48. Chapter 41
Dashiell
Lorenzo stares down at me, looking as broken apart as I feel. His broad chest rises and falls like a bellows, his gray-streaked hair is a mess from my hands. Never in my life have I needed something or someone more than I need this, him, right now.
“God,” I breathe. “Yes.”
“Condoms are in the drawer, if you want them.”
The BDSM survey we filled out had a whole section on health and protection. I know both our test results, and I know exactly what I want.
“No condom. I want all of it.”
He nods, rolls off the bed, and disappears briefly into the bathroom. When he comes back, he has a glass water bottle in one hand and a lube dispenser in the other.
“Drink,” he says, handing me the bottle.
Gratefully, I unscrew the cap and take several long gulps. I didn’t even realize how thirsty I’d become—but he did.
He slicks himself with lube while watching me drink. I swallow more and more water. He works his cock.
My body tightens in anticipation. Even though he’s opened me twice with his mouth, that’s a big difference (literally) from taking his full length inside me.
“On your back,” he murmurs. “I want to see your eyes.”
I lie back, and he slots a pillow beneath my hips, then settles himself between my spread legs. He hooks one of my ankles over his shoulder, kissing it almost reverently, and then positions himself.
“Ready?”
I groan. “Fucking hell, Lorenzo. Just put it in me!”
His earlier wildness is restrained as he pushes in.
I feel the stretch immediately, even more than I felt it with the toy. More than anything I’ve taken before. I breathe deliberately through the first few inches, my hands grasping at the sheets.
Lorenzo watches me carefully. “I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, gently brushing my damp hair.
He is slow and careful as he fills me, the restraint evident in his face. By the time he’s fully sheathed inside me, I am shaking, my body overwhelmed not by pain but burning, consuming fulfillment.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
“You good?”
“Fuck, more than good. Move. Now.”
He grips me to him as he thrusts. At first, he’s slow, watching my face for each reaction. I feel every goddamn inch of him. I am full, stretched, taken just as I hoped I’d be.
We find our rhythm, deep and unhurried, my body flexing to meet him, chasing the pleasure.
“You take it so, so well, baby.”
“It feels—oh, fuck.” The rest of the sentence is lost when his angle shifts and hits the exact spot of my pleasure. “Fuck, right there.”
He grins. “There?”
He makes the movement again, straining into me, and the sound that escapes me is hardly dignified and barely human.
“Yep, fuck, yes, sir, right there.”
He picks up his pace, still watching me, one hand braced beside my head and the other gripping my hip so hard I worry I’ll need Vinnie’s help getting in the fire truck.
I am crushed beneath him, loving every smothering, punishing bit of it as he slams into me.
Wildly, I grab him and pull him down for a messy, uncoordinated kiss, all open mouths and shared breath.
“Lorenzo,” I say against his lips.
He falters, only half a second, at the sound of his name.
“Say it again,” he murmurs.
“Lorenzo,” I whisper. “Lorenzo, please, fucking please don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t.
He fucks me hard and desperate. The rhythm we’ve found is beyond the scene we negotiated before. We’ve transcended the roles, the words, the parts to play. But our enlightenment isn’t spiritual: it’s deeply, deeply embodied. Two bodies, mine and his, fusing into something wild and raw and true.
“I’m close,” I manage to cry. “Lorenzo, I’m—”
“Eyes on me,” he commands. “I’ve got you.”
One of his hands shifts to wrap my own cock, pumping me in time with his own punishing thrusts. The double sensation of it—him stroking and fucking me at once—shoves me right to the edge.
“Fuck. I—”
The rest is lost in a sudden quake of pleasure. My body draws tight and then breaks open, my nerve endings flayed to incandescence.
I feel him follow a second later, slamming into me, combusting in power and flame in time with me.
He fills me, our bodies rolling through the waves of our orgasms together, senseless to everything but the heat of each other.
For a long moment, neither of us moves when it’s over. Our gazes stay locked, our breaths and heartbeats in rhythm with each other.
“Dash,” he murmurs, “Dash, Dash, Dash.”
Then he eases out slowly and gathers me tightly to his chest, holding me close. I am boneless, spent, unmade and unraveled, literally dripping with him.
And I am content.
“That…”
But I don’t have any words to describe it.
“I know, baby,” he whispers into my hair. “I know.”
I am still held warm and safe in the safety net of his arms when I drift off into dark, blissful sleep.