[BL] CRAVING HIM: Addicted to His Voice-Chapter 234: The Confession Beneath the Water
~Evric’s POV~
Finally, I moved my head. I didn’t remove my mouth from the source of his sensitivity, but I shifted, allowing me to take the whole length of his hard cock into my mouth, all at once. My hand, meanwhile, reached up to capture his nipple again, twisting it lightly.
Slowly, I moved my fingers, tracing the deep, sweet valley between his legs again until I reached his entrance. I gently pushed two fingers into his tight, welcoming hole.
"Ah..." Zayn gasped, his body instantly bowing. He tightened his grip on the sheets, his nails digging into the silk.
I moved my fingers deeper, then brought them out, coating them in his natural lubrication, and then gently brought one of them to my mouth, sucking the metallic, musky scent of him.
"Nnh... Evric," he moaned, confusion and sheer pleasure warring in his voice. I had never been this bold, this dominant in our foreplay before.
I didn’t stop. I continued to stroke his internal muscles with my two fingers, causing his hips to twitch against the mattress. I listened intently, focusing on every tremor and sound.
"Haa... that feels..." he tried to articulate, but the words dissolved into breath.
I didn’t remove the fingers. While they continued their work inside his butt, I focused my mouth, taking his hard, throbbing cock, top to bottom. I didn’t hold back; I gave him the best suck I was capable of, claiming every inch of him.
Zayn’s control shattered. He held my hair with both hands, his fingers guiding my head, moving it faster to match the desperate rhythm he needed for release.
"Daddy, YES! Fuck!" he roared, his voice thick with lust. "Right there! Don’t stop! I’m going to— Ahhh! I’m gonna cum!"
His body seized, shaking uncontrollably as he reached his peak.
"Mm-hmm... yes, baby," he choked out, his voice already rising to a desperate, ragged tone. "Harder, daddy, fuck... right there!"
My hand was still moving expertly inside his butt, stimulating him deep and slow, while my mouth devoured him completely. My right hand, meanwhile, reached up to play with his sexy nipple again. I was touching, tasting, and owning every single point of pleasure on his body.
The raw sounds of his pleasure, were the only things that existed.
"Oh... yes... Ahh... please, Evric," he panted, his hips beginning to buck violently, straining for the final release.
I increased my pace, using my tongue like a velvet blade, determined to take him over the edge.
"Mm... YES!" he yelled, his entire body convulsing. He reached his orgasm, shaking violently as the sweet, rich cum spilled hot and generous into my mouth.
I swallowed all of it, my eyes locked on his face. The pleasure was so complete, so satisfying, that Zayn didn’t even realize his eyes had teared up, a few silent drops leaking from the corners.
That was the first time I had ever taken him to that level, all because I do not want to use my cock on him, so I take him to a peak where he was completely lost, completely mine, and utterly spent.
He collapsed back onto the pillow, breathless, his chest heaving.
I knew why I’d done it: that was the first time I had ever taken him to that level, all because I did not want to use my cock on him. I had poured all my frantic need, my guilt, and my desperate desire to make him happy into that act, taking him to a peak where he was completely lost, completely mine, and utterly spent.
I waited, letting him breathe, letting his heart rate stabilize. The silence was thick, but it was a comfortable silence, the kind that follows true connection.
Suddenly, Zayn drew me closer, his hand cradling the back of my head. He kissed me, a long, deep kiss that tasted of pleasure and gratitude.
"Thank you, baby," he whispered, his eyes still heavy, but shining. "God, I needed that. I love you."
I smiled, a real, genuine smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes, and kissed him back. "I love you too, my Zayn."
And here was where the real problem started.
Zayn shifted onto his back, then turned and bent his knee slightly—the silent, intimate invitation. He was waiting for me to enter him, for me to release, knowing how hard my dick must look under the duvet.
I hesitated, pulling back from the heat of his skin.
"I already released, babe. I’m fine," I said, my voice too quick, too thin.
Zayn frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You released? Where?" He tried to press against me, seeking the proof of my arousal.
The lie was physically painful. I needed release so badly it was like a fever in my blood, but I couldn’t breach the final line. I couldn’t risk it.
"I—I just need a minute," I stammered, pulling the duvet over him and scrambling off the bed. I rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
I turned the shower on full blast to mask the sound, leaned against the tiled wall, and started stroking myself, desperate for the physical relief that was now tainted by self-disgust. I was panting, pushing toward the edge, focused entirely on the raw, necessary act.
Then, the sound of the running water seemed to change, and I froze, my eyes wide. A shadow fell across the floor.
Zayn waited on the bathroom door. He had clearly heard the change in my breathing and the unmistakable sounds of my release. He opened the door slowly and quietly, stepping into the mist-filled room.
I was still gasping for air, slick with sweat and my own shame. When I suddenly saw him, standing there fully naked, I was shocked. I expected shouting, anger, accusation—why would I leave him on the bed and sneak into the bathroom to masturbate?
But Zayn didn’t look angry. He simply walked closer, his expression a complicated mix of concern and confusion. He saw the naked fear in my eyes, the way I was trembling, still gripping myself.
"I’m sorry, babe. I’m so sorry," I choked out, covering myself, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I kept apologizing, bracing for the inevitable fight, the disappointment, the rage.
But Zayn didn’t react with anger. He stepped right into my space and, without another word, simply wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a warm, wet hug under the shower spray.
He held me, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Evric," he whispered, his voice quiet, steadying. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No!" I sobbed into his shoulder. "Never. You are perfect, Zayn. You are perfect."
"Then what happened, Evric?" he asked, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. He searched my face, desperate for an answer that wasn’t there. "Are you not attracted to me anymore? Are you not interested in me?"
"No," I pleaded, shaking my head violently. "Of course, I am! I love you more than anything!"
"Then why did you just do that?" he insisted, his voice gentle but firm. "Why did you jump up and run away from me when you were clearly hard? Talk to me, Evric. Please. What is it?"
The dam broke. All the fear, the guilt, the self-loathing, and the overwhelming love I felt for him exploded into agonizing, wrenching sobs.
"You are the most amazing, most adorable, beautiful man I have ever known," I cried, the words burning with sincerity. "You are everything good, everything solid in my life! You deserve so much better than me, Zayn! You deserve better than this!"
Zayn smiled, though his eyes were clouded with worry. "I deserve you, Evric. I chose you. You are enough."
His kind, simple declaration of love broke me completely. I had to tell him. I couldn’t let Nicki do this.
I took a shuddering breath, the silence of the running water amplifying the pounding in my ears.
"I cheated on you, Zayn," I whispered, the words sounding hollow and small against the vastness of the betrayal. "When you were gone. I cheated."
The instant pain in Zayn’s eyes was the most excruciating thing I had ever witnessed. It was a physical blow. But he didn’t react right away. He only turned his back to me, the water streaming over his broad shoulders, his muscles stiffening into granite.
He waited, silent, before asking one cold, detached question.
"With who?"
I closed my eyes, the name a poisoned spike on my tongue. I sobbed, unable to stop the sound.
"With Nicki."
The name was a thunderclap. Zayn spun back around, his face a mask of utter horror. A slow, silent tear started to track down his cheek, mixing with the shower water. He looked at me for one devastating, final second, the pain in his eyes stripping me of all defenses.
Then, with a strangled cry, he shoved past me, yanked the bathroom door open, and stormed out without looking back.
I collapsed onto the wet, cold tiles of the floor, the sound of the shower and my own hysterical sobs the only things left in the room.
