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Read Online Stockholm Syndrome [01] - Stockholm Syndrome by Richard Rider - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Rider
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
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stolen his own words to throw back at him. "Flattery gets you nowhere, you know."
"It's got me this far, ain't it?"
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"Well... yes?" Lindsay's inside him easily, dragging the kid a little way down the bed and sort of into his lap. Valentine whimpers again, something happy and unintelligible, and flutters his eyes shut when Lindsay starts moving in gentle, delicious thrusts. "This is okay?"
"It's... pretty stellar, yeah." He's still got his eyes closed, still smiling, and he reaches a hand up above his head to wrap his fingers around the bars on the bedstead, holding his cock with the other. He's not really stroking, he's just got his hand there, like he's concentrating all his energy on really enjoying what Lindsay's doing to him. It's making Lindsay feel a bit dizzy and light-headed –
the surreality of it all, the way Valentine's acting on like Lindsay's the best thing that's ever happened to the world and the contrast with the last man he fucked in this bed, somebody he's been sleeping with off and on for fifteen years; there are no mysteries left there, only mutual blackmail and comfortable friendship. This , though. This is crazy, unreal, like a dream or a Chinese whisper that happened to somebody else.
Valentine opens his eyes suddenly, and the green is so clear even in the dimming after-sunset light. "It'd be okay if you went a bit harder, too," he prompts, a bit hesitantly like he doesn't know if Lindsay's going to mind him saying it. "You won't break me, I can take anything ."
Funny, how all the times he's thought about fucking the kid since the moment they met have been like that – hard, vicious, pounding into him and coaxing blossoming bruises from that pale neck with his teeth. He's slightly afraid of this tempting carte blanche, but only for a second; a harder thrust, another harder thrust to doubly make sure, and then he's slamming into him and pressing angry marks into the kid's skinny hips with his fingers, because the strangled cry he makes is like a turning key or a flipping switch. Valentine's using his grip on the bedstead as leverage now, rocking his hips hard against Lindsay's, and in minutes he's choking on his own breath and coming over his hand, over the concave line of his stomach. Lindsay's not far behind, feeling sick and thrilled at the feeling of bare flesh on bare flesh – and there's more of that 57
C H A P T E R 4
when he collapses next to the kid after and Valentine immediately rolls closer, pressing as much of himself as possible against Lindsay's body and kissing him fiercely, on his chest and neck and cheeks and eventually his mouth, over and over until Lindsay's laughing and begging to be allowed to breathe.
"If my penis rots and falls off now I will empty my gun into your face."
"Likewise. Except I ain't got a gun, I'll have to... sand you down with a nail file."
"Ouch." He's laughing without meaning to, breathless and exhilarated, and Valentine kisses him again.
"You ain't really making me sleep in the spare room after that, are you?"
"What?" He can't stop laughing, he has to make a real concentrated effort. "You're not my wife , get out. I can't sleep with someone else in my bed."
"What, seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Fucking hell." He doesn't seem too bothered, though, especially after he's kissed Lindsay again, long and slow, said, "Alright. Thanks for the party, then. Can we have it for breakfast, too?" and been promised a vehement definitely .
***
In the pitch-black early hours of the morning, Lindsay wakes and senses somebody in his room, the gentle click of the closing door and then a figure coming from the door to the bed. He acts on instinct, whipping a gun out of the drawer in the bedside table and tackling the intruder to the floor with the barrel rammed up under his chin. He only remembers too late that he's not alone in the
58
S T O C K H O L M S Y N D R O M E
house any more, and then he feels stupid.
"Oh
"It's got me this far, ain't it?"
56
S T O C K H O L M S Y N D R O M E
"Well... yes?" Lindsay's inside him easily, dragging the kid a little way down the bed and sort of into his lap. Valentine whimpers again, something happy and unintelligible, and flutters his eyes shut when Lindsay starts moving in gentle, delicious thrusts. "This is okay?"
"It's... pretty stellar, yeah." He's still got his eyes closed, still smiling, and he reaches a hand up above his head to wrap his fingers around the bars on the bedstead, holding his cock with the other. He's not really stroking, he's just got his hand there, like he's concentrating all his energy on really enjoying what Lindsay's doing to him. It's making Lindsay feel a bit dizzy and light-headed –
the surreality of it all, the way Valentine's acting on like Lindsay's the best thing that's ever happened to the world and the contrast with the last man he fucked in this bed, somebody he's been sleeping with off and on for fifteen years; there are no mysteries left there, only mutual blackmail and comfortable friendship. This , though. This is crazy, unreal, like a dream or a Chinese whisper that happened to somebody else.
Valentine opens his eyes suddenly, and the green is so clear even in the dimming after-sunset light. "It'd be okay if you went a bit harder, too," he prompts, a bit hesitantly like he doesn't know if Lindsay's going to mind him saying it. "You won't break me, I can take anything ."
Funny, how all the times he's thought about fucking the kid since the moment they met have been like that – hard, vicious, pounding into him and coaxing blossoming bruises from that pale neck with his teeth. He's slightly afraid of this tempting carte blanche, but only for a second; a harder thrust, another harder thrust to doubly make sure, and then he's slamming into him and pressing angry marks into the kid's skinny hips with his fingers, because the strangled cry he makes is like a turning key or a flipping switch. Valentine's using his grip on the bedstead as leverage now, rocking his hips hard against Lindsay's, and in minutes he's choking on his own breath and coming over his hand, over the concave line of his stomach. Lindsay's not far behind, feeling sick and thrilled at the feeling of bare flesh on bare flesh – and there's more of that 57
C H A P T E R 4
when he collapses next to the kid after and Valentine immediately rolls closer, pressing as much of himself as possible against Lindsay's body and kissing him fiercely, on his chest and neck and cheeks and eventually his mouth, over and over until Lindsay's laughing and begging to be allowed to breathe.
"If my penis rots and falls off now I will empty my gun into your face."
"Likewise. Except I ain't got a gun, I'll have to... sand you down with a nail file."
"Ouch." He's laughing without meaning to, breathless and exhilarated, and Valentine kisses him again.
"You ain't really making me sleep in the spare room after that, are you?"
"What?" He can't stop laughing, he has to make a real concentrated effort. "You're not my wife , get out. I can't sleep with someone else in my bed."
"What, seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Fucking hell." He doesn't seem too bothered, though, especially after he's kissed Lindsay again, long and slow, said, "Alright. Thanks for the party, then. Can we have it for breakfast, too?" and been promised a vehement definitely .
***
In the pitch-black early hours of the morning, Lindsay wakes and senses somebody in his room, the gentle click of the closing door and then a figure coming from the door to the bed. He acts on instinct, whipping a gun out of the drawer in the bedside table and tackling the intruder to the floor with the barrel rammed up under his chin. He only remembers too late that he's not alone in the
58
S T O C K H O L M S Y N D R O M E
house any more, and then he feels stupid.
"Oh
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