CHAPTER FIVE #3
He was big. Rodney could feel that immediately, the heavy weight of him, the heat, the blunt thickness pressed against his hole without pushing in.
Mordechai rocked his hips, dragging himself along the cleft of Rodney's ass, and the head of his cock caught against Rodney's rim on each pass, a tease that made Rodney's entire body shake.
"Here's how this is going to go," Mordechai said, his mouth against Rodney's ear.
"I'm going to push into you. Slowly. You're going to breathe and let me in.
It's going to stretch. It's going to burn.
And then it's going to be the best thing you've ever felt.
If it hurts, tell me and I'll stop. If it's good, I want to hear it. "
Rodney nodded against the cushion. Words were beyond him.
The press came. Blunt and hot and insistent, the thick head of Mordechai's cock pushing against his stretched rim, demanding entry. Rodney's body resisted, an instinctive clench against the intrusion, and Mordechai held there, steady pressure, not forcing but not retreating.
"Breathe," he said, and Rodney breathed, and on the exhale Mordechai pushed past the ring of muscle and his cockhead slid inside.
The stretch was immense. Bigger than the fingers, thicker, a burning fullness that stole Rodney's breath and locked his whole body rigid. Mordechai stopped. Held. One hand gripping Rodney's hip, the other pressing flat against the small of his back, keeping him still while his body adjusted.
"You're doing so well," Mordechai said, and his voice was wrecked, rough and low and barely controlled. "You feel—fuck. You're so tight around me. So hot." He pushed deeper. Another inch. Another.
Rodney's hands clenched behind his back and a broken, guttural moan ripped out of his throat as the burn stretched and stretched and then crested, tipping over into something else, a deep, aching fullness that pressed against every nerve ending he had.
Mordechai sank himself to the hilt. Rodney could feel all of him, the thickness stretching his rim, the length buried deep enough to press against places that had never been touched, the heavy weight of his balls flush against Rodney's ass.
He was so full he could barely breathe. Every small movement sent aftershocks through him, Mordechai's cock pressing against his prostate, sending sparks up his spine.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Mordechai's hands gripped Rodney's hips, and a fine tremor danced in them, the effort of staying controlled when every instinct was surely screaming at him to move.
The stillness was electric. The fullness was consuming.
And the knowledge that this powerful, dangerous, beautiful man was buried inside him, shaking with the effort of holding still, was enough to make Rodney dizzy.
"God," Mordechai breathed. The single syllable was raw. Undone. "You feel incredible. You have no idea what you look like right now, stretched around my cock, shaking, flushed all the way down your back. I want to ruin you."
He pulled back, slowly, controlled, the drag of his cock against Rodney's inner walls a long, exquisite friction that made Rodney's toes curl.
Then he pushed forward again, one smooth thrust that drove deep, and Rodney moaned with his whole body.
It was a sound he'd never made before. It came from the bottom of his lungs, low and long and broken open.
David had never made him sound like that. Terrence certainly hadn't. No one had.
Mordechai found a rhythm. Slow and deep, each thrust deliberate, the thickness of him dragging against Rodney's prostate on every stroke.
Rodney stopped trying to be quiet. He couldn't have been even if he'd wanted to, every stroke pushed sound out of him, moans and whimpers and words that weren't quite words, just syllables of pleasure that had no meaning except more and please and harder.
"That's it," Mordechai growled. "Let me hear you. Let me hear what my cock does to you." He snapped his hips, harder, faster, and the angle shifted, hitting Rodney's prostate dead-on, and Rodney screamed. Not a polite cry. A scream, ragged and wrecked and utterly beyond his control.
Mordechai's pace held, driving into him with a force that shoved Rodney forward against the couch arm with each thrust. The stretch never stopped, that thick, burning fullness, the drag and push, the obscene wet sound of their bodies meeting.
Pain and pleasure had stopped being separate things.
They became the same sensation, braided together, each one feeding the other until Rodney couldn't tell where one ended and the next began.
His orgasm built like a tide, slow, inevitable, enormous.
It gathered at the base of his spine, in his balls, in the aching trapped length of his cock still strangled by the leather ring.
Every thrust pushed him closer. Every thrust made his body clench tighter around Mordechai, which made Mordechai groan, which made Rodney clench harder, a feedback loop of desperate, escalating need.
"You don't get to cum until I say so." The command in Mordechai’s voice was so complete that Rodney's body obeyed even though his mind screamed. His orgasm retreated, shaking, held at bay by nothing but Mordechai's word.
"Please—" Rodney gasped. "Please, Sir, I need to cum, I can't hold it, please…"
"Not yet." Mordechai slowed. Drew almost all the way out, just the thick head stretching Rodney's rim, and held there.
Rodney sobbed. The denial was excruciating.
He was right there, right on the edge, every nerve in his body screaming for release, and Mordechai was holding him off it with nothing but his voice and the maddening, deliberate control of his hips.
"Please, Sir, please, I'll do anything..."
Mordechai slammed back in. Hard. Deep. One savage thrust that buried him to the root, and his teeth found the nape of Rodney's neck and he bit, hard, hard enough that the pain exploded through the pleasure like a fist through glass, sharp and bright and shattering.
"Now."
The word unlocked him. Rodney came with a cry that was almost a scream, his cock pulsing in thick, wrenching spurts against the leather of the couch, his body clenching so hard around Mordechai's cock that they both groaned.
The orgasm ripped through him, each wave deeper, pulling him further under until he was shaking and sobbing and clinging to the arm of the couch because it was the only solid thing left.
Behind him, Mordechai's rhythm broke. The control he'd maintained so carefully finally cracked, and he drove into Rodney hard, once, twice, three times, each thrust punishing and deep, his cock swelling thicker as he got close.
Then his body went rigid and a sound came out of him that was pure animal.
A roar that started in his chest and rattled the walls of the small room as he came, his cock pulsing deep inside Rodney, flooding him with a heat that Rodney felt in his bones.
Mordechai ground his hips forward, burying himself as deep as he could go, and Rodney felt every throb of him, every pulse, the wet heat of it filling him until it spilled down the inside of his thighs.
For a long time, neither of them moved. Mordechai was draped over his back, his breathing ragged, his skin damp with sweat against Rodney's.
His teeth were still resting against the back of Rodney's neck, not biting, just resting there.
A claim. A promise. An instinct he probably couldn't have stopped even if he'd wanted to.
Slowly, carefully, Mordechai pulled out.
The withdrawal left Rodney feeling hollow and oversensitive and strangely bereft.
Then Mordechai's hands were on him, gentle, impossibly gentle after everything that had just happened, turning him, gathering him, pulling him down to the floor and onto the pillow and into Mordechai's lap.
Rodney went. He had no resistance left. His body was wrung out and trembling, and when Mordechai's arms closed around him and pulled him against a broad, warm chest, Rodney pressed his face into the curve of Mordechai's neck and breathed him in.
Cedar and leather and salt and cat. The scent of the man who had just taken him apart and was now, very carefully, putting him back together.
"You did so well," Mordechai said softly. His hand moved through Rodney's hair. "You were extraordinary, Rodney. Do you know that?"
Rodney shook his head against Mordechai's neck. He didn't trust his voice.
"You were. The sounds you make—" Mordechai exhaled. "I've been with a lot of men. A lot of subs. None of them sounded like you. None of them were as honest as you are. You can't fake what you just gave me, and you didn't try. That's rare. That's more than rare."
The words settled into Rodney like warmth into cold earth.
He didn't know what to do with them. He'd never been called extraordinary in any context, let alone this one.
He was a panda who worked at a call center, and five minutes ago he'd been sobbing into a couch cushion.
The word didn't fit him, but Mordechai had said it like it was obvious, like it was simply what he'd observed, and some small part of Rodney couldn't dismiss it entirely.
Not when he could still feel the man's heartbeat against his cheek.
He stayed there, curled against Mordechai's chest, and let himself be held. The blindfold was still on. His hands were still bound. And he had never in his life felt more free.