Heart

Chapter 43 #2

When he gets to my cock, he looks up at me and smiles before running his tongue slowly up the length.

The heat in my veins runs through his too.

I can see it in his eyes. In the rigidity of his shoulders.

In the way he’s crouching over me. Like a hunter waiting to pounce.

Like a hungry man looking at his favorite meal.

He handles my dick with the wonder of a new lover and the skill of an old one. He teases the ridge of my head with soft, puckered lips and bathes my balls with a broad, outstretched tongue. It feels incredible. Sparks light a path from my dick to my balls and from my balls to my brain.

He goes down on me slowly, taking his time, smothering me in pleasure as he gently strokes my balls with his fingertips. That hand, the one on my balls, travels down farther, but it does it in increments so slow that I forget to tense. I forget that this is new and I haven’t done it before.

I’m so focused on the lavish attention my cock is receiving that I barely register when he stops to get lube out of his drawer and applies it to his fingers.

I’m aware that his fingers are slick when he touches my ass though.

Trust me, I’m more than aware of that. The first slippery stroke travels over my rim and back again, and a dart of pleasure shoots up my ass.

A suggestion. A sexy proposition. A secret only he and I know.

He doesn’t penetrate me so much as he nudges me open.

Encouraging me to soften, more than split open.

His action is gentle. A tiny prod with a little weight behind it.

He drops his head and wraps his mouth around my cock as he does it, and a long, wanton moan leaks out of me.

Familiar sensations merge with brand-new ones. They blend together and deepen.

He asks for a little more access with each pass of his lips, and I lie back and grant it.

I’m mesmerized by the feeling. The old and the new.

A well-known acquaintance, and an enigmatic intruder.

His finger slides deeper, and a novel sensation is born.

A sting and a burn. A hot, blazing indulgence that makes my legs fall open and my eyes slam shut.

It sizzles between my legs and up my spine, making my hips arch and strain.

I hold on to the sheet beneath me, balling it in my fists, and don’t move a muscle when he adds a second finger.

The sensation it brings with it is tattooed into me so deeply that it submerges everything else.

Connor seems to know what it’s like, what he’s doing to me, what’s happening to me.

He must because his actions are unhurried, his expression thoughtful and lined with concentration as he searches my face for signs of pleasure or pain.

When he finds no hint of discomfort, he begins moving his fingers in and out of me, lighting up new neural pathways and amplifying them tenfold when he sinks his mouth onto my cock.

My heart beats out of my chest.

My breaths grow ragged and fast.

I lie there, suspended in time, thrashing, floating, as he stretches me open. He’s slow and careful, savoring every moan he ekes out of me and answering it with one of his own. My thoughts wander and the moans we’re making become a language of their own.

Mine say I want you.

His answer You’ve got me.

He doesn’t stop fingering me and sucking me until I don’t know what day it is, what my name is, where I am, or how many fingers I have up my ass. I know it’s a lot though. More than one, that’s for sure. More than two, I think, if my ragged grunting is anything to go by.

The pressure in my balls swells with each pass of his lips, each leisurely drag of his tongue, each thrust of his fingers. It amplifies and amplifies, growing unbridled and filling the whole goddamn room. The whole apartment. My entire body.

My moans take on a life of their own. Loud shouts. Chopped groans. They’re not sounds I’ve made before, and at the same time, they’re the most honest I’ve ever produced. They clench my abs and pull me up involuntarily, yanking me as though I’m controlled by invisible strings that bind me to him.

I grab at Connor’s hips, at his dick. Hands unsteady, grip clumsy, as I pull him toward me.

“I’m ready. Connor, I’m ready.”

He flattens me with a hand on my chest, pushing me back onto the bed.

His hand warms me, burns me, and settles me at the same time.

Inside, I’m racing and charging, but I’m also waiting for him.

I’ve given him something. Control of me.

Access to my body. Something. I’m not sure what, but whatever it is, it makes me want to let him lead.

It makes me need to let him lead.

“I’m negative,” he says.

It takes me a second to work out what he’s talking about, all thoughts of anything that isn’t his body and mine confusing and strange now.

“Me too,” I reply, voice faraway.

I reach for him again, my mind calm, my body frantic. This time, he catches my hand and laces his fingers between mine. He holds my hand, smiling down at me as he lubes his dick. I look down, and he’s swollen, a shiny slit staring straight at me. Thick and red and leaking from the tip.

I look up, and he’s kind and on fire, and more Connor than he’s ever been.

I see all those things and close my eyes. Peaceful. Safe and secure in the knowledge that he has me.

He covers me with his body, keeping my hands in his, but moving them so they’re near my head and he’s holding me down. He guides himself to my opening with his free hand, finding his target with ease, with care, with precision.

He leans down and kisses me sweetly.

Then he pushes in.

The sting is sharp this time, and the burn is blunt.

A quick shock. A thick shove that forces me open.

My ass convulses. My mind opens. There’s a quick back and forth.

A muscle that usually clenches rapidly unlearning that skill.

The pressure in my asshole is persistent.

Firm and unyielding. A constant pressure that gradually burns through resistance.

There’s a flash of pain when he breaches me. A quick gasp. A small cry.

A sting that’s red hot but short-lived. There for a second and then gone.

And when it’s gone, oh, the feeling it’s replaced with.

Nerve endings sing. My blood thickens. Arousal, or what I’ve thought of it as in the past, is internal.

In the middle of me. It ravages me, shooting up my ass in rough, merciless jolts as Connor fucks me and kisses me so sweetly that it makes me want to cry.

It’s a thing of wonder. A marvel.

I’m here, and he’s here. Both of us are naked, and he’s inside my body. Like, inside, inside it. Deep inside me. I’m full. Full in ways I never imagined. Ways that stretch me paper-thin. Ways that make me so horny it hurts.

He looks down at me, and he’s the same as always, caring and kind.

Hot and as horny as I am. His arousal is written all over his face.

In his clenched teeth. In his bones. A sea-green gaze burrows into me, drilling down and showing me who Connor is when he’s stripped naked.

He’s strong and gentle. A protector and a conqueror. A shield and a survivor.

An ember glows green, and his lips move. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, frayed, and uneven. “Say I’m the first.”

“You’re the first,” I whine, and he sends a new jolt of pleasure into me.

“Say I’m the only one.”

“You’re the only one.” He sends another jolt into me. Up me. Through me. Deeper and harder than any of the jolts that came before it.

He kisses me and squeezes the hand he’s holding. He takes my other hand in his and holds that as well. Any resistance I had in my body or mind leaves me. “Tell me what it feels like.”

I understand the words, but not how I’ll manage to reply.

My tongue is thick. Slow and somebody else’s, yet somehow, I hear myself say, “Feels everywhere.” I’m not sure it makes sense, but I think it does.

Or, at least, I think it makes sense to Connor and me, and when I think about it, no one else really matters.

“Feels like a lot.” He pulls out most of the way, and I shiver in anticipation.

“Feels big.” He thrusts in. I cry out softly and then loudly when it hits me.

“When you move, it feels like you’re breaking me… ”

“I’m breaking you?” He’s interested but not concerned. Instead, he’s gratified and almost amused. He likes hearing me talk like this, I realize. He likes seeing me like this.

And I like that about him.

“Yes…but that’s what I want.” It is. I didn’t know it before, but it’s what I want. It might even be what I deserve.

“That’s what you want? To be broken?”

“Yes,” I moan, sinking my teeth into the meat of his shoulder. “It’s what I want.”

He gives me what I can take, no more and no less, until he’s fully seated in me. Until my legs are wrapped around his waist and his hips are grinding against me, his balls slapping rhythmically against me.

I look up at him in disbelief. In awe. He’s inside my body, and I’m taking him. I’m here, and he’s here, and we’re really doing this.

He pulls most of the way out and rears back, holding himself up as he drills into me eye-wateringly deep. His cock plunges into me, forcing organs out of its way and penetrating me fully. The pleasure is instant and so blinding that I can’t see or hear.

He fucks me like that, deaf and blind, until I’m shouting. Thrashing. Until the relentless, predictable thud of his body slamming into mine turns into a rhythm. A song. He doesn’t stop. He makes music with me, and after a couple of choruses, my hips learn the beat.

I start moving as though I’m dancing. Rising and falling to a tune I know well. Connor fucks me, and I meet every thrust. I don’t tense. I open myself to receive it. To take it as deeply as he sees fit to give.

Pleasure builds. So do force and pressure and mass. I feel it everywhere. In my ass. In my dick. In my face. Everything is hot. Everything is engorged. Everything is so sensitive that I want to scream.

So I do.

I don’t mean to, but I do.

Connor hears my call and understands it. He knows what it means. He sees and hears me and gives me what I need.

His hand circles my dick firmly, and I shout from the shock, the amazement, as my dick throbs and my ass starts to spasm. It’s a slight spasm first. A flutter. Barely a squeeze to go with the myriad of hot bliss flowing up and down my dick, and then it’s not.

Then it’s a vise.

Then it’s a muscle forcefully contracting.

Then it’s my whole body convulsing. My dick spraying. My ass milking Connor’s cock like I was made to do it. There’s pleasure everywhere. Over and over. A river of it. An ocean. Hot, thick liquid flooding everything in its path.

It ravages me.

Burns me.

Breaks me.

Through it all, Connor works over me. Thrusting into my pleasure and shattering me more.

He grits his teeth and howls from the strain, but he holds back. He holds back until he’s shaking. Until he’s trembling from head to toe. Until he’s fucked every ounce of my orgasm out of me.

And then he lets go.

He lets go beautifully. He lets go with everything he has. He pours all of it into me.

And I open my legs, and let him.

A long time later, I find my way back to my body. I move my hands and feet, curling my fingers and toes and relaxing them, amazed to find they still work. That they’re still part of me.

That I’m still here. That I’m still me.

I’m me, but I’m different. I look the same, but I don’t feel the same.

I look at Connor and see him lying on his back. His chest is heaving, a jerky up-and-down motion filling and emptying his lungs. His eyes are closed, and his jaw is slightly slack. He looks like he’s been demolished, but somehow, he looks peaceful as well.

He senses me looking at him, and his eyelids flutter and open. Saltwater pools find me and invite me in. Tiny striations glitter and light up, sending signals straight to my heart. His eyes are so warm and inviting that I have no choice but to dive in.

“What have you done to me, Connor?” I whisper.

He smiles and his eyes slide shut slowly. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, you did it to me first.”