared up at him, his blue eyes glinting with defiance. Archer grabbed his wrists and pressed them down as he pushed himself up to rock his pelvis against Conrad’s. Under the material of his pants, hard, slick, hot flesh ached to rub against its mate. Conrad moaned and bucked into him, and Archer sighed with satisfaction. But when Conrad kept doing it, Archer let his weight settle to keep him down.

“Not that. Not this time,” he said. “I want to come inside you.”

“Get the fuck off me.”

“What are you so afraid of? Never been fucked before?”

The Adam’s apple in Conrad’s throat rose and fell. “Not since I was fourteen.”

Christ.
“When did it start?”

“When I was eleven.”

Something else he and Conrad had in common. “Where?”

“Boarding school. I was teacher’s pet for a couple of years.”

Bile surged into Archer’s throat at the memory of the first time he’d been fucked.

Conrad licked his lips. “It wasn’t all bad. Sometimes I liked it except that made it worse because I knew I wasn’t supposed to. All I had to do was tell the headmaster or my parents and that would have been it.”

“The teacher would leave and everyone would find out why.”

“That’s what I believed. You’re the first person I’ve ever told.”

Archer nodded in acknowledgement of what he knew was a gift and he offered one of his own. “I was the same age the first time. Except it was all bad. I was no one’s pet, just passed around the care home workers and to guys outside the care home until I ran away. When I was twenty I was raped by three bastards who drugged me in a club and took me to a hotel. Four hours of abuse followed by a two-night stay in the hospital where I was treated like scum. That was the last time anyone had my arse.”

“Did the police get the guys who did it?”

“What do you think? Why would I want to have to tell person after person what they did?”

“To stop them doing it to someone else?”

Archer had dealt with them himself, picked them off one by one and taken his revenge.

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” Conrad mumbled.

“No, it’s not. I want you. You want me. You just haven’t quite got your head around it. I’ll take care. I won’t ram into you, not unless you ask me nicely.”

Conrad glared. “Fuck you.”

“I don’t think so.”

Conrad wrenched his arms free and tried to get out from under Archer.
Not going to happen.
They fumbled with each other’s clothing, buttons and zippers sliding and slipping through fingers. He became aware Conrad wasn’t trying to stop him. He was fighting to get Archer’s cock in his hand. An inferno of lust raged in Archer’s head.

Their upper bodies finally bare, part-unzipped pants riding low on their hips, Archer had moved Conrad off the bed to press him against the wall. One of Conrad’s hands was buried in Archer’s hair while the other explored his chest, squeezing and stroking, fingers twisting his nipples harder and harder until the breath caught in his throat. Conrad raked them with his nails, and Archer gave a long moan. Flames raced through his body and gathered in his groin. His cock strained in the confines of his pants. Foreheads resting together, they breathed as hot and hard as dragons, hands roaming the other’s skin, touching, kneading, caressing. Rough, gentle, everything worked to make him more and more thirsty. The only drink he wanted was right in front of him.

Archer dropped his head to Conrad’s shoulder, bit down and felt Conrad buckle.

“Oh God,” Conrad gasped.

Archer gripped the back of Conrad’s neck, squeezed and at the same time shoved his knee between Conrad’s legs, pushing his thigh against Conrad’s cock and to his relief, Conrad rubbed against him instead of pushing him off.

“No,” Conrad blurted.

Body saying one thing, mouth another.
Archer forced his hand between their bodies to work at Conrad’s zipper. When he slid his fingers over Conrad’s rigid cock, gripping it through the material of his shorts, Conrad shuddered so hard the vibration ran to Archer’s toes and made them curl.

“
This
doesn’t say no,” Archer said. “You’re hard as steel.”

“All the better for fucking you. Why don’t you bend over, put your hands on the table and think of England.”

Archer chuckled. He slid his fingers through the gap in Conrad’s shorts and with one finger stroked the length of his dick and up over the sensitive head. Conrad arched into him with a long wail.

“Steady, tiger,” Archer whispered.

“Fuck, I wish that had been a roar. Sounded like a mouse.”

Archer squeezed and pumped Conrad’s dick and dropped his mouth to the place he’d bitten before. He knew from the sounds and movements Conrad made that his resistance was weakening. Every hard graze with his teeth resonated in Archer’s cock but even as Conrad began to jerk harder into Archer’s fist, his hips shifting into a rhythmic grind, the guy dragged himself from the brink.

Conrad fell back as Archer let him go. He flailed in a flare of panic but landed on the bed as Archer intended. Archer stared at him as he stripped, watching Conrad’s chest heave as he struggled to regulate his breathing. Archer pulled down his pants and shorts at the same time and stepped out of them to stand naked in front of Conrad.

“How come you look bigger now?” Conrad asked.

Archer couldn’t help smiling. He bent and pulled off Conrad’s socks, then tugged down his pants and shorts. Conrad’s cock looked bigger too but it wasn’t coming anywhere near his arse, so that was fine. He looked like a big cat stretched out on the bed, all long limbs, not an ounce of fat on him. Not as well muscled as Archer but still a body that made his mouth water. Archer reached into his bag, tossed condoms and lube on the bed and saw the flare of concern burst in Conrad’s eyes followed by a backward shuffle over the bed. Archer crawled after him, knees planted between Conrad’s legs, all the time staring in his face as he lowered his weight onto Conrad’s body. If he didn’t want this, why was he widening his legs and wrapping them around Archer’s thighs?

The compliance didn’t last long.

“Off.” Conrad tried to throw him off and failed. Archer grabbed his wrists, pinned them at the sides of Conrad’s head and bent to lick along his reddened collarbone. Conrad melted until he felt Archer’s cock slide between his thighs and rub his balls. The guy went from putty to iron, clenched his fingers into fists and struggled to squirm free.

“Get the fuck off,” Conrad snapped.

Their bellies were soaked with pre-come. The scent of musk and sweat and Conrad swirled in his head. If the guy panted any more heavily, he’d hyperventilate. Archer rocked against him and Conrad let out a long groan.

“Don’t.” Conrad closed his eyes and sighed.

Archer licked up his neck, danced his lips over Conrad’s face, across his eyelids, and down his cheeks to brush his lips. “Fight me,” he whispered. “Please.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“Christ.”

“Please,” Archer repeated.

“I don’t want to give in.”

“Then don’t, but giving in doesn’t make you weak. The power is yours
.
You’re the one making me feel this way, making the breath catch in my throat, making my balls ache. Can’t you see the desperation in my face?”

Conrad gave a little smile and opened his eyes again. “Hey, I’m the one who uses words to get what I want.”

“Maybe. But one of us has to give way first. Fight me.”

Conrad
had
to fight. Archer had understood before Conrad. It was the only way Conrad could do this. He
had
to fight and Archer
had
to break him. Conrad used every ounce of his strength to lift his arms, then twisted free of Archer’s grip, rotating his body to slip free.

Archer gave a roar of delight and they began struggling together, tussling, hands and legs entwined, bodies together then apart, grinding hips, sweat-slick skin sticking together, cries and groans filling the room, wrestling until Archer knew Conrad had to hurt, until he thought the guy
had
to give in but he didn’t. Each time Archer almost pinned him, Conrad found a way to get free—a bite, an unexpected kiss, a lick. Conrad was ticklish and he took advantage of that until finally he was where Archer wanted him, face down, Archer on top, arm on his neck, his hard, slick cock resting in the crease of Conrad’s butt.

“I’m going to pass out from exhaustion in a minute.” Conrad panted into the pillow.

“I’ll try not to wake you when I come in your arse.”

Unseen, Conrad smiled. But when a draft of cold air swept over his backside as Archer pushed himself up and off, his smile died. Anger blossomed inside him, awareness that the aches and pain in his body had subsided under the weight of desire and fury. The emotions battled side by side, neither ceding and until one had, he was doomed. But Conrad knew he was sliding fast, no way of stopping his descent into submission. He wanted Archer’s cock in his arse, didn’t want it anywhere near his arse.
Oh Christ.
He despised himself for even considering it.