Cameron #3
Atticus grins, leaning in until his soft brown hair brushes my face as he whispers into my ear, “Now, I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
I’m flipped around before I can stop him, my hands slamming against the tin as he unbuttons my jeans and pulls them and my briefs down to my calves.
“Spread,” he commands, and a small whine leaves me as I obey.
Fuck him. Fuck this whole situation. But god, I crave his touch. His presence.
“You’re not r-really going to fuck me, right?” I ask.
“Why? Scared someone will hear you whining?” Atticus teases. “I hope they do. I hope that whoever marked your neck, whoever put their fucking hands on you, hears exactly what you sound like while you’re coming on my cock.”
You did it! It was your hickey! I want to scream.
But I can’t. Not only because he’d be very confused, but also because he’d probably think I’m crazy. Fuck, I’d think I’m crazy if it weren’t for the aftermath I wake up to every morning after he visits me.
I can feel it as Atticus pulls something from his own pocket. I can hear it as the lid pops, and a moment later, wet fingers are pressed to my entrance.
The fucker brought lube.
“Now, be a good boy and listen,” Atticus tells me. “I’m going to stretch you out and fuck you raw, fast, and dirty. Then you’re going to go inside and hang out with your friends for at least an hour while my come drips out and makes a mess of these pretty thighs.”
“G-god,” I groan, shoving back against him as he shoves two fingers inside of me right out the gate.
“You’re tight,” he grunts out. “Has any other person been inside of you since I have?”
It’s embarrassing to say no, considering how long it’s been, but I shake my head anyway.
“Good,” he pants.
Then he’s stretching me out, thorough but without patience. His fingertips graze my prostate every few thrusts, lighting up my whole body, and if I still had reservations about being into gay sex, they’d definitely be gone now.
People knowing, though? Still concerning.
And now Cassie does.
Atticus latches onto my earlobe, nibbling away as he pants into my ear, and I can’t help but moan at the contact.
“That’s right, baby,” he whispers. “Feels so good, doesn’t it?”
“Uh-huh,” I push out, feeling each thrust, each moment of the stretching like a drug.
But then his fingers disappear, and the sound of his zipper joins the echo of our panting.
Oh, fuck. It’s happening.
The blunt head of Atticus’s dick, hot and pulsing, presses against me. The feel of it, smooth and so intimate, makes me dizzy with anticipation.
“A-Atticus,” I call out softly, my forehead dropping to the tin shed.
“What is it? Tell me,” he commands.
“Please… fuck me now.”
A soft chuckle leaves him as he pushes forward, shoving his way into my body.
And it stings. Just like that very first time, pain explodes behind my closed eyelids, and I brace myself for it. Bear down. Take him as best as I can.
Atticus groans as he sinks in, inch by inch.
“Weren’t you just… telling me to leave?” he pushes out through a grunt.
I say nothing to that, only writhing against him as he bottoms out, brushing against that spot inside of me so steadily that spurts of precome land on the grass below us.
“God, you take me so nicely,” he praises, his hands gripping my hips so painfully that it blends in with the pleasure, heightening every sensation.
“O-oh fuck,” I moan as he begins to rock his hips fast and hard, just like he promised.
One hand leaves my hips, winding into the hair on the back of my head instead, as he pulls me back to lean against his chest. Every thrust snaps my hips forward, but he keeps his grip tight.
“Do you feel this? Can you feel me everywhere?” he rants, dropping wet kisses to my neck.
“Yes,” I confess, flushing from arousal and embarrassment.
“If you ever pretend not to know who I am again, the lesson will be much worse,” Atticus promises, anger seeping into his tone. “I won’t stand for it. I…hmm, fuck,”
I think he’s losing it just as badly as I am. His punishing thrusts are becoming uncoordinated, his thick length pulsing inside of me as he grinds into me.
“You have to come. Now,” he continues with a new sense of urgency. Reaching around me, Atticus grips my throat with one hand and my dick with his other, stroking me just as hard and fast as he’s fucking me.
And lasting through that? Not in my wheelhouse.
Not between my restricted breathing and his head pounding into my prostate.
I come with a shout, Atticus sliding his hand over my jaw to rest his palm over my lips to silence me. Then I’m flooded with an intoxicating heat, feeling it as he fills me up so nice and full.
“Mmm, Cameron, you feel so good,” he groans quietly, shoving me even further into the shed as he grinds and grinds.
I’m babbling against his skin, begging and crying as I come down from my orgasm. My body is shaking, my mind reeling.
Atticus doesn’t sit around after he finishes. Instead, he pulls out, slides my pants back on, and takes a step back.
“Now,” he pants out. “Have a wonderful night, sweetheart.”
And then he leaves.