CHAPTER 6. THE LAST PURSUIT #2
Then he pauses and looks up, watching my reaction.
I’m breathing hard, vision hazy from how turned on I am.
And all I can think is—I thought this guy needed slow lovemaking.
But no. What he needs is to get fucked. Hard enough to forget his own name, until the only thing he remembers is how to scream mine.
“You’re not gonna be able to touch me,” he murmurs, ghosting his lips over my stomach. “Think you can handle that?”
“I’ll manage,” I grit out.
He laughs, then presses an open-mouthed kiss to my belly, his tongue dipping into my navel before dragging along the line of hair that disappears into my boxers.
I curse for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, barely stopping myself from bucking off the bed. I want to tear this fucking belt, flip him over, and wreck him—but it’s so damn tight, I’m more likely to rip the bed plank off with it instead.
Finally, Moon slides my boxers off, and the second I’m bare—my cock out, bobbing right near his face—he exhales, like he wasn’t ready for what he’s seeing.
“Fuck me,” he murmurs, eyes locked on it. “This thing looks dangerous.”
“You can untie me and I’ll show you how to use it,” I rasp, voice hoarse.
Moon chuckles, then wraps a hand around the base, guiding my cock to his lips.
“I think I’ll figure it out,” he says, before flicking his tongue out to lap up the pre-cum at the tip.
The pleasure from that—just that—makes my hips jerk up instinctively, but Moon plants a firm hand on my stomach, pinning me down.
“So impatient,” he says. Then he leans in again.
This time he doesn’t tease. Doesn’t drag it out. He just wraps his mouth around me and takes me deep. The hot, velvety slickness of his throat pulls me in so hard I let out a guttural moan.
His tongue moves a little clumsily as he sucks, but fuck, just seeing him like this—swallowing me down—drives me insane.
He takes me too deep, pulls off choking, catches his breath, then goes right back down. The suction is unreal.
I yank at the belt, and it bites into my wrists.
“Jesus, Sawyer…” I mutter, wanting to stop him, tell him to slow down—but then he hums around me, and the vibration knocks another curse out of me.
I groan, head falling back against the headboard.
He bobs his head, saliva slicking everything as he works me faster—messy, determined. The sounds—wet, breathless, greedy—are downright obscene.
I don’t last long. I can’t—not with him like this, on his knees, hair falling in his face, his mouth stretched around my cock, one hand rubbing the base in quick, tight strokes.
“Fuck—stop, I’m gonna come—” I choke out, but he doesn’t. He just looks up at me, eyes dark, and sucks me deeper, working me harder.
I try to hold on, to push back the dizzy, overwhelming pleasure—but it’s no use. I come with a choked moan, my whole body tensing, straining helplessly against the belt.
He takes it all, swallowing every last fucking drop, and only pulls off once I’ve stopped shaking.
I look down, still breathing hard—and the sight of him wrecked, lips puffed, eyes glazed and blown wide—is enough to send another jolt of arousal through me, even though I just came.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smirks up at me. “You okay, Woods?”
It takes me a few seconds to find my voice. I suck in air, chest still heaving, then rasp, “Uh-huh.”
He climbs back up, straddling me again, and leans in to kiss me—sloppy, open-mouthed, tasting like me. The tang hits my tongue and sets off a hot, possessive pull low in my gut. After what he just did to me, I want to get him back. Make him squirm.
“Untie me,” I say, voice low.
But he shakes his head. “I’m not done yet.”
Then he leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“I want you inside me,” he whispers, and I shiver. “Can I ride you, Mark?”
I nod, cheeks burning. “Yeah…but I’ll need, like, ten minutes.”
“Okay,” he says, then bites my neck again—harder this time, sucking, definitely leaving a mark. I feel him grinding against my stomach, his cock hot and hard through his briefs.
I lift an eyebrow at him, then jerk my chin toward it. “You want help with that?”
“Do you have lube?” Moon asks, ignoring the question.
“Top drawer,” I tell him, nodding at the nightstand. “Condoms are there too.”
He leans over, grabs both, and straddles me again. Then he strips off his briefs, freeing his flushed, rock-hard cock. I can’t stop staring.
For a second, I think about asking him to fuck my mouth while I’m still tied up—but then he does something that completely knocks the air out of me.
He squirts a generous dollop of lube onto his fingers, then shifts back on his heels until he’s sitting on the bed, knees bent—his pink hole exposed like he wants me to lose my mind.
He brings one slick finger to his hole, circles it once, eyes locked on mine, putting on a show just for me.
I groan as he presses in, breaching the tight muscle, and watch his finger disappear.
He starts working it slowly, moaning as he fucks himself, eyes still on me—because he knows exactly what he’s doing.
I pull against the belt, my cock already twitching again. “Untie me, and I’ll help you with that,” I say—but he just moans louder and pushes in a second finger. He shifts his weight, rolling his hips forward, easing into the stretch.
“Mark—fuck, Mark,” he gasps, voice wrecked. And the sight of him fingerfucking himself open, while moaning my name, makes me feral.
He slides his fingers deeper, breath catching now—and yeah, it’s definitely not just for my benefit. He’s getting off on it too, rocking on his hand, chanting my name.
“Mark. Mark. Mark…”
My cock’s hard in seconds, pressing up against his back—and he feels it. He pulls his fingers out, wipes his hand on the bedding, and grabs a condom. Then he shifts back on my legs, reaches for my cock, and smirks—eyes half-lidded.
“Yeah, I thought you might like that,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Can I?”
I nod. He tears the foil, rolls the condom on, and slicks me up with lube.
Then he rises onto his knees, reaches behind himself, and aligns my cock with his entrance.
When he starts to sink down, the stretch around the head is so tight he freezes—eyes fluttering shut, mouth parting in a silent gasp.
“You’re not stretched enough,” I tell him. “Let me help you.”
But he just shakes his head. “I’m fine. I just need a moment.”
We stay like that, still, while he catches his breath. His chest rises and falls, thighs trembling where they’re pressed to mine. Then he sinks down a little further—freezes again—and finally takes me to the hilt.
Both of us groan at the tight stretch.
“Fuck,” I breathe, already dizzy. “Fuck, Sawyer.”
He steadies himself, hands flat on my chest, jaw tight.
I lean forward and kiss him, trying to help him relax—because I still can’t touch his cock. I lick at his lips, then slide my tongue in, brushing against his until he gasps again.
We kiss like that for a couple of minutes, slow and almost lazy, and when we finally part, Moon’s face is flushed, chest too, his breath coming fast.
“Are you okay?” I ask, and he nods.
He holds my gaze, shifts his hands to my shoulders—and starts to move.
It’s slow at first. He drags his hips up just enough for me to slip out an inch, then sinks back down with a low moan in his throat. The drag of it—tight and slick—makes my whole body tense.
I want to touch him so fucking bad. Want my hands on his waist, his hips. Want to flip him onto all fours and fuck him until he’s begging to come.
But I can’t. I’m still tied to the damn headboard, wrists stretched tight above me, already going numb. Moon’s drawing it out—rolling his hips slow, savoring every moan, every gasp.
“Fuck,” I hiss, head falling back. “You’re—fuck, Moon.”
His eyes drop to where our bodies are joined, watching himself take me in.
I look too. Watch him rock into it again.
And again.
And again.
A little harder each time.
Finally, he starts building a rhythm—steady, deep thrusts that hit every nerve just right. His thighs flex as he rides me, head falling back, hair spilling over his shoulders, sticking to his damp neck.
I can’t look away. Pleasure coils low in my gut, and I start thrusting up to meet his movement.
The second I do, Moon lets out a loud moan, arching his back as I hit that spot over and over.
“Sawyer,” I say, voice hoarse.
He lifts his head, eyes meeting mine.
“Touch yourself,” I tell him, gaze dropping to his straining cock.
“Are you close?” he asks, voice wrecked. I nod.
He leans forward, grinding down faster, then squirts some lube onto his leaking cock and wraps a hand around it.
I watch as he jerks himself off, eyes locked on me—and it takes less than a minute before he’s flushed, panting, falling apart.
The sounds he makes are obscene. And I’m right there with him, moaning every time he sinks back down onto my cock.
His movements get faster, rougher, as he hits the point of no return—chasing his release.
And when he comes with a broken cry, it’s hot and messy against my stomach. His body trembles, back arching, his hole clenching tight around me as he rides it out with shaky thrusts.
My hips grind up once, twice—and then I’m coming too, everything flashing white-hot, blinding. He slumps forward, collapsing onto me, skin slick and burning, heartbeat pounding against my chest.
Neither of us says anything for a good couple of minutes, both breathing like we just ran a fucking marathon.
Then, still catching my breath, I mutter against his neck, “Next time, you’re the one getting tied up.”
That’s when he lifts his head, eyes flicking to my hands—and panic flashes across his face.
“Shit,” he says, scrambling to undo the belt. “Sorry.”
He tosses it aside and reaches for my wrists, rubbing them gently. His thumbs trace over the faint red marks where the leather bit into my skin.
The blood flow’s finally coming back. Thank god.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, panic creeping higher in his voice.
“I’m fine,” I chuckle. “Come here.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him in. He slumps into me, soft and boneless. I’m still inside him. And for a while, we just stay like that. Not talking. Just skin on skin, hot breath, and the hazy quiet afterglow.
Eventually, Moon exhales and shifts off my lap, moving slow, wincing a little as he settles onto the bed beside me.
I take the condom off, tie it, toss it in the bin, then head into the en-suite and come back with a warm, damp towel. We’re both a mess—sweaty and flushed—and I clean us up, then toss the towel and climb back into bed.
We slide under the covers and pull in close.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Great,” he says automatically.
“Don’t lie.” I raise an eyebrow. “I saw you wince a minute ago.”
He smirks. “A little sore. But I’ll live.”
“Sorry,” I say, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
Moon shifts closer and tucks himself under my arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s sweet. Domestic, even. And it makes my chest ache.
Then he murmurs, voice quiet, face pressed against my chest, “Is it too soon to ask what this is?”
I chuckle, glancing down at him—his face red as a beet.
“That depends,” I say.
“On what?”
“What we want.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “I want you to meet my mom.”
The second it’s out of his mouth, he freezes—like he’s horrified he said it out loud. I laugh as he curses under his breath and starts to backtrack, but I cut him off.
“I’d love to,” I say, leaning in until he meets my eyes.
He blinks, completely thrown. “You would?”
I nod, then add, “I want to date. If you’re up for it.” Now it’s my turn to feel flustered.
“Yes,” Moon says quickly, his cheeks flaming. “Cool.”
“And I want to be exclusive,” I say, heart pounding. No more holding back.
“Makes sense,” he says. “Me too.”
“We can figure the rest out as we go.”
“Deal,” he says—maybe a little too fast—then grins so hard I can’t help but smile back.
And just like that, I feel stupidly, ridiculously happy.
He lets out a sigh, breathing me in, pressing into my neck, one leg wedged between mine. We go quiet. After a minute, his breathing evens out.
The party’s still going downstairs—muffled now—but up here, it’s warm and still. I don’t say anything, but I like it—him here, in my bed, tucked against my chest.
For a long time, I just lie there, watching the snow fall outside the window, listening to Moon breathe, telling myself I should probably go back down to the guests.
But before I can make a decision, sleep pulls me under.