Chapter 42 Jay
I wake up to lips on my neck. Soft and warm, trailing kisses from just below my ear down to my shoulder.
A hand sliding across my stomach, fingers tracing the lines of muscle there, following the ridges.
Ivan's body pressed firmly against my back, solid and warm and already awake.
And something very hard pressing insistently against my ass, hot even through the thin cotton of our boxers.
"Morning," he murmurs against my skin.
"Mmm." I stretch languidly, pressing back deliberately into him, grinding my ass against his hardness. "What time is it?"
"Don't care. Don't even care a little bit." He bites gently at my shoulder and I shiver, goosebumps rising. "We slept for nine hours straight. I'm done sleeping."
"What do you want to do instead?" I ask, even though I already know. I can feel exactly what he wants—his thick, rock-hard cock grinding against my thigh like a fucking promise.
His hand slides lower, past my navel, fingers slipping teasingly under the waistband of my boxers, brushing the head of my leaking dick. "I have some ideas. Several filthy ideas. All of them involve you naked, spread out, and begging for my cock."
I roll over to face him, wanting to see his face.
He looks different this morning. The exhaustion from last night is completely gone, replaced by something hungry and feral.
His pale blue eyes are darker, pupils blown wide with raw lust, focused on me like I'm the only fuckable thing in the entire world that matters.
"Tell me your ideas."
"I'd rather show you. Actions speak louder than words."
He kisses me before I can respond. Not soft, not gentle.
This kiss is deep and demanding and claiming, his tongue thrusting into my mouth like he's fucking it, tasting every inch, devouring me.
His hand grips the back of my neck, holding me in place like I'm his to own, and I grab his hip, pull him closer, grind against him.
I can feel how hard he is through the thin cotton between us—hot, thick, and throbbing, his girth pressing insistently against my own aching erection.
"Take these off," he gasps against my mouth, his breath coming faster, ragged. "I need to feel your hard cock against mine, skin on skin—need to rub my dick all over you."
We separate just long enough to strip frantically.
Boxers yanked down, kicked off, thrown somewhere across the room where they land in a heap.
And then we're pressed together again, skin to slick skin, nothing between us anymore.
His cock is hot and heavy against my thigh, that thick shaft pulsing with need, the swollen head smearing pre-cum on my skin, while mine is aching, already leaking like a faucet, desperate for friction and his rough touch.
"I've been thinking about this all week," Ivan says, as he rolls me onto my back.
He settles between my legs, using his thighs to shove mine wider apart, and his solid weight presses me down into the mattress.
"Every single night after we hung up, after we said goodnight, I thought about what I wanted to do to you.
Planned it out—how I'd make you cum so hard you forget your name. "
"What did you think about? Tell me." I'm already breathing harder, my hands running up his back, feeling the hard muscles ripple under my palms.
"This." He rolls his hips slowly, deliberately dragging his fat cock against mine, the velvet-hard lengths sliding together, pre-cum mixing to make it slick and filthy.
The friction sends sparks shooting up my spine, my dick throbbing against his thicker one, every vein and ridge grinding just right.
"Feeling you under me. Hearing the sounds you make when I touch you. Those moans when I tease your cock."
"What else? Tell me more—fuck, that feels so good."
"Tasting you." He kisses down my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, taking his time, nipping and sucking hard enough to leave bruises. "Every single inch of you. Learning you. Memorizing you with my tongue."
His mouth moves lower. He kisses across my chest, stopping to close his lips around one nipple, sucking hard enough to make me gasp, the sharp pull sending jolts straight to my balls, my cock twitching and leaking more.
Then the other, giving it the same rough attention—tongue swirling, teeth grazing until it's raw and sensitive.
I arch into him, my hands fisting in the thin sheets, bunching the fabric like I'm clinging for life.
He takes his time, licking and biting, his teeth scraping over the pebbled buds, leaving marks I'll feel throbbing for days.
"Ivan. Please. I need—"
"Tell me. Use your words."
"Touch me. I need you to touch me. My cock—stroke me."
He grins up at me, wicked and beautiful and devastating, eyes gleaming with filthy intent. "Say it again."
"Touch my cock. Please. I'm dying here. I need your hand on my throbbing dick—jack me off."
He wraps his hand around me finally and I nearly come off the bed, my hips jerking up into his grip like a reflex.
His hand is warm and callused and perfect, stroking me slow and steady, with just the right pressure—firm at the base, twisting over the slick head, thumb smearing my pre-cum down the shaft until it's glistening.
"Like this?" he asks, watching my face, his eyes dark with hunger.
"Yes. Fuck. Just like that. Don't stop—feels so fucking good, your rough hand milking my cock."
He strokes me while his mouth continues exploring, mapping my body with lips and tongue and teeth. Kissing down my stomach, tonguing the trail of dark hair below my navel, getting closer and closer to where I desperately need him, each lick making my balls tighten.
"I love your body," he says against my hip, his breath hot on my skin, making goosebumps erupt.
"I love how lean you are. How defined. I love that I can see every muscle when you move, every line twitching under my touch.
" He bites gently at my hipbone and I gasp, the sharp sting blooming into heat that pools in my groin.
"I love these sharp edges. These angles.
I want to memorize every single one of them so I can see them in my dreams—while I jerk off thinking about fucking you one day. "
"Ivan, please. I need your mouth on me—suck my cock, take me deep."
He looks up at me, and licks one slow, torturous stripe up my cock from base to tip, his tongue flat and broad, tasting the salty pre-cum, the wet heat making my shaft throb visibly.
I moan. I can't help it. The sensation is overwhelming—hot and wet and perfect, his tongue dragging along the sensitive underside, flicking the slit, but not nearly enough to satisfy the ache building in my balls.
"More?" he asks, his lips brushing against the head of my cock, breath teasing the slick tip.
"God, yes. More. Everything. All of it—swallow my dick, make me fuck your throat."
He takes me into his mouth. Not teasing this time, not slow or tentative.
He swallows me down as far as he can go, his lips stretched obscenely around my girth, throat working to take me deeper, his tongue pressing flat against the underside, swirling around the veins.
I grab his hair, not pushing or forcing, just holding on, trying desperately not to thrust into the wet, sucking heat of his mouth—the tight suction pulling at my skin, the warmth enveloping me like velvet fire.
"Fuck. Ivan. Your mouth is incredible. So good—sucking my cock like a pro, throat squeezing me."
He hums around me and the vibration makes me see stars, buzzing straight through my shaft to my core.
He's gotten so much better at this since the first time, more confident, more sure.
He knows what I like now, knows how to twist his tongue just right along the frenulum, how to use his hand on what he can't fit—stroking the base firmly—how to suck hard on the upstroke, hollowing his cheeks, how to work the sensitive spot just under the head with flicks that make my toes curl.
"I'm not going to last long," I warn him, my balls drawing up tight. "If you keep doing that—deepthroating me like that—I'm going to come down your throat. I'm close, so fucking close."
He pulls off with an obscene wet pop that makes my cock twitch, strings of saliva connecting his swollen lips to my glistening head. "Not yet. I'm not done with you yet—gonna eat your ass first, make you beg for my fingers."
"What do you—oh god—"
He flips me over onto my stomach before I can finish the question. I gasp, surprised by the sudden movement, and then his hands are on my ass, gripping the cheeks hard, spreading me open wide, exposing my puckered hole to the cool air, and his mouth is—
"Oh fuck. Ivan. What are you—your tongue on my asshole—"
His tongue licks over my hole and my brain completely short-circuits.
Stops working entirely. The sensation is filthy and mind-blowing—hot, wet, and insistent, circling the tight ring of muscle, lapping at the sensitive skin, the flat of his tongue dragging broad and slow, making my rim quiver and relax under the assault.
I've never felt anything like this. Never even imagined it.
Never knew it was possible to feel this good—his tongue probing, teasing the entrance, the slick pressure building a deep, aching need inside me, my cock leaking steadily onto the sheets beneath me.
I'm making sounds I've never made before.
Desperate, needy, animal sounds that would embarrass me if I had any capacity for shame left—whimpers and moans as he eats me out like he's starving for it.
"Is this okay?" he asks, pulling back slightly, his breath hot against me. "Tell me if it's too much—too dirty for you."
"Never. Please don't stop. Keep going—tongue-fuck my ass, make me wet for you."