19. One Day at a Time #6
He shuddered, holding still, forehead pressed to my shoulder, fighting for control. “Tell me if it’s too much, baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I rolled my hips, grinning wickedly. “I can take it. I want all of you. Don’t hold back.”
That broke him—he pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, hard and deep, fucking me against the wall. The force of it knocked the breath out of me, made me see stars, made me feel every inch of him, every pulse, every claim.
He set a brutal, perfect rhythm, hips snapping forward, driving me up the wall, making me cry out, hands clinging to his shoulders, his back, anything I could grab. His hands gripped my ass, fingers digging in, spreading me wider, holding me open so he could watch himself slide in and out.
“So fucking greedy for it. You like being fucked like this? Like being daddy’s good boy?”
I moaned, words spilling out unchecked. “Yes—yes—fuck, Elias, you’re perfect—harder, please, need it, need you?—”
He growled, slamming into me, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room, sweat slick between us, skin slapping, the smell of sex everywhere.
He leaned in, biting at my jaw, my neck, marking me with teeth and tongue, fucking me harder, deeper, every thrust sending sparks through my body, my cock pinned between us, leaking precome all over his stomach.
He shifted, angling his hips, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside me that made me see white, made me choke on a moan, made me need to come.
“Right there—fuck—don’t stop—” I babbled, body shaking, lost to the rhythm, the pleasure, the overwhelming sense of finally getting what I’d wanted all along.
He fucked me against the wall, rough and raw, but never careless—always holding me, always worshipping, always letting me know I was his. He whispered filth into my ear, praise and promises, telling me how good I was, how beautiful, how tight and perfect and his .
I clung to him, nails digging in, leaving marks down his back, lost in the feeling of him, the weight, the heat, the relentless, punishing pleasure.
He kissed me, swallowing my moans, tongues tangling, bodies shaking, everything reduced to heat and friction and the relentless drive to keep going, to never stop, to burn out together.
I barely noticed when he pulled back, breath coming in sharp, broken gasps. “Bathroom,” he managed, voice shredded by want. He didn’t wait for a response—just lifted me up, arms like steel bands, and carried me, both of us naked, still half-hard and leaking, across the room.
The bathroom was still full of steam from my earlier shower, the tile cool against my back as he pressed me there, mouth on my neck, his cock still heavy against my thigh. The light was dim, everything fogged over, our bodies smeared and glistening in the haze.
He pressed me up against the glass, pinning my hands over my head with one of his own, the other roaming down my side, cupping my ass, pulling me closer. Our bodies slid together, sweat and precome and the leftover traces of lube making everything easy, frictionless, almost too much.
“You’re unreal,” he muttered, biting my jaw, licking down my neck, hands everywhere, rough and worshipful. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me.”
I grinned, hips rolling up, grinding our cocks together, both of us half-wrecked and still so desperate for each other I thought we might never be satisfied. “Show me,” I whispered, licking the sweat from his collarbone, biting down just to hear him groan.
He spun me around, pressed my chest to the cold tile, and fucked against me, slow and hard, cock sliding between my thighs, over my ass, letting me feel the heft and heat of him. His hands mapped my body, squeezing, spreading, taking his time as if he was still learning every inch.
I gasped, arching back, letting him use me, letting him take whatever he wanted. “Anything you want, daddy,” I breathed. “You can have it. You can have me.”
He groaned, teeth sinking into my shoulder, hands pinning my hips. “Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice half a growl, half a plea.
He rutted against me a few more times, then pulled back, turning me to face him, pupils blown, lips parted, sweat glistening on his chest. He stared down at me, hunger and need warring with something softer—something almost reverent.
“Kneel,” he said, voice dark, full of promise and command.
I dropped without hesitation, knees to cool tile, looking up at him, mouth open, ready, wanting him to see how far I’d go, how much I’d give.
His cock was right in front of my face, thick and flushed, still shining with spit and lube and the mess we’d made of each other. He braced one hand against the wall, the other tangling gently in my hair.
“You trust me?” he asked, quieter now, searching my face, his thumb stroking my cheek.
“With everything,” I said, meaning it. “Whatever you want, daddy.”
He nodded, breathing ragged. “Open your mouth for me.”
I did, wide, tongue out, meeting his eyes and holding them, letting him see my need, my surrender, the raw trust there.
He took a shaky breath, then let go, relaxing, and a moment later I felt the first hot stream hit my tongue.
It was shocking at first—hot, salty, unmistakable, his scent filling my nose, his taste filling my mouth. But I didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. I knelt there, obedient, letting him mark me, watching his face as relief and power and pleasure washed over him all at once.
“Good boy,” he murmured, voice thick with pride and something deeper, something vulnerable. “Take it for me. Show me who you belong to.”
I swallowed, the taste of him sharp, my own cock twitching, hard again just from the act of giving, from letting him have all of me. He finished with a final groan, hips shaking, his hand gentle in my hair, thumb brushing my cheek as he came down.
He pulled me up, kissing me—soft at first, then harder, mouth open, tongue claiming, tasting himself on my lips. His hands roamed over my body, hungry and rough, the afterglow giving way to a new, more desperate heat.
Before I could catch my breath, he scooped me up—arms strong beneath my thighs and back, carrying me like I weighed nothing at all.
He stalked out of the bathroom, dripping water, all muscle and intent, and carried me back to the bedroom.
The world spun around me: the hallway a blur, the air heavy with sweat and steam and the scent of our bodies.
He tossed me onto the bed, my back bouncing against the mattress, legs spread, still glistening from the bathroom. I laughed, breathless, lost in the look he gave me—a hunger that bordered on wildness, eyes dark with promise and need.
“You’re not getting away,” he growled, crawling over me, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand, the other sliding down my body, nails raking across my ribs, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
“I don’t want to,” I gasped, arching up to meet him, caging him between my thighs, cock hard and leaking, aching to be filled.
He grabbed the lube from the bedside, slicked his cock and lined up in one practiced, eager motion, the tip pressing against my entrance, still sensitive, still open and ready for him.
He pushed inside, slow at first—letting me feel every thick, glorious inch, stretching me all over again, making me moan, head thrown back, eyes rolling.
“Fuck, Elias—yes—don’t stop—” I babbled, hips grinding up, wanting every bit of him, wanting to be taken, used, claimed. The stretch was perfect, just shy of too much, the pain a sweet edge to the pleasure.
He buried himself to the hilt, pausing to kiss me, deep and rough, then began to thrust—long, slow strokes at first, filling me completely, then building speed and force, every thrust driving the breath out of me.
He let go of my wrists, hands finding my hips, gripping me tight, pulling me onto his cock with every snap of his hips.
The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the room, mingled with our moans and curses, the air thick with heat and the wild energy of bodies finally, finally allowed to have what they wanted.
“You feel so good,” he gasped, voice cracking, sweat dripping from his brow, his whole body trembling with restraint and need. “So fucking tight—my good boy, taking daddy so well?—”
“Harder,” I begged, spreading my legs wider, heels digging into the mattress, trying to take him deeper, wanting him to wreck me, ruin me, make me his in every possible way.
He answered with a growl, slamming into me harder, the bed rocking beneath us, headboard thumping the wall in a relentless, savage rhythm. He bent, mouth latching onto my neck, biting, sucking, marking me, claiming me inside and out.
I clawed at his back, fingers digging into muscle, needing to feel every flex, every shiver. “That’s it—fuck, Elias—right there, don’t stop?—”
He shifted, angling his hips, hitting that spot inside me that made me see stars, made my vision white out, made my cock jerk untouched, precome smearing across my stomach.
He fucked me hard and deep, never letting up, never losing the rhythm, his cock thick and hot, filling me, stretching me, dragging me right up to the edge.
“Gonna come inside you,” he groaned, breath hot against my ear, voice rough with desperation. “Gonna fill you up, make you mine—want you to feel me for days.”
“Do it,” I whispered, “Please, Elias—please, daddy—want to feel you come, want you to own me?—”
That broke the last of his control. He slammed into me, hips jerking, teeth sinking into my shoulder as he came, cock throbbing, heat spilling deep inside me. I felt every pulse, every spasm, the sheer intensity of it making me shake, making me clench around him, milking him for every drop.
He stayed inside me, panting, forehead pressed to mine, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up. His cock softened only slightly, still thick and hot, plugging me, making me feel thoroughly, undeniably his .