Murphy ached for release, and yet could not bear for it to end—even in the madness of pain and pleasure, he knew dimly that this scenario was unlikely to repeat itself, that Bellamy might never permit any of this again. And that kinda fucking hurt, because Murphy was selfish: he wanted Bellamy – for all the blood between them – and knew that he’d probably never be wanted back, not in the way he desired. Bellamy Blake turned every head, but he never saw Murphy. But he couldn’t think about that now—he closed his eyes and revealed in the fantasy for a little while longer.
But the fantasy didn’t last, for Bellamy halted his thrusts and seized Murphy’s hips and swatted his hand away. Then came the words, and shit, fantastic, Murphy wanted to float himself right then and there. The question was a proverbial bucket of icy water doused over his head. Death would be infinitely better than having this confrontation with a cock in his ass, thank you very much.
“What the fuck is your problem? Am I not allowed to have fun now?” Murphy snapped, blissful riviere shattered; he squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath before he settled himself. Pleasure and pain still thrummed through him, electric, but he couldn’t concentrate on those sensations anymore. He should’ve known this would happen. Murphy couldn’t do anything right. Every time he tried, he managed to ruin his opportunity, and one of the oh-so-perfect ones put him back in his place and punished him. He couldn’t even enjoy himself without it coming back to bite him in the ass. He made fists; anger and stress cut through the pleasant fog in his brain. He wanted to punch Bellamy in his stupid, perfect face.
“So it’s okay when your sister’s the grounder pounder, but I try not to die a virgin and I’m the sick one?” Murphy laughed bitterly; he was still panting. He’d have to tell Bellamy. He’d have to be honest or he’d never get to have this thrill, this piece of him. “He’s the healer. Roman, from Gona. The commander’s brother. Yeah, I hit that. And you wanna know something else, Bellamy? The dirty bastard did a great impression of you. Yeah, I could barely tell the difference when he made me scream your name.”
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