The Broken Arm Favor - Chapter 7

That morning started like any other. I was half-asleep, making scrambled eggs at the stove, when the pan sizzled too hot and I slipped. The spatula clattered, and I hissed as my palm brushed the edge of the pan.

“Fuck!” I yanked my hand back. A faint red mark bloomed across my skin, a dull sting that made me grit my teeth.

It wasn’t much, nothing serious—but later, when Troye and I were in his room, it came back to haunt me.

I sat on the edge of his bed like always, lubing my hand, sliding it over his already-hard cock. The familiar weight, the warmth, the sound of him exhaling—it should’ve been perfect. But with every stroke, that sting flared hotter. The lube made it worse, slipping right over the tender spot on my palm.

I tried to hide it, but I must’ve winced.

“Connor,” Troye said suddenly, eyes narrowing. “Stop.”

My chest lurched. “What? Why?”

He sat up a little, frowning. “You’re hurting yourself. I saw your face. Don’t use that hand.”

“It’s fine,” I muttered, gripping him tighter, even as the burn made me twitch.

“No, it’s not,” he shot back. “Use your left hand or… just don’t. You don’t have to do this every time.”

The words hit like a slap. Don’t have to? My pulse raced. Didn’t he get it? At this point, pleasing him didn’t feel optional—it felt like something my body craved. My cock throbbed just from holding his.

I shook my head. “No… I need to use my right. It won’t feel the same otherwise.”

“Connor—”

“Please,” I blurted, voice cracking. “Don’t make me stop. I want to please you!”

The room went quiet. My breath was ragged. His eyes softened, but he still looked torn, like he wanted to protect me from myself.

And then I realized something. My hand didn’t have to be the only way.

Before I could lose the nerve, I dropped to my knees between his legs.

“Connor—what are you—”

I ignored him. My hands gripped his thighs, and I leaned forward, my lips wrapping around the head of his cock.

The taste of salt and precum hit my tongue immediately. Hot, bitter, addicting. I moaned around him, eyes watering as I pushed deeper.

“Fuck,” Troye groaned, his body jolting back against the pillows. “You’re… you’re giving me head?”

I hummed a shaky yes, bobbing my head, tongue swirling around his shaft. It was sloppy, messy—I gagged when he hit the back of my throat, drool spilling from my lips. But I didn’t care. My whole body was wired with need.

Troye’s good hand tangled in my hair, gripping hard, guiding me down. The pull made my scalp sting but it only turned me on more.

“Fuck, Connor,” he moaned, hips lifting helplessly. “You’re better than porn. Don’t stop.”

My cock twitched in my shorts, leaking precum as I worked him. My throat tightened and released, gagging slightly, spit dripping down my chin. I wanted to be filthy, wanted to prove I could take all of him.

His taste coated my mouth—sharp, salty precum spilling as I swallowed greedily. My moans vibrated against him, making his cock jerk on my tongue.

“Connor—fuck, oh fuck—” His grip on my hair tightened, his thighs trembling. “You’re… you’re gonna make me cum—”

I sucked harder, lips sealed tight around him, dragging my tongue up his shaft as my throat swallowed around his tip. I wanted it, wanted all of it.

He choked out a cry, hips bucking. Hot ropes of cum shot straight into my mouth, thick and salty, spilling down my tongue. For a second I almost pulled back—but I didn’t. I swallowed every drop, my chest heaving, precum soaking my own boxers as my cock ached for release.

When I finally pulled off, gasping, my chin was slick with drool and cum, my throat raw.

Troye stared down at me, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling. “…Holy shit.”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist, still panting. My voice was hoarse when I said it:

“I needed to. I needed to please you.”

And for the first time, Troye didn’t argue. He just leaned back, legs spread, still shaking, like I’d just wrecked his world.