The poison had never truly left him.
Not the one I had flushed from his veins — that was long gone. The lingering poison was deeper. It lived in the way he looked at me now, in the way his broken body still responded only to my touch, in the way his surrender had become the air he breathed.
I found him exactly as I had left him — on his knees on the raised medical bed, thighs spread, hands behind his back, trembling with the effort of holding the position under calculated delay. The golden light from the single lamp painted his skin like warm honey over marble. His c**k stood flushed and heavy between his legs, the head glistening, a slow, steady drip of pre-c*m falling in perfect rhythm with his shallow breaths.
I let the silence stretch, thick and intimate, before I moved.
I shed my
