Chapter 23 Vox
Vox
Lust takes over as soon as the words leave his mouth. Connor Lang is naked beneath me, offering himself to me, and it’s far more intoxicating than my hormone-driven, fourteen-year-old adolescent brain could have ever imagined.
Despite the quick mood change for the necessary heart-to-heart, Connor commits to whatever happens next by locking his hands behind my neck and pulling my mouth down to his.
“Fuck, this is a terrible idea,” he says again, echoing the sentiment he shared earlier as he slides back on the mattress with his head on the pillows as I instructed.
He’s not wrong.
“Too bad I want you too much to give a shit,” I reply, planting one hand on the mattress and using the other to grip the headboard for leverage as I drag my cock along his, while rolling my hips at a torturously slow pace.
The move elicits the most delicious groan from him. He’s wound so tightly—every muscle in his body is tense—making him seem larger than life. I may be slightly taller, but there’s no denying Connor has far more mass.
I watch his face as I roll my hips again. My eyes stay transfixed on his, but his are watching our cocks. Since I’m holding myself up, our chests aren’t connected, and he can see every thrust.
“Does that feel good, baby?” My voice is low and definitely gives away how close I am to already blowing again.
“Fuck, yes. Please,” Connor begs. “Make me come.”
His eyes are half-lidded in pleasure as he looks up at me.
Grabbing one of the lube packets, I slide down his body, sighing in relief as soon as my mouth comes in contact with his cock. His flavor could drown a man.
Clean, heady, masculine, with a hint of hotel bar soap.
Despite my bravado and big talk, it’s been a while for me.
I was casually hooking up with Kat for months before she started seeing someone, and it’s been a ghost town below my belt ever since.
I’ve missed the feel, taste, and sight of a man beneath me, and I’m consciously pumping the brakes; otherwise, I risk this being over way too fucking fast. Connor’s plea was clearly for me to make him come soon, but what he doesn’t know is that I declined Renner’s earlier invitation to hang out and now plan to take my sweet-ass time, torturing us both.
Steadying the base of Connor’s cock with one hand, I bask in his scent as I bring my lips down over the tip.
His hands immediately fly to the back of my head as I tease, kiss, lick, and suck. The more time I take, the more desperate he and I become until I have to have more.
“Move to the end of the bed on your knees. Face down, ass up,” I demand. Connor briefly looks like he’s going to protest, so I add, “Trust me,” at the end.
Reluctantly, he rolls over and pushes up to his knees as I settle to mine on the floor at the end of the bed. I waste no time, spreading him wide and burying my face in his ass, desperate for more of his taste before I defile it with lube and my cum.
As soon as my tongue hits his hole, he jerks forward, causing me to wrap my arms under his thighs, pulling him back onto my face.
I attack Connor like eating ass is an Olympic event, and in my opinion, no event is worth entering if you don’t plan to win.
Only when he’s writhing and on the verge of tears, do I ease up, tear open the lube packet, coating my fingers, and slowly sink my first one inside him. Pressing forward and down, I drag my finger along his prostate.
“Ahh.” His cry of pleasure causes my dick to jump, and I know I won’t be able to keep this up much longer. The more his tight heat envelops me, the more control I lose—not that I had much to begin with.
By the time I’ve worked three fingers into him, we’re both on the verge of imploding.
“Vox, please. I’m begging you,” Connor whines.
“I know you are, baby. And I really fucking like it.”
Pulling my fingers free, I smack his ass and issue my next instructions. “Flip back over. I want to see your face when I spill inside you.
Connor scrambles onto his back, and I climb onto the bed after him, reaching over for two more packets of lube and a condom.
Connor grabs my wrist as I move to settle between his spread thighs.
“Maybe we don’t need the condom?” It’s a statement phrased as a question.
“If you want me to stand any chance of getting all the way inside you, we definitely need the condom.”
“I’ve seen all your medical charts. I know you’re required to get tested, and I also know you’re on PrEP, as am I.” When I don’t jump at the chance, he begins to shut down. “I mean, that’s probably crazy, though; forget I said anything.”
Connor doesn’t understand my hesitance, and I’m afraid the truth is a bit too much, but fuck it. It’s one night. He might as well know what I’m thinking.
“Connor, it’s not that I don’t trust you, because I do.
And when I say I want nothing more than to be inside you with no barriers, as close as two people can get, it’s the honest truth.
But it’s not a good idea to let me have you like that because it’ll drive me mad, ruin my concentration, and distract me to the point of being dangerous.
My possessive streak can be wicked and all-consuming.
If allowed to run rampant, my desire for you will create very big problems for us both.
I have to wear a condom because I need that rubber shield to protect me from a helluva lot more than just an STD. ”
Connor’s eyes narrow as the ghost of a smile dances on his lips.
“I thought you didn’t do relationships,” Connor points out.
“So did I.” I’m not stupid enough to try to define this or ask for more than tonight in this moment. Connor’s already been skittish as fuck about his attraction to me, but something is changing within me.
“And here everyone thinks you have no control.”
“I guess I do…until I don’t. And once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.”
Seeming to understand, Connor nods and lets go of my wrist, giving me a truth of his own.
“Just so you know, I’m already fucked either way, so do whatever you have to in order to preserve your peace of mind.”
I stare at him the entire time I sheath myself and coat the condom in more lube before squeezing the dregs of the packet onto my finger and running it over Connor’s hole once more.
A second later, I’m pushing inside his body. Connor Lang. My first crush. My idol. My hero. My rival. My enemy. My coach. My friend.
Connor reaches forward on a gasp, clutching my forearms.
“Breathe, baby,” I remind him, halting my progress to let him adjust.
Once his breaths grow deeper, I inch my way in until I’m flush against his body as I push his knees toward his ears.
“Oh, fuck that’s good,” he moans.
I start moving slowly, but as soon as he matches my rhythm, trying to fuck himself on my cock, I snap my hips, slamming into him.
“Ungh,” he grunts before saying, “Again.”
I’d hoped the condom would dull the sensation enough to help me last longer and prevent me from getting too attached.
But I now know that was faulty thinking. And I’ll do whatever it takes for Connor to let me in again. Maybe alone isn’t the best way to do things. Yeah, being let down hurts, but it doesn’t hurt less than a life of isolation. It doesn’t hurt less than missing out on this.
As I fuck his ass, the fingers of Connor’s right hand dig into my left thigh while his left hand shuttles across his cock.
It’s harder than it might sound to maintain one rhythm with your hips and a different rhythm with your hand, but I was always good at rhythm and the whole ‘pat your head, rub your stomach’ thing, so I bat Connor’s hand away and take over.
But he’s getting close.
“Do you want to come like this or wait and come inside me?” I ask, my own clock winding down faster with each thrust of my hips.
“It’s too good. I can’t last,” he pants, making my chest swell with pride.
“Then come. Make a fucking mess out of us,” I demand. “I want to hear you scream my name, Connor.”
“Oh, shit. You fill me up so good. I’m gonna…fuck, Vox!”
Connor’s ass has my dick in a warm, pulsing grip. I’m not going to last a second longer than I would if I were bare, and when I begin emptying my load into the condom, I’m no less attached to the man coming undone at my hands than I would be if I were taking him raw.
I watch in awe as Connor paints my hand, his abs, and his chest with cum as the waves of his orgasm rip through him, prolonging my own release.
“Fuck yes, baby. Me too,” is all I can manage before a series of grunts takes over and I’m lost to the tides of pleasure coursing through my veins, making my muscles heavy with fatigue and zapping my energy.
I pour myself into the condom, wishing I’d never put it on in the first place.
A minute later, I slump forward on Connor’s chest, totally boneless, not worried about my weight crushing him. In my post-orgasmic glow, with his arms holding me to him, I imagine what it would be like to watch my release drip from his ass. That unmistakable sign that he’s mine.
“You okay?” he finally asks.
No. I want more.
At the very least, I want a chance to explore this.
For as long as I can remember, there’s been a low hum of anxiety in the background of my life.
Keeping distractions at bay, focusing on being the best, trying to navigate adulthood without any real connections, and figuring out a plan once this chapter of my life is over, have had a way of keeping me constantly on alert.
Here, in Connor’s arms, is the first time I’ve felt like I can lower my guard all the way.
It feels like every cell in my body just took a collective sigh for the first time.
It feels like the physical release gave way to a psychological one, allowing me to admit that maybe I don’t want to do everything on my own anymore. But I don’t say any of that out loud.
“Are you?” I return instead.
“Yes and no,” Connor answers truthfully.
“Same, I guess,” I say with a sigh, trying to sit up.
“Stay,” Connor says, tightening his grip.
“Okay.”
It’s the last word I speak before I pass the hell out in Connor’s arms.
It appears the answer to his question is twice. I only came twice before I blacked out.