Page 80 of Rent: Paid in Full
“Yep.” He looks tired and unbearably happy. “Gonna make him pay through his nose to access his own land.”
It takes me a while to digest the news. As I do, Miller prattles on. Something about his dad being an asshole, and something about there being no possible way of getting through his whole life without being disinherited, the implication being that this course of action is calculated and sensible.
The way he explains it, it almost makes sense. It almost seems right. Almost, but not quite.
“You’re a monster, Miller. You know that?”
“I do.” He kisses my neck until my head rolls back. “But I’m your monster.”
For some reason, I find that very funny. I find it straight-up hilarious. Hysterical, really. I find it so funny that I fall back and curl onto my side as I laugh. Miller does too. We roll around laughing and then stop abruptly, taking each other’s cocks in our mouths, sucking gently. Sucking for the pleasure of having a dick inside us, for the comfort of having a full mouth and a warm cock. We stop and start for ages, forever, taking what we want and what we need. Giving each other as much as we can. It doesn’t end until the sky is alive, a canvas of light painted by magic, and worship, rather than orgasm, is our sole goal.
I wake bruised and aching. Aching down to my bones. My lower back protests from days spent excessively arching and my hamstrings squeal at the first hint of exertion. We don’t make it to the living room today. The cane stool stands dejected as I find myself on my back on the bed with my legs in the air, thoroughlyand decadently used before I’ve had time to rub the sleep from my eyes. After I come, I find myself twisting, voluntarily lifting one hip, and marking the spot with a circle drawn with my finger, offering it to Miller and looking on as he takes it.
The cry that follows is piercing and proud.
A long while later, I find myself dragged down and bent over the edge of the bed, undergoing an inspection that would have been sure to result in death by mortification a few short weeks ago. Things being what they are now, I reach back with both hands and hold my cheeks open to give Miller a better view of my battered hole.
“You’re swollen and pink,” he says, easing a single digit out of me. “Almost completely wrecked, but not quite. One more fuck, and you’ll be done.”
As soon as he says it, I want it.
Of course, being Miller, he doesn’t give it to me. He makes me wait. He edges me until my mind is as wrecked as my body. Until I stop being a soul and muscle and bone. Until all that’s left of me is raw, grating need. He makes me wait all day. All afternoon and into the evening. He makes me wait until I’m writhing and begging, and I’m not in the slightest bit sorry about it. He makes me wait until he’s dripping with sweat and his face is bright red.
He’s no longer perfect. Even his hair has forgotten its place. It’s knotted now and sticking wetly to his forehead.
He’s no longer pretty, but he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
He’s on his back, and I sit astride him so I can control the depth and speed when he finally enters me. Still, the pain is unreal. I’m broken, battered, better and worse than I’ve ever been. It’s physical, sure, but it’s more. There’s a hole in my soul, and I can’t tell if Miller made it or if it’s always been there and he’s just the first person to try and fill it.
As soon as I come, the pain doubles. It’s pain in my soul, not pain in my body, and I know it has the power to break me. I can’t stand it. I can’t survive it. It’s panic and fear that it's over. It’s the fist in my chest, wrapped all around me, and it’s squeezing the life out of me. I can’t breathe. I can’t get air. I can’t. I can’t inhale or exhale. I can’t breathe unless I’m joined with Miller.
It’s the end.
I know it’s the end.
It has to be the end.
I’ve known since the beginning that it has an end date. I’ve known all along this isn’t real. It’s a dream or a nightmare. I can’t always tell which, but one thing I know for sure is that it isn’t real. Things like this don’t happen. They don’t happen to anyone, but most especially, they don’t happen to me. I know that completely. I believe it. I know it’s ending, and it’s right for that to happen. I need it to. I need to go back to normal and work out who I am once I’ve managed to dust myself off. I want that. I’m ready. I’m ready to do the work.
I’m just not ready yet. Not yet.
“Again,” I say when he slips out of me. “Again.”
“No, baby. No more. You’re done. You can’t take anymore. You’re sore and inflamed. I’ve wrecked you. I said I would, and I have, but I won’t ruin you. I won’t make you hate me no matter how much you want to.”
“Noooo!”It’s a howl that turns into a roar. “I-I can’t.Wecan’t. One more, I need one more time.” I’m lost to reason, rocking my hips frantically against him, desperate to ride life back into his cock.
He looks up at me and opens portals to places I’d never have believed existed if he hadn’t shown them to me. He reaches up and strokes my cheek gently, holding me there, in between galaxies and worlds. Then he smiles and pushes me up, away from him, gaining a little space and using it to roll over onto hisbelly. I look down in amazement. Shock and amazement. Shock, wonder, and amazement.
Miller’s back is broad, his face is turned to the side, looking back at me over his shoulder. For once, there’s no hint of a smile on his face. He arches his back, lengthening the line of his spine, drawing my eye down his back and up the curve of his ass. My legs tense, clamping him tightly between them when I feel the softness of two globes of flesh between my legs.
This is it. The last thing. The one thing I said I’d never do. And this thing I meant. I really meant it. I meant it with my whole heart. My whole chest.
My reasoning was sound. An addiction, that’s what I told myself. Miller MacAvoy is an addiction waiting to happen. I’ve tried to be sensible. I’ve tried to keep him at bay. I’ve done my best. His eyes track me slowly, and a heavy hand reaches back and sweeps up and down my thigh, and like that, I know I’ve lost. I know I’m going to give in. I know I’m going to spend years, possibly decades, possibly the rest of my life trying to get out of the hole I’m digging for myself right now.
I know it’s a mistake. It’s the opposite of sensible.
It’s going to make leaving tomorrow much harder.