Chapter 10 Oops, Feelings #2
The demand in his eyes, the way he opened his mouth wider, tongue slick and begging—every bit of it went straight to my cock. Pressure built at the base of my spine, the ache to let go almost blinding. A wicked thought bloomed; the urge too sharp to ignore.
“You want it all, huh?” I ran my thumb over his bottom lip, pushing past, forcing him to taste the filth and salt of us both. “Open wider for me.”
His mouth dropped, tongue out, eyes wild and pleading.
I let the need take over, let go in every sense.
Hot piss streamed over his tongue, hitting the back of his throat, washing over his tastebuds.
Miles moaned, low and raw, taking it, swallowing, face painted in devotion and filth.
The sound he made—hungry, desperate, thankful—burned through the fog in my head, made me harder than I’d ever been.
“Good boy. Didn’t think you could get any dirtier, but here you are. Taking it like you were made for this.” The words were pure gravel, hungry and approving, as I angled my hips, marking his mouth, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed down every drop.
When the stream tapered off, I gripped his jaw, tilting his face up, admiring the absolute mess I’d made.
My spit joined the mess, dribbling from my lips to his, mixing with everything on his tongue.
I smeared it across his cheek with my thumb, then forced my cock past his lips again, deeper this time, urgency climbing higher.
“Gonna fuck your mouth now. Want to see you struggle, want to see you choke on me.” My hand held the back of his head, controlling every movement, every thrust. Water pounded his shoulders, washing away the evidence as fast as I could make it, but it didn’t matter—he’d still be filthy for me inside, ruined in all the best ways.
Miles met every drive of my hips with a need that bordered on reverence.
Eyes rolled up, throat working to take me deeper, body tensing every time I bottomed out, nose buried in my pubes.
My free hand found his hair, gripping tight, using him as much as loving him, pouring every bit of hunger and affection into the way I fucked his mouth.
“Take it—fuck, that’s it, take every inch. God, you’re perfect.” My cock jerked in his throat, every nerve set alight by the image in front of me: my man, undone, willing, desperate to be filled and owned.
I pulled free, letting him gasp, only to spit again—hot, wet, filthy—straight into his open mouth. My fingers pushed the spit back, making him taste, making him hold it.
“You love it, don’t you? Love being my mess, my toy, my fucking good boy.” I pumped my cock against his tongue, the head slapping wetly against his lips, against his cheeks, leaving him marked and trembling.
Miles nodded, mouth still open, a groan vibrating up my shaft. “Please, Derek. More. Give me all of it.”
Every barrier fell away. My hips snapped forward, fucking deep and relentless, spit and precome drooling from the corners of his mouth, his throat tightening, relaxing, taking everything I gave.
My balls slapped his chin, the sound echoing against the tile, overrun only by the wet, lewd noises of his mouth being used.
He reached down, stroking himself with frantic, desperate movements, needing friction, needing permission. I slapped his hand away. “No. Hands behind your back. You don’t come unless I say.” The power in those words, the obedience in his eyes, was nearly enough to send me over the edge.
Every muscle in my body strained, holding back, wanting to ruin him, wanting to let him drown in everything I had. I slowed, dragged my cock over his lips, across his tongue, teasing the head at the seam of his mouth, then fed it back in, deeper, harder.
“Gonna fill you up, Miles. Gonna flood your mouth, your throat. Want you to swallow every drop, let it sit in your gut, remember who fucking owns you.”
He choked and sobbed around me, but didn’t stop, not for a second. His whole body shook, every line of him screaming want, need, surrender.
The edge hit fast, a tidal wave, pleasure burning through my spine. I fucked forward one last time, deep as I could go, holding him there, pulsing hot and thick straight down his throat. Miles swallowed, never missing a beat, milking me for everything, humming in approval, devotion, adoration.
Spent, legs shaking, I finally let him breathe, dragging him up into a messy, punishing kiss. Our mouths met, spit and sweat and salt mixing, and I poured every thank you, every I want you, every mine into the way I kissed him.
“Filthy boy,” I whispered, forehead pressed to his. “So fucking good for me. Could spend the rest of my life ruining you.”
The taste of him lingered on my tongue—spit, sweat, the memory of everything he’d just taken. My hands cupped his jaw, tracing the flushed heat of his cheek, drinking in the sight of him: wild curls plastered to his forehead, lips red and swollen, chest heaving.
“Your turn, baby.” I kissed him deep, letting him taste the ownership, the claim.
My mouth slid lower, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, down his throat, tongue swirling in the hollow where his pulse thundered.
My hands never left his skin, needing him close, needing to map every inch all over again.
He shivered as I dropped to my knees on the slick shower tile, breath ghosting over his cock—already half-hard, thick and heavy against his thigh. I glanced up, caught the frantic need in his gaze, the unspoken question burning behind his eyes.
“Show me how much you want this, Miles. Give it to me. All of it.” My voice was nothing but want, low and rough, fingers wrapping tight around his base.
He bit his lip, unsure for only a second. “You want it?” His words wavered—part challenge, part plea.
“Yeah, sweetheart. Right fucking now.” My mouth parted, tongue lapping at the crown, letting him know just how hungry I was for every filthy drop.
A shudder racked his frame. Miles’ hand threaded into my hair, the other bracing against the wall for balance.
He let go, sighing my name, a low sound that vibrated all the way through me.
The first stream hit my tongue—hot, salty, shocking.
I swallowed eagerly, not breaking eye contact, my world narrowing to the taste of him, the heat of his release, the raw, vulnerable intimacy.
“Fuck, Derek…” He moaned, a sound broken by relief and shame and delight all twisted together. I held him steady, letting him empty everything, my hands gentle, soothing, guiding him through it.
The piss washed over my tongue, down my throat, and I drank every drop, groaning around him, showing him just how much I loved being his, how much I wanted every piece.
When he was finished, I licked him clean, savoring the tang and the power of being trusted with this—no walls, no shame, just us, raw and true.
“Good boy,” Miles breathed, voice gone soft with awe and pride, petting my hair, thumb tracing my temple like I was precious. “Didn’t think you’d actually—”
I cut him off, lips sealed around his thick cock, swallowing him down until I could feel the weight of him on my tongue. He gasped, all tension and surrender, hips stuttering, hand fisting harder in my hair.
“Jesus—Derek, fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”
The praise just made me hungrier. I worshipped him with my mouth, tongue teasing the vein on the underside, lips tight, nose pressed to his skin as I swallowed him whole. Every movement was deliberate, meant to make him unravel, meant to make him remember this forever.
He started to get hard again, cock swelling in my mouth, pressing against my cheek as I worked him, my hands massaging his thighs, nails scraping lightly, just enough to drive him wild.
The water slicked everything, turned the world into sensation: the slide of skin on skin, the muffled groans echoing off tile, the heady, animal scent of us filling the air.
“Fuck, you look so good on your knees—so desperate for it. Bet you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”
His answer came as a strangled groan, head tipping back, hips canting forward, surrender absolute.
I took him deep, let him hit the back of my throat, relaxed and swallowed, just to show him I could take it.
I wanted him to see himself in me—his need, his power, his pleasure, all reflected back and magnified.
My hands roamed up his thighs, fingers pressing into muscle, kneading, squeezing, urging him to fuck my mouth if he wanted. “Give it to me, Miles. Don’t hold back.”
His hips started to move, tentative at first, then bolder, fucking slow and deep, cock sliding over my tongue, the pressure mounting. His hand left my hair, bracing on my shoulder, grounding himself as he lost control.
Every time he pulled back, I sucked harder, tongue swirling around the head, teasing the slit, tasting the first slick beads of precome. I moaned around him, letting him feel the vibration, the hunger, the adoration.
“God, you’re perfect,” I muttered between breaths, licking him from root to tip, letting him see the worship in my eyes, letting him know he was everything I wanted.
“Say it again,” he demanded, voice rough, needful, every inch the brat who wanted to be worshipped, who needed to be owned.
“You’re perfect, Miles. Mine to ruin. Mine to taste. Mine, always.”
A sharp gasp, his thighs trembling against my ears. “Gonna come—”
I didn’t let up, doubled down, sucking him deep, tongue pressing to the underside as his cock pulsed, hips jerking. He groaned my name, every muscle locked, and I took everything, swallowing greedily, showing him just how much I loved every drop.
When he finally stilled, chest heaving, hands gentle in my hair, I let him slip free, licking him clean, kissing his hip, his thigh, every inch I could reach. His cock softened against my lips, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to hold him, to taste him, to let him know he was safe, wanted, adored.