Page 105 of Too Many Beds
I hear the groan of a zipper and turn back to see the man’s semi-erect cock flopped through the opening of his uniform. He gestures to his crotch, an incredulous look on his face.
Jaw clenched, I drop to my knees.
“Where’s Heron Kim?”
I don’t know how I end up in H Block, but I’m standing in the doorway of the common room watching the inmates play some sort of tattered card game at the table.
“Showers,” a man with a closely shaven head says—Yannek, I think his name is? He discards a card from his hand onto the table. “Last stall on the left.”
I rush off without another word, towards the sound of running water echoing through the corridor from the bathrooms. It’s eerily quiet; the mid-afternoon rec time iscommonly used for rest and the shower block is deserted save for one occupied stall.
There are no doors on the showers, just partitions separating each faucet, so I see Heron before he sees me. His eyes are closed with his head tilted towards the ceiling, water sluicing his long hair down his back like a black curtain. He soaps his body, rubbing wide, languid circles over his tattoo, which I now see is a whole flock of birds stretching across his flank, down past his hip and onto the top of his thigh.
My tongue flicks out to moisten my lips.
“Eden,” he startles, and a sob bursts from my mouth at the note of concern in his voice. I walk right into the shower, fully clothed, and fold myself into his wet chest. Maybe I’d been expecting rejection, but when he wraps his arms around me, I start crying in earnest. Dissolving, like the wad of phets in Reid’s body.
“You’re right,” I say, water dripping off my nose and eyelashes. “We do work for the Authority. I’m the fucking scum of the earth.” I pull the bag of drugs out of my pocket and raise it to show Heron. He snatches it from me, but not in anger. Not at me, anyway. He tears open the plastic sleeve and shakes the squares out onto the floor. They fizzle in the water pooling at our feet.
He stomps them down the drain.
“I don’t want to do this anymore, Heron,” I sob. “I don’t want to?—”
He kisses me. My thoughts fall away after that. My thoughts of Tarrant, the Authority, Kon’s mangled leg. None of it matters. Not while Heron Kim is kissing me likethat.
He guides me back against the wall. Not with a slam, but with tender ease. He presses his body against mine, one arm by my head, the other at my hip. Our lips never part. I slide my hands up his back, the muscles slick with soap. I’m still clothed andthat desperately needs to change. I want to feel his heat against me. His wet skin.
His hard cock.
Heron starts tugging the jumpsuit off my shoulders. I help shake the stubborn, wet fabric aside, my hands otherwise too distracted to help. I can’t stop touching him. He’s like a tangle of raw wires—hard and knotted and sending electricity crackling through my fingertips.
His hand cups my hip, thumb caressing the rise of the bone. “May I?”
“Yes,” I breathe. I don’t even know what he’s asking, but the answer is most definitely yes—fuckingyes.
Heron’s long fingers curl around my cock. His hands are slick with soap and I whimper as he strokes me, so long and slow that my legs turn weak. He breaks our kiss and looks down, forehead resting against mine, as he watches me grow to full length.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he breathes into my hair. “This only happens ifyouwant it. Not because someone told you that you have to.”
“I want it,” I moan but grip his wrist to make him stop. Fuck, if he keeps pumping me like that, I’m going to come all over his hands right here and now. “I want it,” I repeat, stronger now I’ve recovered my breath. “I wantyou. I … don’t want to be with Tarrant anymore. I don’t want to serve the Authority.”
Heron releases a moan from deep in his throat, a rumble that’s somehow both content and full of yearning all at once. He tilts my chin up towards him and takes my lips in a probing, passionate kiss. It was so intoxicatingly intimate that time blurs; the next thing I know, my cheek is pressed into the wet tiles as Heron flips me around. I gasp as his hard body moulds against mine, his breath hot in my ear.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he breathes.
“God, yes,” I gasp. “Fuck me so I forget.”
Heron licks up my jaw, over the shell of my ear and I moan, senses aflame. The steam from the shower makes me giddy and I bend my head back to rest on his collarbone, face turned to the pounding water. Strong arms envelop me. His hands are everywhere at once, groping my chest, stroking my cock, stretching my hole. I arch into him, bent like a bow as I repel off the wall he’s so desperate to grind me against. My hand grabs a fistful of his silky long hair and I tug it so hard, I steel myself for reprimand. It doesn’t come. Instead, Heron guides my hand away, kissing down my soapy neck as he pins it to the wall above my head. The other one comes to join it and now both my wrists are locked between one of his massive hands.
“Do you like it like this?” Heron coos, languidly soaping my crack with his other hand. “Or would you prefer I take you to bed?”
“Just take me now,” I moan. My pelvis tilts back, searching for his cock. I need him to fill me. When his fingers fall away, I whimper at the neglect, but welcome the firm grip he now holds on my hip.
Heron enters me in a single, smooth thrust—so deep I feel the prickle of his pubes against the small of my back. God, he’s huge. When he starts to move, I see white. Stars of pleasure and pain burst behind my eyes. There’s nothing sloppy or lustful in his thrusts; every roll of his hips is deliberate—a conscious, calculated movement to sensually stimulate each and every nerve.
“Oh, Heron …” My forehead slips down the wall where I’d tried to brace myself as my legs turn to gel. I’m weak all over, except for my cock, which is rock-hard and weeping. Thank God my arms are pinned because if I touch it, I’ll explode.
If he touches it, I’ll die.