Page 78 of Rent: Paid in Full

His eyes dance as he breathes on my neck and my chest. He works his way down, igniting a rash of gooseflesh that wouldn’t go down even if he did have the decency to touch me the way I want to be touched. He blows on my nipples. Left and then right, and smiles when I can’t hold back the tremor that threatens. Air that’s been inside Miller washes my belly, splashing down lower and lower until his mouth is inches from my leaking erection. It pulses to get closer to him. He smiles at it like he’s looking into the eyes of a person he loves. It pulses again, and my hips shift even though I don’t mean for them to. He looks up at me. Thelook on his face hasn’t changed from before. It’s soft and gooey, and the next second, it’s not. It’s fire and heat wrapped in a scarily beautiful bow.

He breathes in and breathes out, exhaling a long, hot breath from the root of my cock all the way to my tip. The light sensation is maddening, infuriating enough to make me thrash and whimper into the sheets.

I fuckingwhimper.

His head tilts back and his lips peel apart. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he was waiting for.

“Come on.” He offers me a hand and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s get you fucked.”

I stumble along behind him, trying to keep up but badly curtailed by lust so thick my heart has to work double time to pump blood.

By the time I get to the living room, he’s placed the bar stool in the center of the living room on the shitty old rug. He looks pleased with his work. It takes my addled brain a while, but I get there eventually. The stool isn’t for sitting on. He said I wouldn’t be sitting. He said I wouldn’t need to. He said I’d be bent over or flat on my back.

I walk to the stool, gait wooden, and bend over it gingerly. Miller, ever helpful when it suits him, guides my hands to the bottom wrung of the stool and spreads my knees so my feet are on either side of the cane legs. He fusses with the cushion top, moving it so it perfectly pads my torso and there’s no risk of me slamming into anything but foam covered in worn floral cotton.

I’m humiliated, of course. There’s no getting around that, but fortunately, I’ve had so much exposure to the emotion recently that it doesn’t feel as bad as it used to. It feels almost normal to be naked and willfully exposing my asshole to Miller. It feels almost like a relief, knowing the waiting is over. I shift my feet, planting them firmly on the ground, and curl my fingers tightlyaround the smooth wrung of the stool. I close my eyes and wait for the first heady touch of Miller’s fingers against my hole.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, I hear cupboard doors opening and shutting and the unmistakable sound of a coffee maker being cranked up. I glare at Miller, unleashing the full force of my negative intention on him. He doesn’t flicker. Just keeps humming happily as he sets out two mismatched mugs and gets the cream out of the fridge. I shut my mouth and turn my head to face forward. If it wasn’t for the fact I’m completely unable to think about anything other than getting his cock inside me, I’m positive I’d be fantasizing about committing a serious act of violence against him.

Don’t you worry, I’m not going to beg. I’m not even going to ask nicely. I won’t do it. I’d cheerfully rather die than ask him to fuck me. And it’s a good thing, too, because Miller makes me wait until dying feels like a very, very real possibility.

By the time he comes over to me, I’m no longer the best version of myself. He runs his hand lightly along my spine, from my neck to my tailbone. It’s a light touch that turns me inside out all the same. I fight the urge to shudder for as long as I can, but the second he circles my hole, that fight is lost.

He takes his good goddamn time prepping me. He takes longer than he’s ever taken. Longer than he took the first time. Longer than any time since. A fingertip traces my entrance, drawing around it, probing it, teasing until my face burns with frustration and the room is vibrating from the rasping struggle to get air to my lungs. Nerve endings sing as he sinks into me. There’s no relief, though, only more torment, as he uses one finger only for so long the coffee goes cold and my temper reaches boiling point.

“Miller, you dick,” I groan.

“I know, baby, I know, but I have to take my time. Got to stretch you and take care of you before I wreck you, you knowthat. Got to make sure you’re ready so you can take what I’m going to give you.”

“I am ready.”

Oh, piss off. I’m stating a fact, not asking to get fucked.

He cups my balls, causing the skin to pucker and tug my balls closer to my body. He takes my dick in his hand and pulls it back so it’s pointed straight down instead of being wedged between my belly and the cushion beneath me. It’s an offhand, removed touch, almost clinical. I respond with a sound that is in no way hinged. Completely the opposite, if anything. It’s unhinged and proud of it.

A long string of precum oozes from my tip, dangling precariously but refusing to drop to the floor. I can feel it, and I don’t like it, but I can’t do a damn thing about it.

“Hey, ‘member back when we were starting this thing, and you wouldn’t let me make you come,” Miller smiles loudly. I don’t like the sound of that either. Not one little bit. “That was so hot.”

“It wasn’t.” I can tell Miller is distracted and veering down entirely the wrong path. He needs to be set straight. “It was…silly.”

“Yeah, ‘course it was silly,” he says agreeably. “But fuuuck, it was hot.”

He rolls my balls in his hand, still gentle but laced with the potent threat of more, drawing a line along my seam when he’s done with my balls. I shift my hips, blood pooling in my face until I can feel my pulse in my lips. I turn my head and press my lips against my shoulder, biting down when the temptation to speak gets too much.

The entire room is shaking by the time Miller’s dick makes contact with my hole. The relief is indescribable. The slow stretch. The deep sting. The burning sensation of his shaft prying me open. It’s incredible. He holds my hips and tunnelsinto me. His thrusts are long and true, like always, but there’s something removed about it. Almost impersonal. Don’t get me wrong, it still feels fucking personal, given it’s my guts that are being rearranged. It’s just that it feels different somehow, less close, less intense than usual. It takes me a while to register, and when I do, pure dread mixes with arousal so intense I cannot name it.

It’s good, and it’s different.

It’s good because it’s Miller. It’s his dick and my hole, so of course it’s good. It’s different because he isn’t fucking me, this isn’t for my pleasure. He isn’t grinding my gland, and he isn’t caressing me.

He’s using me.

He comes with a coarse shout and three jerky thrusts that force his load so deep inside me that, for a second, I think I can taste it. He pulls out without so much as touching my dick. I reel in shock from being taken like that, from the way he pulled out of me, and mostly, from the fact that if I thought I was turned on before, holy fuck was I wrong. I’m rampant now. Outside myself. I try to push myself up, but Miller eases me back down.

“No, no, baby, you stay right where you are. I’m going to have my coffee, and then I’ll put another load in you.”