19. One Day at a Time #5
He fucked me with his fingers, thumb rubbing slow circles around my rim, tongue joining in when he wanted to see me lose control. The pleasure built again, dizzying, sharp, every nerve ending raw and exposed.
When he finally pulled back, my ass was wet and aching, my cock twitching, my whole body strung tight with need.
But then he surprised me—he lay down beside me, pulling me into his arms, rolling us so I was straddling his waist, my cock leaking against his stomach. His eyes were soft but still wild, hair a mess, face flushed with desire.
“Your turn,” he said, voice low. “Show me what you want. Show me what it’s like.”
I blinked, chest tight, a rush of affection and hunger blooming in my gut. “You sure?”
He nodded, swallowing. “I want to feel it. Want to know what it’s like to be taken care of.”
I kissed him, slow and deep, pouring everything I couldn’t say into his mouth. My hands roamed over his chest, down to his thighs, cupping, squeezing, mapping every inch of muscle, every scar.
I slid down his body, pressing kisses to his neck, his collarbone, his chest, trailing lower until I was between his legs. But this time, I wanted to give him something new.
I lifted his legs gently, exposing him, and pressed a kiss to his inner thigh, then to the place just beneath his balls. He shuddered, a low moan rumbling out of him.
“Relax,” I murmured, soothing, gentle. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
He nodded, eyes wide, breath held.
I licked a slow stripe up from his taint to his hole, letting him get used to the sensation, watching his reactions. He shivered, breath catching, then relaxed into it, hips rolling.
“Fuck, Rowan—feels weird, but good.”
I grinned, then dove in, licking, teasing, working my tongue over his rim, sucking, making it wet and slick. I licked him open, pushing my tongue inside, feeling the way he clenched around me, the way his cock jerked against his stomach.
“God, you taste good,” I whispered, then dove back in, tongue fucking him, hands spreading his cheeks, keeping him open.
He moaned, deeper now, needier, hands gripping the sheets, body trembling under my worship. I pressed a slick finger inside, slow and careful, then another, working him open, teaching his body how to take it.
He writhed, hips rocking, breath coming faster. “Rowan—fuck, I—oh god, don’t stop.”
“Never,” I promised.
But the hunger in me was too wild to keep still. I wanted more—wanted everything. I crawled up, my mouth slick with him, and straddled his waist. He reached for me, hands running over my thighs, up my ass, pulling me close until my cock pressed against his chest.
“Come here,” he growled, voice still rough, but there was a kind of wonder in his eyes—like he couldn’t quite believe this was real, that I was real, sprawled out and desperate for him.
I guided his hands to my hips, then swung my leg over his head, bringing my cock right above his mouth, my own mouth hovering over his still-hard, spit-slick length.
For a moment, we just stared at each other—me, looking down the long line of his muscled body, watching his chest rise and fall, his cock throbbing, mouth parted in anticipation; him, staring up at me, hands squeezing my ass, fingers digging in, grounding us both in the here and now.
I bent forward, breath hot against the head of his cock, and licked a long, slow stripe up the thick shaft, tasting the mingled salt of his skin and my spit.
At the same time, I felt his mouth, hot and hungry, wrap around the head of my own cock, sucking me in with a moan that vibrated through my whole body.
The sensation was dizzying—giving and taking, the rhythm building between us, neither one of us in control, both of us lost to the heat and hunger.
I let my weight settle over his chest, spreading my knees wide, bracing myself with one hand on his thigh, the other guiding his cock to my lips.
I took him in, slow and deep, letting the thick length stretch my mouth, savoring the weight and taste, the power of making him shudder and curse beneath me.
He matched me, tongue working over the head of my cock, lips sealing tight, sucking me down until I could feel the back of his throat. He was eager, unpracticed but passionate, the lack of finesse only making it hotter—because he wanted it, wanted me, and that was enough to make me lose my mind.
Our bodies moved in tandem, every lick and suck answered, the room filling with the wet, filthy sounds of mutual pleasure.
My spit and his precome smeared across my lips, down my chin, dripping onto his stomach.
I moaned around his cock, feeling him twitch and swell, his hips bucking up, trying to fuck my face.
I pulled off, gasping for air, then dove back down, taking him deeper, swallowing him, loving the stretch, the ache, the way he filled me up.
I felt his tongue lapping at the sensitive spot beneath the head of my cock, then moving lower, sucking at my balls, licking at my taint, making me shudder and grind down into his face.
“Yeah, fuck, just like that, daddy,” I gasped, my voice muffled by his cock, but I knew he felt the vibration. “Eat me up. Use me.”
He groaned, the sound vibrating through my cock, sending shocks of pleasure straight up my spine. He grabbed my ass, spreading me wider, guiding me down onto his mouth, tongue darting out to rim me, teasing my hole, filthy and perfect.
I whimpered, mouth full of his cock, the dual sensations overwhelming—his mouth on me, my mouth on him, the feedback loop of want and worship and need.
I let spit and precome drip down onto his balls, licking them, sucking one into my mouth, rolling it with my tongue before trailing back up to swallow him again. He responded in kind, hand sliding up my back, gripping my hips, holding me steady as he sucked me deep, tongue swirling, lips tight.
We lost ourselves in it, bodies rocking, hips grinding, moans muffled by skin and sweat and the relentless, wet heat of each other’s mouths.
Suddenly, Elias pulled back, spit-slick and flushed, hands gripping my hips like he was trying to anchor himself.
He stared up at me, eyes wild and hungry—starved, almost desperate, all his careful self-control burned away.
I barely had time to catch my breath before he grabbed me, muscles flexing, and lifted me clean off the bed.
I yelped in surprise, laughing breathlessly as he manhandled me, hauling me up against his chest, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His hands slid under my thighs, holding me up like I weighed nothing at all, like I was made for him.
“Fuck, Elias—” I gasped, burying my hands in his hair, kissing him hard, biting at his bottom lip. He groaned, staggering toward the nearest wall, never breaking the kiss, never letting me go.
He slammed me up against the wall—gentle enough not to hurt, but rough enough to make me gasp, to make me feel how much he wanted me. My back hit the cool plaster, his body pinning me in place, his cock hot and heavy between us, leaking against my thigh.
He pressed his forehead to mine, breath ragged, hands everywhere—gripping my ass, squeezing, spreading, kneading me like he couldn’t get enough.
“You ready for me?” he growled, voice low and barely controlled. “You want it, baby?”
I nodded, grinding against him, the ache in me gone sharp and insistent. “God, yes. I’ve been ready all fucking night.”
He pressed a rough, worshipful kiss to my mouth, then trailed his lips down my neck, biting at my shoulder, marking me as his.
“There’s lube in the bedside table,” I managed, voice breaking on a moan as his hand squeezed my ass, fingers brushing my hole, slick with spit but not nearly enough. “Need you to—fuck—need you to get me ready.”
He grunted, shifting me in his arms, then carried me—still impaled on his hips, still kissing me breathless—back to the bed. He set me down gently, like I was something precious, then leaned over, rummaging in the drawer until he found the bottle.
He slicked his fingers, kneeling between my spread thighs, and met my gaze, the question in his eyes unmistakable.
I nodded, legs open, greedy for him, shameless. “Please, daddy. Make me ready for you. Want to feel all of you.”
He groaned at the name, then slid his fingers back into me, slow and careful, working in one, then two, scissoring, stretching, opening me up.
He watched every flicker of sensation on my face, checking for pain, learning how my body reacted, how my breath hitched and my hips rolled to take him deeper.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he rasped, “So perfect. Can’t wait to be inside you, baby. Can’t wait to ruin you.”
I moaned, pushing back against his hand, desperate. “Do it, daddy. Want to feel you. Want you to fuck me against the wall—want you to use me.”
He slicked his cock, eyes never leaving mine, then stood and lifted me again, pinning me back against the wall, my legs hooked around his waist, my hands braced on his shoulders.
“You sure?” he asked, voice shaking with restraint.
“More than sure,” I whispered, reaching down to guide him, lining him up. “Please, Elias. Now.”
He pressed the head of his cock against my entrance, slow and careful, the heat of him making me tremble, anticipation crackling between us like electricity .
He pushed in, just the tip at first, stretching me open, making me gasp at the delicious burn, the fullness. He froze, waiting, giving me time to adjust, his breath harsh against my cheek.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, hands gripping my ass, holding me in place as he slid deeper, inch by inch, until I was completely filled, until I could feel the heavy throb of him pulsing inside me.
The stretch was intense—almost overwhelming—but perfect. I clung to him, digging my nails into his back, head thrown back as he bottomed out, his hips pressed flush to mine.
“God, Elias—so fucking big—feels so good—” I gasped, every nerve ending on fire.