Chapter 26 #3
It’s too much, instantly and all at once too much, and all I can do is hold on to him, ground myself through the strands of soft hair, force my eyes open to break back into reality.
Bad idea.
August’s stretched out, his back long and all muscle, his ass on display, moving with the rhythm of his lips.
I want to sink into him. I want him to scream my name when I fuck him.
But my eyes flutter closed again, and it’s flashes of him in his tight crop top, his eyes just before I kissed him, when he knew I was about to, his smile, always so bright, that little frown when I was sucking his dick.
I can’t do it. I can’t take this. “Let me fuck you.”
A knowing chuckle vibrates through my dick, but he doesn’t change his madness-inducing movement. Why is he so good at this? Is it practice? Or…
Then it occurs to me.
He knows exactly what I like.
He knows the perfect pressure, the perfect speed. It’s not just the best blowjob of my life because it’s August, or because it’s been years, or because his mouth is the most wonderful thing in all creation.
This is tailor-made sex.
And if he can do this for me…
“Slayer, come up here.”
He kisses the side of my cock. “Slayer? I like that.”
“Let me fuck you.”
“If you can resist me.” His thumb and index finger, slick with spit, form a tight ring that runs down my dick.
His mouth follows firm and fast, and I can’t even resist fucking into him.
He pulls up and does it again, the sound of it filthy and divine, the feeling beyond tolerable.
He cups my balls, and I’m close to losing control, when he pushes his finger up my ass, and how the fuck does he know all the things?
Yeah, I know, but fuck!
“August!”
He grunts out a response that dares me to coat his throat with cum. The only thing that stops me is that view of his ass. Nothing on this planet could keep me away.
I slap his hand off, grab the back of his head, and sink my cock deep as I thrust forward. He gags on it, and it’s the hottest sound I ever heard, because his fingers sink into my thighs, and he wrenches me closer for more, begging me to punish his throat.
I oblige, shifting forward on the couch.
My hand cracks down on his ass, and my dick hits the back of his throat when he jumps.
I take my hand between his ass cheeks and pull him around roughly.
My dick’s still deep in his mouth, he’s working me mercilessly, but now I’ve got him.
I sink my thumb deep into my mouth, then press it to his ring.
He loses some of his determined concentration when I massage him, firmly, just pushing in a little, and that’s good.
I want him to lose himself completely. I take the back of his head and push him a little harder, his ass rising up to me in response.
Now it’s my index and middle fingers I take in my mouth, wishing they were his cock.
My tongue coats them, indulging in the image in my mind as he indulges in me.
But I need more. I slap my hand back down on his ass, expecting the little cry now and living for it.
I do it again, and his eyes flare at me, lust-fuelled vengeance written in them. This man could make a fortune if coquetry were his profession.
I wrap my hand over the curve of his ass, pull him closer again, then let that first finger sink. His eyes roll back, lids fluttering closed, and though I’m nearly drowning in the pleasure he’s giving me, the image before me takes over, and I want nothing more than to watch him.
I’m playful with his ass, sinking that first finger in and out, just toying with his sweet spot.
He’s wild for it. Every time I stroke that spot with my fingertip, I feel him double down on my cock.
It’s barely resistible. In fact, it’s not.
And before I know it, the next finger’s pushing inside.
The vibration of his groan runs through my whole body.
I’m careful with him. I want him to love this, but I know I’d like it a little rough, so I don’t hold back. “You like that, Slayer?”
He whines around my wet cock, and I curl my fingers, pulling him wide.
His tight tunnel resists me, but I can do this all night if he keeps making that sound.
I scissor my fingers, easing him open, dreaming of the moment my cock’s going to slide in.
But it’s not necessary. The way his tongue wraps me is all the pleasure I need.
The feeling of his hair against my thigh.
Making him happy tonight is enough to last me the rest of my life.
“August,” he whispers, breaking off. Then he sucks me down again, and I fuck him a little harder with my fingers.
“August,” he tries again, so I press a third in, and he almost falls on the floor, his arm days at the gym saving him at the last. But I slip down behind him.
My hand wraps around his shoulder, and I pull him up onto his knees, then fuck him deeper again with my hand.
“August,” he begs. But I know I’d want more, so I pump into him, curling, pushing, and he’s a wreck.
It’s a mess of my name, and cries of “please” and “fuck me,” and my name and his name and all of it mingled together until I can’t take another second.
I let him go, and he whirls on me, lips smashing into mine. I fall back against the floor, barely supported by my elbows as he comes down on top of me.
“I didn’t come here,” I try, through more kisses, “planning to do this.”
He shoots me a half-bewildered look, then another kiss, then, “Why not?”
“What?” More kisses. “What do you mean, ‘why not?’ Have you seen yourself?”
“Every time I look at you. And if I look half as hot as you do right now, I would have come here to do this. We need to do this.”
He wrenches me to my feet, always deploying that immense strength at the most unexpected but wholly necessary times. He doesn’t let go, turning, locking my hands around his waist, walking backwards and leading me to the bedroom while he kisses me.
He makes a sharp turn, twists me, and throws me down on the bed. Then he yanks the cupboard door open and pulls out a small orange box. He upturns the contents onto the bed, and my heart slams into my throat.
Yes, there are condoms. Yes, there’s lube, several varieties of it. There are handcuffs. Three vibrators of different sizes. Anal strings, cock rings, and I don’t even know what half the other stuff is.
He clambers on top of me and says, “Anything you like. We’ll do anything.”
Well, that’s terrifying.
I don’t know how to use half this stuff.
And he doesn’t help when he qualifies that with, “Except the sounding rods. I am not into that. They came free in a package.”
“I don’t know what a sounding rod is.”
“Lucky for you.” He glares at some colourful sticks. “But if there’s anything else—”
“August, no. Please. I just want you.” He stills, looking askance at his pile of treasures before settling slightly wary eyes on me. “Is that dull? Sorry. You probably want to—”
“No. No, it’s not. I like you so much. I’ve been thinking about you honestly non-stop since we met. I’d really like to just… I want you to enjoy it.”
“Me too.” When he kisses me again, it’s softer, slower, and for the first time, I understand the tension that’s been in him too.
To please. To be perfect. To be enough. As hard as it is to believe he could feel that way, looking like he does, he is me.
And he deserves all the love and reassurance that… maybe I do…
I take my arms around his neck, and they feel good there. They feel right there, holding him close, his heart beating against mine. The way I wish it would beat for mine. That it could ever happen for us.
He reaches across, and there’s a tinkle and rustle as his hand sinks into the mess on the bed. He comes back with a condom, sits up on me looking exactly like a god, then rips the package open with his perfect white teeth. “So, is this going on me, then?”
I actually feel the blood drain from my face. “No.” The word drops from my lips as though I’m pleading for my life.
“Same sexual preferences.” He shrugs. “And it’s pretty clear you like to top, so…”
No. The night cannot end like this. Not with him here, on top of me, in his bed, the best sex of my life literally within my reach—
That grin.
I shove him over, clambering on top of him. “Do you think that’s funny?”
“I think that’s hilarious.”
I kiss the smirk off his face, then grab some lube, what flavour or type, I have no clue. I kick the rest of his sex cache to the floor, then flip the lid open.
“You know,” he says, shifting his cock up against mine. “If I like it, there’s every chance you will too.”
“I haven’t tried it,” I admit.
“Come back and see me tomorrow.” I dive in for a kiss, terrified and turned on by the idea, and by his confidence in the suggestion.
I sink my coated fingers down, and arch into his when he fits the condom on me.
I kiss him, work him for a time, until he begs, “Please, August. I’ve waited long enough.
” Softly, eyes deep and unfathomable, “I’ve waited for you. ”
Those last words curl around my heart. He pulls his arms around me, trapping me on every side. I take hold of his shoulder and press forward. A sweet sigh breaks out of him as he arches, opens for me.
He is the most beautiful man.
His eyes are closed, his eyelashes flutter. He’s heat and heart and the home I’ve always wanted.
“I’ve wanted you,” he whispers. “Nights I didn’t even know you existed, I’ve wanted you, August.”
It’s nonsense. Pillow talk. He cannot mean a word of it.
“You’re my missing piece, and I don’t want you to go.”
Tears pierce the back of my eyes, so I close them, letting August rip through me, his soul and his spirit, finishing me. Taking every piece of me that’s left. It’s his. All of it. I’m nothing, and he’s everything.