47. Chapter 40
Lorenzo
Dash looks up at me with those beautiful, round hazel eyes. I once thought they were so innocent. There’s nothing innocent about him now.
He looks worshipfully ruined. His chin is slick with spit, his cheeks red and wet. Marks from my mouth dot his neck, his stomach, his thighs. His cock drips, hot and swollen, aching to be touched.
I trail one finger along his jaw, tilting his face up. “Desperate,” I murmur. “Desperate for me to keep going. Desperate to let me use you. You love being my filthy whore, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” he says. “Yes, I fucking do.”
These are things I would never even consider saying to someone who hadn’t enthusiastically consented. But Dash’s gift to me means that I can become my truest, fullest self. I can embrace my wildness, can give in to the most wild, burning parts of me.
I use my fingers to pry open those pretty lips of his. “You’re good at worshiping a cock. Let’s see how good you are at worshiping the rest of me.”
I raise one foot. “Kiss it.”
Without hesitation, he does. His mouth presses softly against the top of my foot. A primal, deeply sated urge within me watches with satisfaction.
I push my toes into his mouth, and he catches my foot in his hands, but not to take me out. Instead, he kneads and massages the arch of my foot while his tongue swirls lusciously over my toes.
His eyes flick up to mine the whole time while he obediently serves me, checking to make sure this is what I want. Needing my approval.
I make him work for the praise, rubbing my other foot along the side of his face, murmuring all the filthy, delectable things I can think of to describe this perfect moment.
It is a pleasure I could get lost in, and I see that mirrored in his wide, worshipful eyes, in the high flush of his cheeks, in the swollen pink of his perfect lips—
With a grunt, I pull him roughly to me, crushing our mouths together again.
I don’t care about being gentle.
I no longer have gentleness in me.
All I have, all I am, is fierce, insatiable hunger.
“Good fucking boy,” I breathe into his mouth. Our bodies tangle. He is supple, liquid, beneath me as I drag our sweating forms back onto the bed, flipping myself beneath him and gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Sit on my face.”
My good fucking boy doesn’t need to be told twice.
In the moment before he does exactly as he’s told, I see the full shape of him, the full work of art that is this view.
His thighs, still faintly marked pink from the spanking.
The soft, sweat-slicked hair in his cleft.
That sweet, pulsing pink rosebud of his hole, which I got to taste in the shower and can’t wait to feast on again.
All night, even as I’ve let myself go, I’ve been careful. That’s done now.
His weight settles on my face, and it’s everything I need. He must know that I don’t want him dainty and gentle, because he rides my face hard.
I respond by burying myself in him, eating him like I’ve fasted forty days and forty nights. He’s wet with his own sweat, musky with salt and heat and a scent that is only his own. I chase that sweet scent deeper, greedy for more of him.
My hands find his thighs, gripping him hard, pulling him down further. I don’t care if it crushes me. Don’t care if I can’t breathe.
There is no mercy in the face of this pleasure.
“Fuck—” he cries above me. “Lorenzo.”
My answer is in the thrusting of my tongue, working deep into him. It’s in my lips, kissing him in his most intimate places. In my teeth, nipping at that sweet, sensitive skin. In the hand that slides up and finds his balls, rolling them, sucking one of them into my mouth.
“Oh fuck,” he wails, “oh my god, don’t fucking stop, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, don’t fucking stop—”
As if I would.
As if I could.
I’m messy, wild, spit smeared across my jaw, my beard scraping at his tender skin, my jaw aching from my own fierceness.
He rides me hard, his hips chasing his own pleasure. I feel him on me, primal and feral as I am, feel the throb and heat of his hole on my mouth.
He bends forward eventually, taking my cock in his mouth without even being told, welcoming it even at this awkward, upside-down angle. I push up into him, wrapping my thighs around his head, caging him against me.
I come up for air at last. “Christ, Dash.”
He hums in answer, his pleasure vibrating into mine. The taste of him is still thick on my tongue, and I dive back to continue my gluttony. His mouth is slick and hot and so, so good on my cock, his rhythm only faltering when I get particularly ravenous with my lips.
I let it build, build, build, until I know we’re both on the edge of something. His thighs tremble beside my head, his breath is ragged against my cock. I’m a slick, sweaty mess beneath him, and I’m not yet satisfied.
Neither of us is.
And I will make sure we both get there.
I haul him off me, flip him onto his back and hold him down, bracing myself over him. We are both wrecked, beautifully, masterfully wrecked.
His chest heaves. His lips are swollen, red, parted and gasping.
“I think,” I manage to gasp, dragging a hand down his chest and watching as he shivers under so light a touch, “you’ve been a good enough boy that you finally get to be fucked.”