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The city's outskirts were draped in a blinding sheet of sand and dust. Gunfire rang out from the concrete buildings. Between an alleyway ducked a masked figure, finger on the trigger as he cleared out the buildings. He pushed through abandoned room after abandoned room, only ever coming across discarded cans and abandoned supplies. The radio clipped onto his vest hummed with static. He glanced back over his shoulder as he traversed the sector alone. Gunfire erupted from the east, earning a quick glance out the window as he advanced. Aching hands held his rifle steady. His chest steadily rose and fell as he evened out his breathing. Even after years of experience, the nerves still got to him.
“West end secured,” a voice said over the radio. He brought the device to his covered lips, pushing down with his index finger.
“Copy, almost done here,” he said, clipping the radio back to his vest. Muffled cries drew his attention. He pushed himself against the wall. He aimed the barrel of his rifle toward the doorway as he quickly moved through—another empty room. More soft cries came from down the hallway. He thought as he cleared out a closet. The voice was far too high to be a man. Maybe a woman, maybe a child. Giving another glance to his rear, he entered the hallway. His boots clicked against the concrete. As he approached the end of the corridor, his eyes locked onto a single door cracked open just a hair. He swiftly pushed the door open, checking every corner of the room, and then behind the door. Everything was clear, except for the person chained to the wall.
Cloaked in just a single oversized tee stained with blood and dirt, was what looked to be an adult female. The cuffs were placed just high enough that they couldn’t even rest on their heels. They stood in a puddle of urine, skin covered in deep purple bruises. He looked up at their terrified eyes.
“Please, I'm an American soldier,” they said in a hoarse voice. “My partner and I were captured.”
His brows furrowed as he looked the alleged soldier up and down. Stepping forward, he did a quick pat down of the hostage. He tugged their shirt up after palpating a soft mass. The skin of their abdomen was littered with more scars and bruises. Sitting above their right hip was a messy pile of bloodied gauze taped to their skin. That was the only other thing they were wearing. Quickly pulling the shirt down and turning away, he spoke.
“Any ID on you?” He asked.
“My, my unit number was 492. Headed by Captain Davis. They took everything from me,” they explained, tugging against their cuffs.
Quickly scanning the captive over, he grabbed onto his radio.
“Got a hostage here in the north sector. Said they’re an American, unit 492, under the order of a captain Davis. Gonna need medical here too.” He said, reaching out to grab the battered arm of the soldier. They winced, gritting their teeth and shifting on their toes.
“Got it. We don’t have a way to get medical. Get them back to the copter and we’ll deal with it at base,”
He glanced at the soldier, scanning over all of their battered limbs.
“I’ll make it there as soon as possible. Still haven’t cleared it out, but the way they’re looking, I can’t stick around to finish it up.” Putting his radio back, he brought his hands up to the cuffs. They were solid, unable to be broken by hand.
“You seen anyone put a key anywhere?” He asked, peering down at the soldier.
“The desk. Check the drawers,” they said, nodding toward a ramshackle desk in the corner of the room. He approached, ripping open each drawer and digging through the rubbage. His eyes caught onto a glint of silver. He pushed past the clutter, revealing two sets of dog tags.
“Name?” He asked, looking over the information on the tags.
“Last name is Whiteford. My partner is Barr.” They explained. The names matched up on the tags. He held the tags up for them to see before quickly turning back toward the drawers. There was no key in sight, however there was a pair of wire cutters. Not bothering to close the drawers, he quickly made his way over to the captive. He placed the cutters on one of the chains and began pushing with all his strength. A subtle click sounded as the steel gave way beneath the force of the pliers, and another, before the link broke altogether. With a thud the captive fell, only to be caught in the arms of the masked man. He slung the captive over his shoulder, all too aware of the pair of bare legs in his peripherals.
“I can’t feel my arms or my legs,” they said as their breathing staggered.
“You’re okay. We’re getting out of here,” he said, returning to the hallway. “We’re getting out of here. They can’t walk, we’re gonna need to find a place for the heli to land.” He spoke forcefully into the radio.
“Uh, southwest, past that gate. We’ll have them land.” A voice said with a stutter. The man ran out of the building, pistol in hand as he turned down another alley. He could see the decrepit gate up ahead, more of a mess of chicken wire than a gate. Glancing up into the sky, he moved toward the landmark. The loud whirring propellers quickly came into earshot. He tugged at the back of the Americans shirt, pulling it down as far as it could go. A plume of sand erupted as the helicopter landed. He quickly approached and ducked as he handed the American over to his comrade. He watched as the man set their limp body on one of the seats. He hoisted himself up inside the chopper with a small grunt and moved to sit next to the American. His fingers fished through his pockets, pulling out a chain with the soldier's tags. He slipped them over their head, reading the engraved letters again.
“You’re in good hands, sergeant,” he yelled over the deafening roar of the propellers. The battered sergeant whimpered, laying their head in the lap of the lieutenant. They tucked their knees into their chest and closed their eyes.
-
I felt, disjointed, to say the least. As if I was some sort of spectator, watching myself as I stepped away from the convoy of cars. I don’t remember where it went wrong. It might’ve been a misstep. Something loud blew our cover. I remember seeing the look on my partner's face. His eyes went wide. The grip on his gun tightened until his knuckles went white. The scene erupted into bedlam. Screaming voices sounded from the roofs. My ears rang as a bullet zipped past my head. I followed him into one of the buildings, quickly firing shots into an enemy. Sharp pain bloomed in my abdomen. I doubled over, looking at the blood seeping through my uniform. OCP never did hide stains too well. Handcuffs tightened around my wrists as the enemy took us captive.
I can’t remember how long it had been. Eventually, they took my partner. The constant ringing in my ears overwhelmed my ability to audibly track. At one point a single shot rang out, then back to the deafening silence. With each day of only being given stale bread and enough water to only wet my lips, I grew more disoriented. Or maybe it was the blood loss. Either way, that British flag was a welcome one.
I woke up with a stinging pain in my stomach. The first thing that stole my attention was the olive green shirt put over my body. I lifted it and peered at the boxers that loosely fit on my hips. My gaze shifted to the neatly placed bandages and the faint orange tinge of iodine.
I was in a dorm of sorts. Standard issue bedding, scattered clothes, and a skull balaclava resting on the nightstand. An IV was placed in my arm, leading to a stand placed by the bed. The bag of fluids perched atop the pole had been long empty, along with the Keflex infusion next to it. I had a suspicion I was in the room of the man from earlier. I decided to lay back down, clutching at my tags as I rested my head on the pillow. The door clicked open, drawing my attention. It was the man from before, maybe. His mask wasn’t on. He had a strong nose, slightly crooked. His lips, plump and pink, were turned down into a permanent frown. Frown lines decorated his forehead along with a myriad of scars in various states of healing. His stubble was graying, a contrast against his short blonde curls. His deep brown eyes flicked across my body.
“Whiteford,” he spoke, stepping closer to the bed, “your small intestine was eviscerated. They repaired it in surgery. You’re not going anywhere in your current condition, so it looks like you’ll be staying with us for a while.”
“Why am I in your room?” I asked. He looked away, running his fingers through his blonde locks.
“Multiple reasons,” He stated plainly. He glanced back at me and rummaged through his pocket. He held out a cup of lemon jello and a plastic spoon. “You’re on a clear diet since they had to mess with your intestines.” I took the food from him and sat up, crossing my legs. The ache of my muscles had died down significantly.
“They must’ve given me some good painkillers. Felt the best I’ve felt in years,” I said, opening the container. The man slowly moved toward the foot of the bed. The mattress dipped under the weight.
“You know about your partner, right?” He asked. My nostrils flared as I sniffed, sinking the spoon into the jello.
“I heard the shot,” I explained, bringing the jello to my mouth. I silently chewed, looking up at him. His brows furrowed as he stuck his hand into his pocket. He held out the tags to me. They lightly clanked as they dangled in the air. I grabbed them, setting them down by my Jello cup. “Kid joined the army for an education. Knew him since day one,” I mumbled as I dug around in the jello with my spoon. “He was good, just an easy scare.”
We sat in silence. The man reached out toward my IV and unscrewed the tubing. The rubber stopper popped into place. I glanced at my IV, and back up to him.
“These yours?” I asked, tugging at the collar of the shirt.
“There’s a lot of men here. It’s better than an open gown.”
“M’ used to it,” I mumbled. “Thanks.”
He nodded as he stood up. He pulled open his closet door and dragged out a comforter. With a thump, it landed on the ground along with a single pillow.
“What are you doing,” I asked, watching as he pulled off his shirt.
“Sleeping,” he replied.
“There’s enough space. It’s your bed anyway,” I pulled back the covers for him and set the empty jello on the nightstand. His brown eyes glanced at me, the bed, and then the floor before he stepped forward. He slipped into bed behind me, pulling the covers over his shoulder and turning away from me. The sound of his steady breath pulled me back into sleep.
His shuffling body woke me. When I opened my eyes I was met with a beam of sunlight drifting through the window. I glanced down at my waist. His arms had wrapped around me in my sleep. The palm of his hand gently rested over my bandages under my shirt. I felt his chest rise as he took a deep inhale, groaning as he exhaled. His hands quickly jolted from my body.
“Sorry.” He blurted out as he sat up and moved off of the bed.
“It’s okay. You warmed me up at least.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I watched as he pulled open his closet door and began grabbing various items. He turned around and tossed me a pair of sweatpants.
“I’ve got things to do. I’ll show you where the kitchen is, clear foods only,” he said before slipping into the bathroom. I pulled the sweats up over my ankles and eased onto my unsteady feet. I pulled the pants over my hips, practically swimming in the material as I pulled the drawstring tight. The cotton had bunched up around my ankles, but there wasn’t much I could do about that. He stepped out of the bathroom just as he finished lacing up his shoes. His brown eyes scanned up and down my legs. I could see the way his brows furrowed through the balaclava. He turned to the door, pulling it open and gesturing to the hall with a nod of his head. I followed along beside him. I read the embroidered letters on the back of his vest.
“Riley, huh?” I mumbled. He looked over his shoulder at me as I said his name.
“It’s Simon,” He stated as he faced forward again. I followed him past a turn and into the kitchen. A group of men sat at a table, their conversation halting as the two of us walked in.
“This the Yankee?” A man with a Scottish accent asked, crossing his arms. Simon nodded as he pulled open the pantry doors.
“Glad we pulled you out of there, yank. Was a bloody mess.” A man with a thin mustache said.
“You’re not gonna make me eat beans on toast, are you?” I asked, slipping my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants.
“Fuck no,” the Scotsman added. Simon held out a box of chicken broth. I took it in my hands, sighing as I turned it over to read the cooking instructions.
“Right then, we should probably get goin’,” Simon said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Make yourself at home,” the mustached man said. The two followed behind him, turning a corner and continuing down the hall.
“Aye, bet you like havin’ a hen like that in your clothes LT,” a Scottish voice said, followed by a yelp of pain and muffled whispers. I turned toward the microwave and set the carton of broth on the spinning disc, dialing up a minute and thirty on the controls. As the humming of the microwave filled my ears, I turned toward the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water from one of the shelves.
I sat silently at the table and ate my meal. It wasn’t the most appetizing, but it filled my empty stomach nicely. After finishing, I set the bowl down in the sink and wandered down the corridor. It was door after door of what I could only assume were private dormitories. I glanced out the window, watching as a group of soldiers traversed through a maze of equipment and obstacles.
“Oh, let me take your IV out,” a voice said. I looked up at the person in front of me. It was some medic I hadn’t seen before. I held out my arm, looking away as he slipped the tubing out of my arm. He placed a cotton ball at the junction of my arm, holding it firmly to stop the bleeding and applying tape to hold the cotton in place. I muttered a ‘thank you’ and dipped into Simon's room. Determined to wash the grime from my body, I stepped into his bathroom. A small array of soaps were placed in a small shower caddy. I turned the faucet, stepping out of his baggy clothes. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I couldn’t help the frown that took over my face as I looked at the extent of my injuries. The deep purple that had blossomed on my skin faded to yellow and green. My limbs looked as if they were mangled, and the giant bandage over my abdomen only added to it. I stepped under the hot water, the ache in my bones melting away with the soothing warmth. I sighed as I popped open the cap of his body wash. It smelt earthy and fresh, just like him. I clenched my jaw at the thoughts that overtook me as I bathed in his scent. I felt an instant relief as I began scrubbing at the layers of dirt and sweat that coated me. Frankly, I didn’t know how he let me in his bed with how disgusting I was. The water that ran off of my body was tinged brown. I frowned, scrubbing underneath my arms until the water eventually ran clear. Hesitant to use the bottle of 2 in 1, I brought my product-tinged hands to my knotted hair, easing the suds into my scalp. I worked my fingers through the knots that had tugged at my locks, the dull headache behind my eyes easing with every strand undone.
I felt clean, the cleanest I’d been in months. I grabbed a folded towel from under the sink and wrapped it around my body. Stepping back into his room, I pulled open his closet door, looking for another set of clean clothes. The door clambered open. A pair of heavy boots thudded onto the carpet. The masked man looked me up and down as I pulled out a pair of his boxers.
“Oh I’m sorry,” I said, placing the pair back. He reached past me. The smell of sweat overwhelmed my nose, his soaked chest just inches from me.
“There,” He Said, handing me a Set of neatly folded clothes. “I’ll be in the shower.” He closed the closet door and pulled off his drenched shirt as he stepped into the bathroom. I dropped my towel and quickly changed into his clothes. The feeling of clean linen against clean skin was intoxicating. I smiled, tossing the towel into his hamper and sitting down on his mattress. After a few minutes, he stepped outside, a cloud of steam following him. He wore a pair of sweats that hung low on his hips and a tank top, mask now forgotten in the bathroom. He scrubbed at his hair with his towel, dropping it to the floor as he came closer to the bed.
“I don’t have anything else to do today. Figured I’d just hang around here.” He pulled on a navy blue hoodie. In white letters on the back was “ghost”.
“Mind if I join you?” I ask, kicking my legs back and forth.
“Long as you don’t tell anyone about where we’re goin',” he said, tossing me a jacket. I quickly pulled it over my head and followed him out the door. He turned down the hallway, past the kitchen, winding through tight turns in the dormitories.
He glanced over his shoulder at me every so often, watching my hobbling paces. Eventually, we approached a stairwell at the far end of the base. He leaned into the door with his hip, pushing it open and letting me step past him.
“Just up at the top,” he mumbled, boots clanking against the stairs as he ascended. I followed behind, gritting my teeth at the strain each step put on my sore quads. His brown eyes noticed my distress, grunting softly as he picked me up, carrying me the rest of the way up the stairs. He smelled like his soap. Woody, with a hit of something sweet. I wonder if he wore cologne. We approached the landing. His arms shifted to set me down on my feet. He fiddled with the knob, pulling the door open to reveal a rooftop. A single chair, a battery-operated lamp, and a radio sat next to a pillar. I followed him toward the little camp. He flicked on the radio, turning it to a low volume. Soft classic rock broke the silence that had grown between us. He disappeared behind the pillar, grabbing two cans of beer and a pack of smokes. He held one out to me. With a small smile on my face, I accepted the drink.
“Set this up my second year on this base. Sometimes you just need a bit of quiet,” he explained as he sat down on the ground. He glanced up at me as he cracked the tab of his can. I took a seat next to him, opening my own beer. The long stretches of empty field in the distance caught my attention. Just over the horizon was the sun, tinting the sky a rose color. I silently sipped my drink, watching groups of soldiers jog by in formation.
His lighter flicked. Looking over at the man, I watched as he held a cigarette between his lips, holding a flame to the end of it. Orange embers sparked to life, a plume of smoke rising from the end of the stick. He took a drag, closing his eyes as the smoke filled his mouth. He pulled back, holding the cigarette between two fingers. Glancing at me, he offered me a hit. I reached forward and took it from his hand, taking a drag of my own. A rush of static ran up my spine as the musky taste sank into my tongue. I exhaled, feeling a steady tinge of vertigo wrack my brain. Handing the cigarette back to him, I let the head rush envelop my senses. Eventually, after the feeling subsided, I opened my eyes, met with the cotton candy sky above. I hummed, picking up my can and taking a sip.
“Why the military?” He asked, exhaling a plume of smoke. I huffed a breath of air through my nose, laughing at the question internally.
“Poverty,” I stated plainly, “the kind of poverty where you’re squatting in an old farmhouse, the kind that should be condemned,” I explained. He looked at me as if expecting me to continue. Sighing and setting my can down on the ground, I did just that. “We didn’t have grocery stores. Our schools were infested with mold. Everyone was hooked on meth,” I swallowed as visions of my old town sprung up in my head. “I’m trying to make the best of it here because I know as soon as I’m discharged, I’m ending up on the streets.”
He solemnly nodded, giving nothing but a grunt as he took another drag off his cigarette. Silently, he put his hand on my shoulder, gently sliding it across to the other until his arm was behind my back. I leaned into his touch. His hot breath blew against the top of my head as I rested my head on his collarbone. We sat in silence, the rise and fall of his chest threatening to lure me to sleep.
By the time I’d awoken, it was nightfall. His hand gently shook me, soft voice coaxing me awake. I grunted, breaking free of his hold and sighing. He stood, holding out his hand for me. I reached out. He gripped my wrist and pulled me to my feet. I stretched my arms over my head, yawning and shaking the sleep off of me. I followed behind Simon as we descended from the rooftop and quietly made our way back to his room. The nighttime air had a nip in it, I was thankful to be wearing his hoodie, thankful my hair was mostly dry. I followed him into his room, yawning again as I walked toward the bed. I pulled his hoodie off of my body, letting it drop to the ground. I pulled back the covers, slipping underneath and watching as Simon joined me. His eyes flicked up and down my face, from my eyes to my lips. He silently held his arms out, inviting me into the warm expanse of his chest. I accepted his invitation, leaning forward and swinging one of my legs over his hip. His hand went to my hip, rubbing soothing circles into my aching muscles with his thumb. His fingertips slowly slid up over the bandages on my stomach, to my shoulders. His brown eyes stared deeply into mine, flicking down to my lips. With his fingers placed under my chin, he tilted my head up. He pressed a soft kiss to my lips. I brought my hand to the back of his head, leaning into his touch. His hand slid back down to my hip, over the small of my back, pulling my body closer to his. His tongue swiped against my bottom lip. I parted my lips for him, breathing heavily as his tongue slid into my mouth. Heat enveloped my body as my insides began to churn. His fingers began slowly inching toward my ass, pulling me flush against his hips. He slowly rocked his body against my core, earning a moan from my lips. He flipped me onto my back and pushed my legs apart so he could sit between them. I hooked my ankles around the back of his hips, keeping him in place. With his hands on either side of my head, he leaned down, harshly sucking on my neck. With a roll of his hips, he drew a whine from my throat. My head felt like it was spinning. A dull throbbing spiked between my thighs only alleviated with every movement of his hips.
I could feel him, even through the sweatpants. He was hard. A deep blush settled over his cheeks. His skin felt hot, and his brown eyes darkened as his pupils dilated. I probably looked the same. It was hard to contain the noises growing in my chest, hard to conceal how much of an effect his touch had on me. He pulled his lips away from my neck, reaching down to tug at the hem of my shirt. His brown eyes scanned my face for any hesitance. I nodded, helping him ease the fabric over my head. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he stared at my bare chest. Deciding it was his turn to strip, I reached for his hoodie, pulling it off of his head. He pulled his undershirt off. I couldn’t help but visually trace along all the scars that adorned his pale skin. Reaching out, I stroked my thumb along vast patches of scar tissue. He pushed my hand away, gaze dropping to my pants.
With a small huff, I sat up, pushing him to lay against the foot of the bed. I kneeled between his legs, gently kissing over his scars as my hands fiddled with the band of his pants. My lips traveled lower, past his navel, kissing every new inch I exposed as I tugged down his pants. He lifted his hips just enough that I could tug the material down his thighs. My eyes widened as his cock sprang up, thwaping his stomach. He was long, Long enough that I wouldn’t be able to take him in my mouth. Thick too. The head of his cock was flushed with a rosh tint and a string of precum leaked from the top. I kissed along his thighs, gently sinking my teeth into his skin. His breathing intensified as I drew closer to his aching cock. Darting my tongue out, I licked along the tip. Salt overwhelmed my tastebuds as I licked a thick stripe up his shaft, stopping at his head. His fingers roughly gripped the sheets. He choked back a moan, watching as I wrapped my lips around his cock. I gripped the base with my hand, holding him steady as I slowly took more of him into my mouth. I watched as he threw his head back, chest rising erratically as his breath grew labored. While pressing my tongue against his shaft, I began to slowly bob my head up and down on his length, pushing forward until the intrusion in my throat threatened my gag reflex. I moved my hands in sync with my mouth, gently twisting my wrist. His hand went quickly to the back of my head, not pressing, but gently encouraging me. Pulling off, keeping the pace of my stokes up, I moved lower. I brought one of his balls into my mouth. His grip on my hair tightened. He moaned, sending a pang of need straight to my core. Pulling off with a loud pop, I ran my tongue up the underside of his shaft, sinking his length back into my mouth. His hips jutted forwards, sending the tip of his cock toward the back of my throat. Tears pricked at my eyes.
“Fuck, fuck you’re so good,” he moaned, tugging me further down his shaft. I obliged, ignoring the tickle in my throat as I took more of his length into my mouth.
“Wait-” he said through heavy breaths, tugging me off of his length. “I was close, just, give me a minute,” he said, tilting his head back.
“Then let me finish you off,” I said, inching closer to his length.
“No, not until you cum.” With a swift swing of his leg, I was on my back again. This time he was straddling my knees, tugging at my pants, his pants. My body jolted as he tugged them down my hips, along with his boxers. He shifted back as he eased the material down past my ankles. He gripped my knee, pushing my leg up and to the side. He swept two of his fingers up my cunt. I moaned and reached out for him. I hooked my arms around the back of his neck and pulled his chest against mine. He quickly shifted to lay next to me, fingers tracing up to find my clit. He pressed sloppy kisses to my cheek and jaw as he slowly circled my clit with two of his fingers. I gripped his bicep with a whine. He raised his fingers to his mouth, slipping the soaked digits past his lips. He moaned as he pulled the digits out. He spat onto his fingers and brought them back to my cunt. My breath hitched as he pushed one of his fingers inside me. His digits were thick and calloused, and the gentle stretch they added had my head spinning.
“You’re tight. Gotta work you open before you take my cock,” he mumbled against my neck. He slowly thrust the digit into me. His thumb brushed against my clit, circling lightly as he stretched me out.
“Simon!” I whined, bucking my hips into his hand.
“Ya like that?” He said, sucking roughly on my neck. Pulling off with a loud pop, he spoke next to my ear. “Want another? I know you can take it.” I nodded. He gripped my chin, turning my head to face him. “Use your words.”
“Please, Simon,” I said weakly. He slipped a second finger inside me. I threw my head back with a moan as he stretched me out. The pace of his fingers sped up, matching the circles he rubbed into my clit. I leaned over, burying my face in the crook of his neck. With a huff, he gripped my hair in his fist and tugged my head back.
“Look at me,” he said with a gruff voice. My cunt clenched around his fingers. He smirked, pumping them faster. My breathing grew ragged as the muscles in my stomach tensed. I could feel my toes tingle with pins and needles. I was close.
“Simon i'm gonna cum,” I whimpered as I let my leg drop to the mattress, spreading myself even wider for him. The feeling of static washed over my body in waves. My toes curled and dug into the sheets. My brows furrowed, eyelids squeezing shut as he worked me through my orgasm. My body went limp as he pulled out. My thighs gently quivered. He moved to sit between my legs. He shifted his weight onto one of his knees and pulled his sweats down the rest of the way, letting them drop to the floor. I crossed my ankles behind his back, pulling him closer to my core. He guided the head of his cock towards my entrance with his fingers. His lips parted as he slowly inched inside me. I threw my head back against the pillows and tightened my hold on his hips. He moaned as I pushed his cock further inside me.
The stretch burned. I couldn’t help the tears that welled up in my eyes, but with every movement, the pain bled together with the pleasure he sparked in my core. With a nudge against my cervix, he bottomed out. I felt undeniably full. I could feel the head of his cock in my stomach, just above my belly button. He pulled out, only to push his length back inside of me at a rough pace. He gripped my waist, keeping me still as he roughly fucked into me. I grasped onto his blonde hair and pulled him down into a kiss. He moaned against my lips. He rested an elbow at either side of my head, leaning in closer. Sweat began to roll down his forehead as he continued his rough thrusts. He huffed, breaking away from my lips. He buried his face in the crook of my neck with a groan.
“Fuck you feel so good,” he moaned, rutting his hips into me. His lips latched onto my neck.
“Yeah? Fuck me harder, Simon,” I spoke through heavy, heaving breaths. He pulled back, pupils blown wide. He gripped onto the back of my thigh and began to push my knee toward my chest, angling even deeper into me. My hands flew to the sheets, gripping tight. The mattress began to creak beneath us, loud enough to bleed through the walls and into the adjacent rooms. His thighs began to roughly smack against my ass, filling the room with the disgusting sounds. My toes curled as the pleasure rose in my stomach. I reached up with one hand to lightly stroke his face with my fingers.
“I’m close,” was all I could manage to whimper out. He kept up his pace, not faltering for a second as he drew me into my second orgasm. My mouth opened in a silent scream of sorts. With a painful stretch, my back arched off of the bed, limbs contorting as I came. His hips stuttered and then stilled as he reached his own orgasm. With a shaky sigh, he fell onto his side and pulled me into his arms. His breath fanned against my sweaty chest, cooling my heated skin off.
Glancing down at my stomach, I noticed blood seeping through my dressings.
“Simon, you popped one of my stitches,” I mumbled.
He quickly sat up, looking down at the soiled dressings on my abdomen. He reached toward the pile of clothes on the ground and pulled out a hoodie.
“Wait, can we just lay here for a bit before we go to medical?” I asked, gently tracing my fingers over his hip bones. He stared at me with furrowed brows before sighing.
“Fine,” he relented. With silent gratitude, I snuggled up against his warm chest, throwing my leg over his hip with ease. He lightly chuckled as he wrapped his arms around me.