His back meets the wood with a solid thud. Lightning splashes over him, revealing his strained face as he cranes his neck back. He’s all hard, pale lines, and hooded eyes, and red, swollen lips. Sweat slicks his hairline and I put a pin on that for later, filing it under all the places to lick him. Taste him.

I growl as I lean down, my mouth a missile headed straight for that pierced flesh.

The hand I don’t have wrapped around his throat finds its way around his rib cage. I tighten my hold on his neck, and he whines softly, piercingly, into the dark, just as I wrap my mouth around his nipple.

Fingers scramble for purchase over my head, my shoulders, my arms as I suck his pebbled skin into my mouth. He arches into me, hissing through his teeth, and I bite down. Hard. The metal piercing snagging on my teeth.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck—”

I cut him off with my mouth, lifting up to crush him with a fierce kiss that has his lips pushing back over his teeth. I grind my cock against his, letting him feel how fucking much I want him. How much I crave him.

It’s messy and even a little ugly, and it’s the single most powerful thing I’ve ever felt. This need. His, mine, ours.

His hands find my lower back, sliding down until my ass is gripped firmly in his hands. He squeezes, arching into me with a moan humming around my tongue.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I pull back suddenly, sitting up on my knees so I’m half-straddling him, giving him no choice but to drop his hands.

His chest rises and falls in a race for oxygen. Lightning flickers over him, causing the ink scrawled up his arm and across his chest to ripple as if alive. I imagine it’s the darkness within him, peeking out, moving like a river over his skin.

His jaw clenches visibly, the tendons in his neck straining.

I tuck my thumbs in the waistband of my sweats—his sweats, I recall. I’ve no doubt I’m leaking all the fuck over the place. I get a sick sort of satisfaction at the thought.

My eyes have adjusted to the shadows by now to see the way his eyes drop to my groin. The fabric is tented obscenely, my arousal staring him right in the fucking face.

I don’t wait for him to stop me.

I can’t.

Hesitation is the enemy tonight, and I don’t want to give either of us a goddamn second to think about what we’re doing. I want to milk the marrow of this moment for all its worth. It’s not like he wouldn’t stop me if he really fucking wanted to, so to hell with my better judgment. It’s not as if it’s done me many favors to begin with.

We were always going to end up here, one way or another. I see that now.