1 Chapter 1

The first time I saw him naked, I noticed the cuts.

Red, angry scrapes across the pouch of his lower belly, like scratches or claw-marks. “What’s this?” I asked, running a finger over one bumpy scab.

He sucked in his gut to pull out of reach. “Nothing.” His voice turned sullen, pouting, and the erection that jutted from his thick crop of black curls seemed to wilt a little. “I thought we were going to—”

“Did you do this?” I asked, interrupting him. The cuts bothered me; they spoke of a pain I didn’t know how to deal with, and that scared me. Hescared me. I thought I’d known him.

When he didn’t reply, I looked up from the cuts and saw the answer in his eyes. Sad, dark eyes, downcast, like the sky before a storm. He couldn’t seem to meet my gaze, as if the cuts embarrassed him, or he was ashamed of his own weakness. “Where else do you do this?” I asked.

Still no answer, but his arms moved behind his nude hips as if hiding from my view and I snatched his right elbow to see for myself. In the low lamplight of my dorm room, I could see very faint traces across his skin, a network of healed flesh. With a hard tug, I pulled him over to my bedside table and turned the lamp up higher, held his arm beneath it. “Please,” he said, trembling when my fingers trailed over the scarred flesh. “It’s nothing, okay? Those are so old.”

Holding his arm aside, I pointed at his stomach. “These aren’t.”

His hand covered the fresh marks as if he could smooth them away, but he didn’t say anything and I knew I was right. Sinking down to sit on my bed, I guided him into the space between my legs and wrapped my arms around his thighs. Ignoring the hard dick pointing at me, I pressed my face to his belly and kissed the highest cut, just below his navel. His hands cradled my head, fingers delving in my hair, and I waited for him to sigh my name before I admonished, “This doesn’t happen again.”

No response.

My hands curved around his buttocks, rubbing the firm flesh, my fingertips meeting in the cleft between his cheeks. I kissed the next cut, a little lower, then the next, and the next, until my chin grazed the bushy hair at his crotch. Bending down, I planted my lips on his thick shaft, then paused. His skin quivered beneath my breath, and his hands fisted in my hair. “You hear me?” I asked, looking up the lean length of his body to meet his hooded eyes.

The hands on my head tried to push me down but I refused to budge. “Yes,” he sighed. I waited, wanting more. “Yes, please. I promise, all right? I swear, just…”

His words dissolved into a gasp of delight as I took him in my mouth. With my lips, my tongue, my hands, I tried to show him what I felt for him, the love and desire I felt for this body against mine. I hoped he’d remember that the next time he wanted to tear into it.

* * * *

It was the first nice day of spring. Though patches of snow still clung to the ground, refusing to melt, the sun beat down strong through the scant breeze, warming the air. I couldn’t be bothered to sit in class on a day like that, so we met at the bus stop on campus with plans to head into DC for the day. When I saw him approach, my good mood dissolved at the black, long-sleeved T-shirt he wore. “Aren’t you hot in that?” I asked.

Nudging his hip against mine, a playful gesture that belayed his haunted eyes, he teased, “If you think I am.”

When I touched his arm, he pulled away. I wanted to grab his elbow, slide up his sleeve, and see what he might be trying to hide. But we weren’t alone—other students waited for the bus, most of them heading into town like us. So I let him distract me with small talk and that pretty smile of his, those shy eyes, and waited for my chance.

A half hour later we were at the Metro station, buying tickets for the train. Before he could head through the turnstile, I snagged the back of his shirt. “This way,” I said, nodding at the restrooms. When he hesitated, I added, “Come on, man. I gotta take a leak.”

The men’s room was empty, a minor miracle. He went right to the sinks, leaning over one of them to study his reflection in the mirror as he waited for me. But I didn’t stop at the urinals—I came up behind him, my arms encircling his waist, my whole body pressed against his back. My head fit neatly between his shoulder blades. With a laugh, he touched my hands, folded over his belt. “Right here?” he asked, his voice coy.