Chapter 6 Cider Sparks #3
“Keep your hands up,” I demanded, pinning his wrists to the wall above his head with one hand while the other yanked open his belt, working his jeans down over powerful thighs, muscles flexing as I forced him to step out of them.
His cock strained the front of his briefs, thick and eager, already wet at the tip.
My lips found his throat again, working down the column of his neck, biting, sucking, marking a path lower, teeth dragging over the curve of his shoulder.
My hand squeezed his thigh, kneading the firm muscle, delighting in the strength and weight of him.
He smelled like soap and sweat, a little woodsmoke, all man—my head swam with the need to claim, to conquer.
The push and pull between us, the way he let me manhandle him, sent power surging through my veins. I stepped back, savoring the sight: Richard, nearly naked, breathing hard, wrists still pressed to the wall, waiting for what I’d do next.
“Bedroom. Now,” I ordered, voice thick with want.
He moved, obeying without protest, crossing the few steps to the bed. I followed, eyes raking over every line of his body, over the dusting of silver hair on his chest, the scars, the solid spread of his back, the way his ass filled out those briefs.
My hand landed on his shoulder, shoving him down onto the mattress. He landed with a grunt, sprawling out, muscles flexing, cock outlined hard and swollen. Reaching into the nightstand, I pulled out the cuffs—cold steel, solid in my hand, a promise and a warning.
“On your back, arms up,” I ordered. His eyes flickered, hunger and trust burning in equal measure. He obeyed, stretching out, the long, powerful lines of his body making my mouth water.
Click. The first cuff snapped around his wrist, the other secured to the headboard.
I repeated the process on the other side, leaving him spread-eagled, arms pulled taut above his head, the muscle in his arms and chest straining with every breath.
His legs parted instinctively, cock tenting the briefs, leaking dark wet at the tip.
But I wanted him even more vulnerable.
My hands ran down his thighs, thick and strong, squeezing, pushing his knees apart. I produced a length of soft black rope from the drawer, tying each ankle to the posts at the foot of the bed, leaving him splayed wide, on display, open for anything.
“You trust me?” I asked, voice low, testing. My fingers brushed his cheek, tracing the salt-and-pepper scruff, the powerful jaw.
A rough sound, somewhere between a moan and a laugh, answered me. “Do your worst.”
Desire sharpened to a knife’s edge. My mouth found his again, kissing him hard, teeth clashing, tongue forcing its way in.
He surrendered, letting me take, giving himself over to my control.
My hands roamed his body, mapping every inch—over the thick cords of muscle in his arms, the broad chest, the hard lines of his abs, the thick swell of his thighs, the sharp bones of his hips.
My teeth grazed his nipple, sucking it hard, biting down just to hear him gasp. Fingers pinched the other, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until he was writhing, hips bucking, cock straining for attention.
“You want to come, old man?” I taunted, lips dragging down his chest, nipping at the trail of hair that led down to the waistband of his briefs.
He glared, defiant, need burning in his eyes. “Make me beg for it.”
A feral grin split my face. “You’ll be begging before I’m through.” My teeth found his hip bone, biting, sucking a bruise deep into the skin, marking him as mine.
I stared, hungry, letting him feel the weight of my gaze, letting him know just how much I wanted to ruin him. My tongue flicked out, tasting the salt of his skin.
I worshipped every inch—mouth, teeth, tongue—working him until he was panting, body shaking, muscles trembling with the effort to stay still.
“Please, Derek. Need it. Need you. Want you to use me.”
The power in those words, the permission, the surrender, sent a thrill through me so sharp it almost hurt. I leaned up, kissing him again, tongue forcing its way past his lips, tasting the desperation, the hunger, the need.
“You’re mine tonight,” I whispered, voice raw, promise burning in every word. “Mine to use, mine to fuck, mine to ruin.”
I backed away from the bed, palms dragging down the tight planes of my chest, teasing out every shiver of anticipation.
My body hummed with the thrill of being seen, of owning his gaze. “You want a show, old man? You want to see how much you do to me?”
No permission needed—I wanted him desperate, drooling, knowing who owned the room.
My shirt clung to sweat-damp skin, so I peeled it up slow, letting my abs flex, teasing out every inch.
Fingers slid along the waistband of my jeans, thumbs hooking just above my briefs.
The rough denim clung to my thighs, my ass, making every move feel like a promise.
I rocked my hips, grinding my own hard cock against the seam, loving the way his eyes widened, jaw gone slack, chest heaving.
A deep, feral satisfaction curled in my gut.
I popped the button, unzipped, let the denim slide down inch by inch, taking my time.
My cock strained the front of my briefs, the thick line of it leaving no secrets, the head already wet, darkening the cotton.
I palmed myself, slow at first—fingers tracing the outline, squeezing, rubbing up and down the thick shaft just to make him watch.
My hips rolled, a lazy grind, pushing into my own grip, letting my need show.
“Bet you want to touch, huh?” I taunted, voice a husky drawl. “Bet you’re wishing those cuffs were off so you could wrap those big hands around my cock, taste me, feel how fucking hard you make me.”
Richard swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes glazed and wild. A strand of drool clung to his lip, unnoticed, his focus absolute. Every inch of his body strained toward me, thighs flexing, arms tensed, cock pulsing with every heartbeat.
My thumb rubbed over the head through the fabric, gathering the wet, smearing it around, then slapping the length against my belly, letting the sound echo in the quiet.
Each slap made my cock throb harder, leaking, the cotton soaked and clinging, leaving nothing to the imagination.
I jerked myself slow, building up, hips thrusting into my own grip, then smacked my cock again, a filthy, taunting display that made him groan, hips jerking helplessly against his bonds.
“Keep watching,” I growled, never taking my eyes off his. “This is for you, only you.”
Fingers slid under the waistband, teasing, pushing the fabric down just enough to let the root of my cock peek out.
I let it go, just to watch the hunger bloom in his eyes, then yanked the briefs down in one smooth motion, letting my cock spring free—thick, flushed, proud.
I pumped it slowly, letting him see every inch, every vein, every drop of precome gathering at the tip before I smeared it over the crown.
“Like what you see?” I teased, voice low, possessive. My hand squeezed the base, thumb circling the head, then I slapped it hard against my thigh, another wet smack that made him gasp, leaking even more.
His whole body straining, desperate to be free, to get his mouth or his hands on me.
He looked ruined already, and I hadn’t even touched him in minutes.
Power shot through me, thick and heavy. I stroked myself slow, dragging my palm up the shaft, twisting at the crown, letting my hips rock into my grip, eyes never leaving his.
“Wish you could taste it, huh? Bet you want to swallow every drop, choke on it, feel me fill you up.”
Richard moaned, voice breaking, a plea buried in the sound. “Let me touch. Please, Derek—need you—need to feel you, taste you, fuck, please—”
I laughed, dark and mean, loving the way he begged, the way every word made my cock jerk, leaking onto my hand. “Patience, old man. You’ll get your turn. For now, you get to watch. You get to see what you do to me—how fucking wild you make me. How bad I want to ruin you.”
My hand pumped harder, squeezing, twisting, hips rolling with every thrust. I slapped my cock against my palm, then against my thigh, letting it bounce, loving the way Richard’s eyes tracked every movement.
He looked desperate, starved, body shuddering, drool slicking his beard, chest rising and falling like he’d just run miles.
The sound of my own cock smacking against my palm sent another wave of hunger through me.
Richard’s gaze never faltered, drinking me in, his chest heaving, every line of muscle straining against the ropes and cuffs.
Sweat glistened in the dip between his pecs, the silver in his beard shining under the lamp, the thick veins of his arms flexing as he fought to keep still.
Sliding closer, I let my knees press into the edge of the bed, looming over him, letting him feel the heat and threat of my body.
A slow, satisfied smirk curled across my mouth as I let my gaze sweep over him—every inch on display, desperate and ruined, still barely contained by those briefs.
That powerful chest, the spread of his thighs, the salt-and-pepper hair on his legs—every bit of him made for being worshipped, used, owned.
Fingers trailed up my own torso, pinching at my nipples, rolling them between slick fingertips until I hissed, the sensation sharp and electric. I let my hips jut forward, cock swinging just out of reach, taunting him, making sure every movement kept his attention locked.
Gripping the waistband of his underwear, I pressed the heel of my palm down, trapping his cock against his belly, grinding it through the fabric.
The heat and size of him, thick and insistent, made my mouth water.
His breath stuttered, body bucking up, the fabric dark with precome, leaking more with every stroke.