Chapter 68 Elliot
Elliot
“Elliot, are you up here?” he calls.
“I’m in my room,” I yell. “I’m butt naked, and I’m not coming out until you’ve fucked me.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence and then a low cackle. I hear him move around his room. The sound of the water heater coming on makes the pipes between his room and mine clank.
The man’s taking a shower.
Jesus.
He really is a sadist.
By the time I hear him at my bedroom door, I’ve lived a lifetime of emotions.
Nerves and apprehension in abundance, of course, and yeah, a little fear, but mainly a thick, suffocating sense of longing wrapped tightly around agitated impatience.
My dick is rock hard, straining and pulsing in my hand.
I stroke it lightly, gently trying to break the news to it that this fuck isn’t going to involve it the way my other fucks have. It doesn’t care.
The door swings open at last, and Stuart’s large frame fills the doorway. His hair is damp, towel-dried and unruly. His eyes are soft with a sheen of something that looks like acceptance. A knowing, almost, that this was always going to happen. That he’d be here, and I’d be here.
A quiet hiss fizzes through his lips when he sees me.
I’m on my back with my arms raised above my head and my legs crossed at the ankles.
His gaze travels up my legs slowly, pouring warm, liquid lust over my skin.
I let my legs uncross and my knees fall open.
He hisses again, but not softly this time.
He moves from the doorway to my bed so fast that I’m not sure how it happens.
By the time he’s within touching distance, he’s pulled his T-shirt off and is wearing nothing but a soft pair of navy track pants that hang low on his hips.
His body is beautiful. Hard and sun-kissed.
Muscle earned from hard work, not bought at the gym.
Hairy from his chest all the way down his belly.
God, I swear he looks even bigger without his shirt on.
He sits beside me on the bed, and my heart picks up the pace.
I want to reach for him and feel the heat of his skin.
I want to stroke it and grab it and taste it, but I can’t because he hasn’t told me to do it.
He runs a hand down the side of my face, trailing it down my neck and torso, moving slowly.
Slowly and deliberately. I try not to shiver when his hand gets to my navel, but I can’t help it.
His hand has been on me so many times before.
It’s been on me hard. It’s spanked me and hurt me.
Disciplined me and put me in my place, but it’s never been on me like this. Soft. Sensual. A caress from a lover.
He doesn’t slow or hesitate. He lets his fingertips dance lightly down the V that leads to my dick.
I twitch and jerk up when he gets close.
His eyes narrow and one side of his mouth turns up.
He handles my dick almost impersonally, inspecting it, squeezing it, rolling the foreskin down to expose the head fully, ignoring me when I squirm under his touch.
He parts my legs wider, big hands on the soft skin of my inner thighs.
He uses a little more roughness than I was expecting, and Jesus, that turns me on hard.
He moves so he’s kneeling between my legs.
He strokes the underside of my balls gently, heavy and full, puckered and pulled up close to my body.
Fingernails dance across sensitive skin.
He lifts them, still gentle, and tilts his head to take in my hole.
I meant what I said. I’ve had a lot of sex. A lot, a lot. I’ve found myself in situations you wouldn’t believe, but I’ve never felt anything like this. Naked isn’t the word. Bare doesn’t begin to describe it either. I feel stripped down, paired back. Completely exposed.
It’s so intense I have the same reaction I have to pain—I love it, but it isn’t easy to take.
He pushes my knees back onto my chest, keeping them open and almost folding me in half. Big hands dig into the flesh on my hips, holding firmly, lifting me up and leaning down at the same time.
Holy shit, is he going to…?
Ungh.
Oh God, yes!
He holds my hips in his hands as if lifting a bowl to his lips.
He dips his face down and licks a hot strip across my hole.
He does it hard and decisively. Nerve endings sing, and I splutter and gasp, legs kicking in jerky surprise.
He looks up at me and smiles, eyes blazing blue hot, and then licks me again.
He does it slowly, savoring it. Savoring me.
Torturing me with lashings of bliss. I scratch at the bedding, clawing desperately to find something to hold on to.
Something that will contain me. Something that will keep me sane. I find nothing at all.
Stuart looks up at me and then down at me, smiling sweetly at my hole before devouring it again. When I moan, he plants a chaste kiss right in the middle, right where I close. Soft, puffy lips stamp their mark on me over and over.
My view is dreamlike and distorted. My knees are all but in my face, and my organs are being crushed as my ass is lifted clear off the mattress.
Stuart’s hair is messed up. His eyes are closed and his mouth is on me.
He’s eating me like a man possessed. Grunting softly, sighing and licking his lips when he comes up for air, extending his tongue into a point and worming it into me until I make almost the same sounds as when he took the bath brush to me.
I can’t speak and I can’t think. My thoughts are slow and delirious, drowned by pleasure and lust, so I’m surprised when I hear the sound of my voice, tinny and high, squealing, “Please, Daddy, please. Please, please fuck me now.” His eyes are hooded and heavy when he looks up.
Ragged breaths puff out from an open mouth.
I lean over and rummage in my drawer until I find my lube.
“I’m negative,” I pant. “Got tested a while back.”
He blinks and seems to sober slightly, nodding, “I’m negative too. I got tested after Damien left. Haven’t been with anyone since.”
The familiar longing to throat-punch Damien finds me, but for once, I don’t dwell on it.
I have more pressing things on my mind. Things like getting Stuart’s dick inside me before my mind breaks.
Stuart dabs a generous dollop of lube on my ass, and before I have time to gasp from the cold, he presses it into me with a single slick finger.
He does it the same way he does everything.
Sure and decisive. A thick digit breaks my seal and slides into me with a sweet, spicy burn.
The burn does nothing but fuel the deep, dull ache inside me.
An ache to be full. An ache to be stretched out and stuffed. An ache to be fucked by Stuart Wiseman.
He extends his finger fully and thrusts deeply, drawing back slowly, teasing my gland lightly as he retreats. As he does it, he lectures me quietly about what he’s about to do to me, and sweet Jesus, it could not be any hotter.
“You’re going to feel some pressure, and then you’ll give way.
There’ll be a deep stretch and a quick, sharp sting.
” He strokes my shaft lightly and gives my balls a curt little tug when my eyes cross.
“I’m going to give you what you want, but because you’ve never done this before, I’m only going to give you a taste.
Just enough pain to balance the pleasure, okay? ”
I nod wildly, mouth gaping open, as I fight the urge to roll my eyes back.
“You know there’s good sore and bad sore, right?
” he continues. “I want you to stay good sore the whole time. If it starts feeling too much, you tell me immediately.” His voice is rough and carries a clear warning.
This isn’t the Daddy who just kissed my ass.
This is the one who heats the seat of my pants.
“Yes, Daddy.” I gulp.
He slides another finger into me, watching my face closely as I accept it.
It feels like a lot. The burn is hotter, and so is the stretch.
I give him a nod when I’ve got it. He moves his hand slowly and speaks softly.
“When I penetrate you, you’re going to feel like you want to tense, but I want you to do the opposite.
I want you to open your hole by bearing down, trying to push me out…
Not hard enough to strain, just hard enough that I feel you relax. ”
Oh fuck.
Thank God I’m flat on my back. Thank God he’s arranged me just how he wants me because I swear, I’m legless and brainless right now.
Stuart isn’t talking dirty. He’s not even lecturing me anymore.
He’s patiently explaining how to bottom to me.
He’s teaching me. That’s what he’s doing.
It’s the best kind of attention. Pure and distilled.
Thick and runny. Untainted and wholesome, and so fucking hot it has me moaning so low my spinal cord quivers.
It feels like he’s pouring it into me, making me warm and full in places I didn’t know I could feel warm and full.
Drip feeding me. Spoon feeding me. Pouring unadulterated attention directly into the bottomless pit I have for it.
I love it when he teaches me anything. I love being close to him, and I love that he takes the time needed to focus on improving me. I love it so much that I found myself squirming while being taught how to water houseplants the other day, but being taught how to take a dick?
Yeah, there are no words for that.
My brain has short-circuited, and I can barely hear him anymore.
Time seems to lag. His mouth is still moving, but my hands are grabbing at him, looking for any part of him I can get hold of and dragging him frantically toward me.
He pushes his pants down, kicks them off, and covers my body with his.
He sinks down on me, holding me down with his full weight for a second.
Crushing me into the mattress. Sensitizing every part of my body. Waking it up. Making it ache.