Chapter 14 Overtime #3
“Oh fuck.” The sensation shot straight to my cock. It shouldn't have been hot. Shouldn't have made me harder than I already was.
“You like that?” His voice was muffled against my skin.
“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.”
He did it again, slower this time, really tasting me. His tongue was broad and flat, lapping at the hollow like he was savoring every drop of sweat. His stubble scraped against sensitive skin, making me shiver, making goosebumps break out across my chest.
Then he moved to my other armpit, giving it the same attention, and I was writhing beneath him. My hands fisted in the sheets because I didn't know what else to do with them. My cock was leaking steadily now, smearing precome across my stomach.
“Grant, please—”
“I've thought about this,” he said, almost conversational, except for the way his voice shook. “Thought about how you'd taste. How you'd smell. How you'd look spread out beneath me.”
“And?”
“Better than I imagined.” He bit down on the muscle there, and I gasped. “So much fucking better.”
He kissed his way back down my body, and this time when he reached my cock, he didn't tease. He took me into his mouth in one smooth motion, and the wet heat was so intense I nearly came right then.
“Fuck, fuck, stop—” I grabbed his hair, pulling him off before I could embarrass myself. “I'm too close. If you keep doing that, I'm going to come.”
He pulled off with an obscene pop, lips wet and swollen. “That's the point.”
“No. I want—I need you inside me when I come.”
Something dark and possessive flashed in his eyes. Something that looked like hunger and ownership and mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright.” He kissed the inside of my thigh, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. “Roll over. On your stomach.”
I did, and immediately felt his hands on my ass—squeezing, spreading, his thumbs tracing the crease. The touch was proprietary, like he owned this part of me. Like he had every right to touch me however he wanted.
Then I felt his tongue, and I nearly levitated off the bed.
“Holy fuck—”
“Stay still.” His voice was commanding, the coach voice, and my cock throbbed at the tone. “Don't move.”
He ate me out like he was starving for it. Tongue circling my hole, pressing in, making me gasp and moan and fist the sheets. Every time I tried to push back for more, his hands held my hips in place, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.
The sensation was overwhelming. I'd been rimmed before, but never like this. Never with this intensity, this focused attention, like he was trying to wreck me completely. His tongue was hot and wet and relentless, circling and pressing and occasionally pushing inside just enough to make me crazy.
I could feel his stubble scratching against my ass, the vibration of his groans, the way his fingers dug into my hips hard enough to bruise.
“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned against me, and the words vibrated through my entire body. “Could do this for hours.”
“Please don't.” My voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. “Please, Grant, I need—”
“I know what you need.”
I heard him move, heard the sound of a drawer opening—because of course he'd packed supplies, of course he'd been prepared even when he was pretending this wouldn't happen. The thought should have annoyed me. Instead, it made me hotter. He'd wanted this. Had planned for it even while denying it.
Then I heard the cap of the lube bottle, and my whole body tensed in anticipation.
The first finger pressed inside me slowly, and I felt the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness. It had been a while since I'd done this. Long enough that even one finger felt like a lot.
“Okay?” His voice was strained, controlled. Fighting for composure.
“Yeah. Keep going.”
He worked me open carefully, methodically, adding a second finger and then a third. Each one burned more than the last, stretched me wider, made me feel fuller. By the time he was three fingers deep, I was shaking, grinding back against his hand, desperate for more.
He curled his fingers, searching, and when he found my prostate I nearly screamed.
“There. Fuck, right there—”
He hit it again, deliberately, and pleasure shot through me so intense it was almost painful. My cock was rock hard, dripping steadily onto the sheets beneath me.
“I'm ready. Fuck, I'm ready, please—”
“Not yet.” He curled his fingers again, rubbing that spot until I was shaking. “Not until I know you can take it.”
“I can take it. I can take you. Please, Grant, I need your cock—”
He groaned, and I felt his fingers withdraw. The loss made me whimper.
“On your back,” he said. “I want to see your face.”
I rolled over, and he settled between my legs. I watched him slick himself up, watched his hand work over his cock, and fuck, he was big. Thick and long and flushed dark with arousal.
A flicker of nervousness went through me. It had been a while. And he was definitely bigger than anyone I'd been with before.
He must have seen something in my face because he leaned down and kissed me. Gentle this time. Almost sweet.
“We'll go slow,” he murmured against my lips. “If it's too much, tell me. We can stop anytime.”
“I don't want to stop.”
“Then we go slow.” He lined himself up, and I felt the blunt head of his cock press against my hole. “Breathe.”
I did, forcing myself to relax, and he pushed forward slowly.
The stretch was intense. More than his fingers, more than anything I'd felt before. He was thick and the burn was right on the edge of too much, walking that line between pleasure and pain that made my head spin.
“Fuck,” I gasped. “You're big.”
“You okay? Need me to stop?”
“No. Don't stop. Don't you dare fucking stop.”
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside me. We both went still, breathing hard, and I felt impossibly full. Stretched wider than I'd ever been. Connected to him in the most intimate way possible.
“Christ,” he groaned. “You feel—fuck, you feel perfect.”
“Move. Please move.”
He pulled back slowly, and I felt every inch of the drag. Then he pushed back in, and we both moaned. The second thrust was smoother. The third was deeper.
“Good?” he asked.
“Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Harder.”
The rhythm built slowly at first, careful and deliberate, both of us learning the shape of this. He kept checking my face, watching for any sign of discomfort, and I loved him for it even as I wanted him to stop being so careful.
Each thrust hit deeper. The burn was fading into pleasure, hot and sweet and overwhelming. I could hear the wet sounds of him fucking into me.
“I'm not going to break,” I said. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
Something shifted in his expression. Went darker. Hungrier. More intense.
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah.”
He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, and I cried out. The force of it drove the air from my lungs. Sent pleasure shooting up my spine so intense I saw stars.
“Like that?” His voice had gone rough, almost cruel. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes, like that—”
He did it again. Harder this time. Setting a brutal pace that had me gasping, clinging to his shoulders, feeling every inch of him as he took me apart. The bed was definitely hitting the wall now, a steady rhythm that anyone in the neighboring rooms could probably hear.
I didn't care. Didn't care who heard. Didn't care about anything except the feel of him inside me, the weight of him on top of me, the way he was fucking me like he owned me.
“Fuck, you take it so well,” he groaned, and his hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise. Hard enough that I'd have fingerprints tomorrow. “Take my cock so fucking perfectly.”
“Harder. Give me more.”
He shifted the angle slightly, hooking my legs over his shoulders, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside me with every thrust. The angle was deeper, more intense, and I was seeing stars behind my eyelids.
“There. Right there. Fuck, Grant, don't stop—”
“Not stopping.” His voice was ragged, breaking apart. “Never stopping. Going to fuck you until you can't walk straight. Going to ruin you for anyone else.”
“Already ruined. Been ruined since the first time you looked at me.”
He groaned and leaned down to kiss me, brutal and possessive, and the angle changed again. Deeper. Harder. Until I was shaking beneath him, overwhelmed by sensation, by the feeling of being completely filled, completely owned.
“Want to come inside you,” he growled against my mouth. “Want to fill you up. Want to breed you so full you're dripping for days.”
The words should have scared me. Should have been too much, too intense, too claiming. Instead, they made me moan like I was dying for it.
“Yeah. Fuck, yeah, do it. Fill me up. Want to feel you come inside me.”
His rhythm was getting erratic now, losing the careful control he'd maintained. His breath was coming in harsh pants against my neck, and I could feel him getting close. His cock swelled even thicker inside me.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”
I reached down and wrapped my hand around myself, already slick with precome. I was so close already, so wound up from the feel of him inside me, the sound of his voice, the way he was completely losing control.
It only took a few pulls before I was right on the edge, pleasure coiling tight at the base of my spine.
“Grant, I'm—fuck, I'm close—”
“Do it. Come for me. Let me feel it.”
His next thrust hit that spot perfectly, and I came with a shout, back arching off the bed.
My hand still worked myself through it, pulling every last drop of pleasure from my body.
Come painted my stomach, my chest, even hit my chin.
And I felt my ass clench around him, squeezing rhythmically as I rode out the waves.
“Fuck, Jace—” His whole body went rigid, and then he was coming, buried deep inside me.
I felt it—felt him pulse, felt the warmth flooding me, felt him shake with the force of his orgasm.
His hips jerked forward twice more, grinding deep, and he made a sound I'd never heard before. Raw and helpless and completely undone.
He collapsed on top of me, both of us breathing hard, sweaty and spent. His weight was heavy but I didn't want him to move. Wanted to feel this. Wanted to remember every second.
“Holy shit,” I managed after a moment.
“Yeah.” His voice was muffled against my neck. “Holy shit.”
We lay there for a long moment, both of us trying to catch our breath, trying to process what had just happened.
My body felt wrung out, used in the best possible way.
Every muscle was loose and sated. I could already feel the ache settling into my hips, my ass, and I knew I'd feel this tomorrow. Would feel him every time I moved.
Good. I wanted to feel it. Wanted the reminder.
Finally, he shifted, starting to pull out, and I hissed at the drag.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just sensitive.”
He pulled out completely, and I felt the rush of his come leaking out of me. The sensation was obscene and intimate and made my spent cock try to twitch with interest.
He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a warm washcloth. He cleaned me up carefully, gently, and there was something so tender about it that made my chest ache.
When he was done, he climbed back into bed and pulled me against him. I settled against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat, feeling his fingers trace idle patterns on my shoulder.
“So,” I said finally. “That happened.”
I felt more than heard his laugh. “Yeah. That happened.”
“Any regrets?”
He was quiet for a moment, and I felt my stomach tighten. Then he said, “No. You?”
“Fuck no.” I tilted my head up to look at him. “That was—”
“Yeah.”
We lay there for a long moment, neither of us wanting to move, neither of us wanting to face what came next.