Chapter 34 Tex #5
He slides deeper until his hips finally meet my ass.
Fully inside. We both freeze. His cock is buried to the root, hot and thick, stretching my hole wide around him, the head pressed deep against my prostate in a way that makes my whole body tremble.
He's shaking above me, breath ragged against my neck, every muscle taut with restraint.
"God," I turn my head. "Stormy. Look at me."
He looks at me. His eyes are wet. Not crying. Just overwhelmed. The sensation, the intimacy, the magnitude of what's happening—he is inside someone who wants him there. He is on top. He is in control and there's a man looking up at him with love so obvious it probably glows in the dark.
"Are you okay? Does it hurt? I can pull out—"
"If you pull out right now, I will never forgive you. Move. Please move. I need to feel you. Whenever you're ready."
He moves.
The first stroke is tentative. A slow withdrawal almost to the tip—my hole clinging to him, fluttering around the drag of his cock—then a gentle push back in that lights up every nerve I didn't know I had.
The stretch reignites briefly, then melts into deep, rolling pleasure as his thick shaft slides over my prostate.
My hands fist in the sheets. My back arches.
The sound I make is unrecognizable, something between his name and a raw moan that echoes in the quiet room.
"Oh my God," he whispers behind me, voice breaking. "Tex, you feel... so tight around me. So hot. So perfect."
"Don't stop. For the love of everything holy, do not stop."
He finds a rhythm. Slow at first—long, careful strokes that let me feel every inch of him sliding in and out of my ass—then building gradually as his confidence grows.
He reads my body, listens to every gasp and moan, figures out exactly what makes me grip the sheets harder, what makes me push back to meet him, what makes me say his name in that broken, needy way I can't control.
He's quiet at first. Focused. Concentrating the way he concentrates on everything, total and complete.
But then the sounds start coming from him too—small at first, caught breaths and quiet moans, then bigger, fuller.
He grabs my hips harder, fingers digging into the muscle, and his pace increases slightly, the angle shifts, and he hits that spot again and I nearly come off the bed.
"There," I gasp. "Right there. Don't move. Stay right there. Fuck me just like that."
He stays right there. He drives into me, hitting my prostate over and over, the thick head of his cock dragging against it with every deep thrust. The pleasure builds in a way I've never experienced—not from the outside but from the inside, a deep, spreading heat that starts where he's moving inside me and radiates outward through my entire body, making my cock leak steadily onto the sheets.
"Tex, I can't... it's so..." His voice is coming apart. The composure is gone. He's just feeling what it's like to be inside someone you love and have it be nothing but good. Nothing but wanted.
I reach underneath myself. I'm so hard it hurts, cock throbbing, slick with precum, and the first stroke of my own hand combined with his cock moving deep in my ass is almost too much.
My face presses into the pillow and I'm making sounds that I will deny making later—deep, raw moans—and he's making sounds behind me that I will remember forever, broken gasps and my name over and over.
He drops forward. His chest against my back.
His arms wrapping around me from behind, one hand sliding under my chest to hold me close, the other gripping my shoulder.
His face presses against my neck, lips brushing skin, breath hot and ragged.
His hips keep working—deep, steady thrusts that fill me completely—and the weight of him on my back, light as he is, is grounding. Real. Present.
He's here inside me.
"I'm close," he breathes against my neck, voice trembling. "Tex, I'm... fuck, you feel so good around me. So tight."
"Don't you dare hold back. I want to feel you come inside me."
He buries himself deep and his whole body locks and he comes inside me with a sound that starts in his chest and ends against my skin. It's raw and shattered. His cock pulses hard, hot spurts flooding my ass, and I feel every throb, every jet coating my insides.
His hands clutch at my chest, hips stuttering through the aftershocks, and I'm right behind him—my hand working fast on my cock, the combination of his release filling me and the friction sending me over the edge.
I come hard into the sheets with his name on my lips, ass clenching around his cock, milking every last drop as waves of pleasure crash through me.
We collapse. Both of us. His body on mine, his cock still buried deep, softening slowly inside my ass.
His face buried in the back of my neck, arms still wrapped around me.
I'm flat on the mattress and he's draped over me like a blanket made of a person and neither of us moves because moving would require functioning muscles.
He's crying. Not sobbing. Not breaking down.
Just tears, quiet and steady, leaking from his eyes onto my shoulder.
I can feel the warmth of them on my skin.
The release of something he's been carrying for so long that he'd forgotten it was there until the weight lifted and the absence of it was so sudden and so enormous that his body didn't know how to process it except through tears.
"Hey," I say softly. "Hey, baby. You okay?"
He nods against my neck. Sniffles. Laughs. A wet, shaky, incredulous laugh that vibrates through his chest into my back.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm okay. I'm really okay."
"Good. Because that was life-altering." I manage to turn my head enough to press my lips against whatever part of his face I can reach, which turns out to be his forehead. "I'm not even going to try to describe how that felt. You're perfect, Stormy. That sums it up in three words."
He lifts his head. His face is a mess. Tears and sweat and flushed cheeks and eyes that are red-rimmed and swollen and so beautiful that I would cross oceans and fight hurricanes and stand in parking lots lying to monsters for the rest of my life to see them look at me the way they're looking at me right now.
"I love you, Tex."
He settles onto my back. I reach behind me and find his hand and lace our fingers together. My body is sore in all the right places and the sheets are destroyed and I don't care. I would lie in this bed, in this mess, with this man on my back for the rest of my natural life.
"Love you too, baby."
"We should shower," he says.
"We should."
Neither of us moves.
"Tex? Thank you for letting me— for showing me I could—"
"Rule three. No thanking each other for sex."
"What's rule three?"
"New rule. Just made it. Rule one: I tell you I love you every morning. Rule two: I always bring you coffee with three sugars. Rule three: no thanking each other for sex. It's weird."
"You're weird."
"Also accurate."
He laughs again.
"I love you," I say. Because it's true and because every morning starts with it and this night should end with it.
"I love you too," he says. And he means it in a way that has changed since the first time he said it. The first time was a revelation. The discovery that the words existed inside him. This time it's a foundation. A thing you build on. A thing that holds weight.
We lie there until the mess gets too sticky and Stormy makes a face and says "shower, now, this is disgusting."
I laugh, gather him up and carry him to the bathroom because I can.