Chapter 11 #2
His hand settles on my hip again, touch roaming over the side of my ass as his knees press against the insides of my calves. I resituate myself an inch, getting more comfortable, that heady anticipation back in full force as Oakley gets ready to fill my ass.
Just the thought of it has my body in flames.
The blunt head of his dick presses against me, his hand holding steady to my hip now. “Bear down.”
At the gentle suggestion, I do, canting my hips back to meet him. The first inch of his cock has me hiccupping a breath. My lungs don’t seem to want to cooperate, the glide smooth as he inches inside of me in increments but the newness of it absolutely astounding in its impact.
When Oakley pauses, as if gauging my reaction, I don’t let him slow.
I reach back, finding first his arm and then a hipbone, and I tug with all my might.
Muscles flex beneath my fingertips as Oakley follows my draw, sinking forward until his hips meet my ass, the fullness sudden and profound.
He leans over me again, his hands planting on the comforter, his chest lining my back and his cock kicking inside of me as if excited.
So real. So, so different.
“Okay?” he asks.
I nod, and Oakley’s stubble presses to my shoulder again, a panting breath leaving him before he draws his hips back and fucks me just like I asked him to.
A tear slips out of my eye, hidden away by the comforter.
My muscles feel like jelly as Oakley rolls his hips time and again, the drag of his cock inside of me too fucking good to even put words to.
He doesn’t say a single word himself, tension radiating from him in a way that doesn’t feel negative but rather like a spring coiled tight, ready to unload.
His own breath catches as his hips slap my ass, that outside pressure there again, like a reminder he’s as deep as he can go, but he’s still going to damn well try to get deeper.
Every single thing about this moment is crystal clear.
The bristling of his chest hair and that rough stubble against my skin.
His hand fisted against the mattress just in my line of sight, the muscles in his forearm straining.
The breath I can feel along the back of my neck and the oh-so-real cock tunneling inside of me, warm and hard and feeling as if it were made just for me.
To bring me pleasure. A key for a lock, the click of it like clarity after a lifelong storm.
“Law, I—”
“Yeah,” I assure him, understanding instantly the worry in his voice. “It’s real fucking good. Don’t stop what you’re doing.”
“There you go again,” he says, his words panted out around his breaths. “Swearing.”
“Fuck,” I say again, knowing he’ll appreciate it.
His answering chuckle is raspy, his head settling beside my own in a way that feels more intimate than anything else we’re doing.
I can hear every hitch of his breath and the grunting moans he’s trying hard to keep quiet.
But not quiet enough. They’re masculine, familiar even, although new in this context.
I don’t know how to tell him—if I should tell him—it’s the sexiest thing I think I’ve ever heard.
His cock is filling me to the brim, stretching me, every inch of me touched, every nerve ending sparking and a desperation eating at the edges of my mind I’ve never felt before. It’s not the urge to finish but the fear I might never have this again.
Oakley doesn’t slow, his body fitting to mine in a way that feels utterly right, for once right and so fucking blissful I want to weep with it.
I’m fighting a losing battle. I know I am.
There’s no cajoling needed for my body to ride the razor’s edge.
I’m there already, and I’m going to fall whether or not I want to. Even if I don’t want to.
I slip my hand down between me and the bed, aiming for my cock, but Oakley beats me to it, his warm fist wrapping around me, slick still from lube.
“If you needa come, you tell me,” he demands, stroking me in time to the thrust of his hips. “You let me take care of you.”
I don’t have a single argument against that, and when Oakley changes the angle of his hips, I cry out, realizing he was holding back before.
The new glide has him driving against my prostate with ruthless intent, and there’s not a thing I can do but clamp down on his dick as every single muscle in my body tenses to the point of pleasured pain.
I’ve had orgasms before. Of course I have. By my own hand or with my ex-wife.
But not a one of them robbed me of breath the way this one does.
It doesn’t end, Oakley’s cock making it go on and on, my body shaking with it, my knees losing purchase on the ground.
Oakley’s grip keeps me steady, his arm around my waist, his other hand jerking me off against his comforter until I’m fairly certain I can’t keep coming and survive.
He gentles his grip when I let out a weak protest, the man himself jolting against me as he fills the condom. His stubble bristles my shoulder again, his breath hot on my skin, his stuttered inhalation barely reaching my ears over the pounding of my pulse.
We stay that way, neither of us moving except for the heaving of our chests, Oakley’s hand still loosely cradling my cock and his body surrounding mine like a cocoon.
His voice comes after long minutes, rough and questioning. “Okay?”
My lips press tightly together, my eyes stinging even as I try my best to blink away the impending tears.
Am I?
“No.”