Chapter 5 #4
I jump to obey. A few seconds of silence ramp up my nerves and, contrarily, my desire. Then I tense, throwing my head back and groaning as I feel his slick finger at my hole.
“You’re a noisy little thing, aren’t you?” he says, a thread of amusement running through his voice.
“I can’t help it,” I pant, lowering my face to the mattress and pushing my arse into his touch as he inserts another finger. The burn is instant, but it quickly becomes pleasure under his knowing fingers. “Do you want me to be quiet?”
There’s a silence while he continues to finger me. He traces the puckered opening with a fingertip, tickling, making me squirm and rub against the duvet. “No,” he finally says. “It’s pleasing to me.”
He pauses to add more lube and another finger and then starts to stretch me.
His touch is impersonal, but he obviously knows what he’s doing, and I feel a pang of gratitude that it’s him and not that horrible man Ian from the club.
My thoughts fly away as his finger finds the nub of my swollen prostate, and he taps it.
“Fuck.” The stretch is fantastic, and I pant and whine as he adds a third digit to my hole. There’s an edge of pain now, and I hang my head, breathing through it.
“Good boy,” he says in a soothing voice.
“I know you can take it.” His other hand caresses my arse, the touch cool on my overheated skin.
I pant into the sheets. Those damn words again.
They make something in me tighten up and then loosen with relief, as if I’ve been waiting all my life for a stranger to call me his good boy.
He taps my prostate with gentle but firm touches that light me up inside but still aren’t enough. I’m on the edge of coming, and he knows it, judging by the chuckle he gives. “Not quite yet,” he whispers. “I know you can hold off.”
I nod frantically and then give a choked whine as he pulls his fingers slowly out.
My hole feels stretched and horribly empty.
“I need it,” I say, falling forward onto the mattress and trying to get air in.
“So bad .” I writhe, pushing my cock into the surface, feeling the fold of the sheets rough on my dick.
He taps my shoulder in an unspoken command, and I obediently come up on my hands and knees again.
I wish I were facing towards him, and I could kiss him.
I dreamt about his kisses last night, but there’s no sign of that intimacy today, despite what we’re doing now.
I wonder if that’s deliberate—him keeping me in my place—but I don’t have time to think about that, because he pushes into me.
At first, I take him easily due to the prep, and the slide is so wonderful that I feel tears in my eyes. He’s girthy, though, and halfway in, I wince. He immediately stops with his hands on my hips.
“When you’re ready,” he says quietly. There’s no hint of strain in his voice, but I can feel the tremors in his fingers and how tight he’s clutching me—tight enough to leave bruises.
He’s not as unmoved as he likes to pretend.
The thought gives me savage satisfaction which is enough for me to take a breath and shove back on him, taking his whole length and swallowing his cock in the grip of my arse.
“ Fuck ,” he hisses.
I smile blindly ahead. Sweat stings my forehead and drips into my eyes, my hole sore and throbbing around the length of his dick. But it’s a good soreness, and I wiggle to get comfortable, making him immediately suck in a deep breath.
“You’re so tight and hot,” he says hoarsely. “Are you ready?”
“God yes, fuck me. I need it.”
“Yes, you do, don’t you?”
He pulls back, and I open my mouth to bitch, but what comes out is a shout of pleasure as he thrusts back in.
“Be quiet,” he says, but there’s a thread of amusement in his voice in addition to lust. I hope he’s okay with me being noisy, because I’m not a quiet person, let alone when I’m getting the dicking of my life.
He pumps into me with steady strokes, his hips hitting my arse with meaty thwacks while I keep up a constant stream of grunts and groans. I reach for my cock and cry out crossly when he slaps my arse.
“No,” he snaps. “Leave that alone.”
“ Really ?”
“Do as you’re told,” he grunts. I clutch the sheets, fisting the cotton until my knuckles turn white, while I take what he wants me to have.
It’s infuriating but still so exciting—like having an itch you can’t scratch—and I writhe on the end of his dick. He’s deliberately not hitting my prostate, so I stay on the edge.
“I need to come,” I whine.
He shoves hard, sending me up the bed. “You haven’t earned it yet.”
His thrusts accelerate in force and speed, and he’s grunting every time he bottoms out, which is unspeakably sexy. The force of his thrusts pushes me forward, and I collapse into the bed. He climbs onto the bed, kneeling behind me and pulling at my hips to lift my arse.
He immediately shoves back in, bottoming out with a tortured sound.
“Take it,” he grunts. He swivels his hips, making me cry out, and then reaches around and takes my hands that are clenched in the sheets.
He grabs my fingers, holding tight as he pushes in and out.
My hole tingles and I can feel the hot silk of his skin against mine.
He’s sweaty, and the scent of his cologne mixes with the smell of sex.
“Fuck,” I mewl. Then I shout out as his penis rubs over my swollen prostate. Sparks dance behind my eyes, and my body arches into him. He does it again. “Oh god, don’t stop ,” I scream.
His hands keep me still as he shoves me forward, directing a series of thrusts against the swollen nub until I’m sobbing, my eyes blind and every millimetre of my body focused on him and the almost unbearable pleasure.
“Shit,” he hisses. “So fucking good. So tight and hot .”
He pushes in again, and I feel the telltale tingle at the base of my spine travelling into my balls.
I’ve never come without my or my partner’s hand, so it takes me by surprise to feel I could now.
I thrust back against him, chasing my orgasm, searching and heaving while I cry out jumbled words of pleading.
“Come,” he says. He slaps my arse as he shoves deep, and the command combined with the sting sends me over.
“ Yes ,” I scream, jerking as I unload spurt after spurt into the sheets.
I’m just beginning to come down when his thrusts stutter. He tenses and makes a strangled, almost helpless sound, and I feel the warmth as he comes into the rubber. I wish I could see his face. I need to see his face.
For a few seconds, he rests against me, his breaths coming in harsh pants.
His hair is silky soft against my cheek, and I inhale the scent of his shampoo.
For a second I forget myself and nuzzle the side of his face affectionately.
It doesn’t mean anything other than a nice thank you for giving me the best sex I’ve ever had, but he stiffens as if I’ve got down on one knee and proposed marriage with an orchestra playing.
He pulls out, but I note that he’s gentle with me even when agitated.
I roll over in the bed, ignoring the come smeared stickily over my belly and the sheets.
He moves into the bathroom, his back view just as impressive as his front—his arse full and round, his skin pale like moonlight on snow.
I squeeze my buttocks, feeling the wonderful tenderness of my hole.
My entire body is throbbing with pleasure.
The shower starts, and I wonder if he wants me to join him.
It’s hard. If he were some bloke I’d met normally, I’d have jumped in with him, offering to scrub his back and seeing whether things would play into a second go.
But I can’t do that with Cormac. He’s a customer.
He paid for me, and now that the transaction has finished, I’m nothing to him again.
But even if he hadn’t bought my services, something about Cormac tells me to leave him alone.
He’s determinedly isolated, like he’s on a small island cut off from everyone else.
I presume this is it for us. He’s had me properly, and I’m no longer the new boy—the fresh meat, as Ian Harris so charmingly said, like I was a pack of bacon at the butchers. Cormac will no doubt move on to the next man now.
The thought makes my stomach clench, and I’m abruptly conscious of the semen cooling on my body.
The stretched soreness no longer seems erotic and is now just seedy.
I shake my head. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous,” I chide under my breath.
“This is nothing more than a one-night stand where I happened to get paid.”
Cormac appears, drying his hair with a towel.
The inky strands stick up, and he looks very young for a second.
He throws the towel back into the bathroom and then pads over to his clothes.
Removing a leather pouch from his messenger bag, he finds a comb and then restores the order to his hair.
He pulls on his trousers, and I come up on my elbows to watch him.
“No underwear, you little strumpet?” I remark.
He stiffens as if he’d been trying to forget my presence, and I’ve just forced myself back into his consciousness. “I beg your pardon?”
I grin at him and roll back into the bed, bunching the pillows behind me. The sheet falls away, revealing my naked body, and his eyes flare with new lust. I lick my lips, heat rushing back in. I fist my cock, giving it a gentle squeeze as I eye him. “See anything you like?”
His eyes twinkle, and he shakes his head. “Pack away your wiles, Circe.”
“Who’s that? Is she your mum?” He stares at me, and I burst into laughter. “I’m joking . Of course, I know who Circe is.” I pause. “She works at the greyhound stadium on the reception.”
I watch enthralled as he chuckles. It’s awkward and seems almost unpractised, but the rough, husky sound is incredibly endearing. He stops, looking suddenly self-conscious.