Chapter 13
Jason
The ride to Ash's place takes ten minutes. It feels like ten hours.
I'm pressed against his back, arms tight around his waist, and I can feel the heat of him through his shirt.
The engine rumbles between my thighs, vibration traveling up through my whole body, and I'm acutely aware of everywhere we're touching.
His back against my chest. My hands splayed on his stomach.
The shift of his muscles as he leans into turns.
I let one hand drift lower, tracing the waistband of his jeans. He groans—I feel it more than hear it—and guns the engine harder.
By the time we pull into his driveway, I'm fully hard and desperate.
He kills the engine and I'm off the bike before he is, helmet already coming off, fingers fumbling with the strap. He takes his time—hanging his helmet on the handlebar, pocketing his keys, rolling his shoulders like he's got all the time in the world.
I want to scream.
"Ash."
He looks at me, and even in the dim light from the porch I can see how dark his eyes have gone. Pupils blown wide, that predator focus locked onto me like I'm prey.
"Inside."
One word. A command. I follow.
The door barely closes behind us before he's on me.
He pins me against the wall, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. His mouth finds mine and it's not gentle, not careful—it's claiming. Possessive. Like he's been holding back for weeks and he's finally done waiting.
"Wanted this," he growls against my lips. "Wanted you. Since the first fucking day."
"Then take me."
His control breaks. I can feel it happen, the careful restraint he's been maintaining since the garage, since he decided to try this for real—gone.
He hauls me off the wall and walks me backward down the hall, kissing me the whole way.
His teeth catch my bottom lip, sharp enough to sting, and I moan into his mouth.
I'm stumbling, grabbing at his shoulders for balance, and he just keeps driving me back until my spine hits a door—his bedroom.
He reaches past me to shove it open and then we're inside, and he's pushing me toward the bed.
"Clothes off."
I strip. Shirt over my head, jeans shoved down, underwear gone. I'm naked in seconds, standing in front of him while he's still fully dressed, and the power imbalance makes my cock jerk. Him in control. Me exposed. Exactly where I want to be.
He looks at me. Really looks, his eyes traveling from my face down my chest, my stomach, my cock standing hard and flushed against my belly. Taking his time. Cataloging every inch like he's memorizing it.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Look at you."
"Your turn."
"No." He steps closer, still clothed, and drags his knuckles down my chest. Slow. Deliberate. Watching my skin pebble in the wake of his touch. "Not yet. I want to take you apart first."
His fingers find my nipple and twist—not hard, just enough to make me gasp. He does it again, rougher, and my knees nearly buckle.
"Sensitive," he murmurs, sounding pleased. His mouth replaces his fingers, tongue flicking hot and wet before his teeth scrape across the nub. I grab his shoulders just to stay upright.
"Ash—"
He switches to the other side, biting down just hard enough to make me cry out. The sting of it goes straight to my cock.
"On the bed. Hands and knees."
I scramble to obey, positioning myself on his bed—neatly made, military corners, sheets pulled tight. About to get destroyed.
I hear him moving behind me, the rustle of a drawer opening, then closing. The click of a bottle cap. And then he's there, still fully dressed, denim rough against the backs of my thighs as he spreads me open with both hands.
"Been thinking about this," he says, voice dropped low and filthy. "Thinking about eating this perfect ass until you're begging me to fuck you."
Then his tongue is on me and I stop thinking entirely.
He eats me out like he's starving for it. Long, slow licks that make me shake, then focused pressure right where I need it. His tongue circling, teasing, pushing inside. The wet sounds are obscene, the scrape of his stubble against my sensitive skin making everything more intense.
My arms give out and I end up face-down on the mattress, ass in the air, making sounds I'd be embarrassed about if I could think. He groans against me like I taste good, like he could do this for hours, and the vibration makes me sob.
"Please," I gasp into the pillow. "Ash, please, I need—"
"Need what?" He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against my wet hole. "Tell me."
"Your fingers. Your cock. Anything, please, I need you inside me—"
"That's it. Ask me nicely."
"Please, Ash, please fuck me, I need your cock so bad—"
A slick finger presses into me and I moan, loud and shameless. He works me open slow, one finger becoming two, scissoring gently while his other hand grips my ass hard enough to leave marks. His thumb traces the stretched rim where his fingers disappear into me.
"So tight," he murmurs. "So hot inside. You're gonna feel so good around my cock."
"More. I can take more."
"I know you can. My greedy boy." Three fingers now, stretching me, and he curls them to hit that spot that makes me see stars.
"Fuck!" My hips jerk back, trying to get more, fucking myself on his hand. "Ash, I'm gonna come if you don't—"
"Don't you dare." His free hand cracks down on my ass—sharp, stinging—and the shock of it makes me clench around his fingers. "You don't come until I'm inside you. Until you're full of my cock and I tell you you can."
"Then get inside me. Stop teasing and fuck me already."
He laughs, dark and pleased. "There he is. Knew you had some fight in you."
He pulls his fingers out and I hear the slick sound of lube, then the rustle of him finally shoving his jeans down. The blunt head of his cock presses against me, hot and thick, and I push back against it desperately.
"Look at me."
I twist to look over my shoulder. He's finally shirtless, all that bronze skin and hard muscle on display. Dog tags hanging between his pecs, glinting in the low light. His cock in his hand, flushed dark and so thick my mouth waters.
"God, you're gorgeous," I breathe.
His expression flickers—surprised, almost vulnerable—before the heat rushes back in. "Ready?"
"Yes. Fuck yes. Please—"
He pushes in.
It's slow, controlled, but relentless. Inch by inch, stretching me open around him, filling me up until he's fully seated and I can feel him everywhere. So deep. So full. The burn of it perfect.
"Fuck," he grits out, and his voice cracks on it. "You feel—Christ, Jason, you're so tight. So fucking perfect."
He pulls back and snaps his hips forward, and I scream.
After that, it's not gentle. It's not slow.
He fucks me hard and deep, one hand on my hip and one fisted in my hair, yanking my head back while he takes what he wants.
The angle is devastating, hitting my prostate on every thrust, and I'm making sounds I've never made before—desperate, broken, his name mixed with profanity and pleas.
"That's it," he growls, bending over me so his chest presses against my back. His dog tags drag cold against my heated skin. "Take it. Take my cock. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to be fucked by me."
"Yes, yes, yours, only yours—" I'm babbling, can't stop. "So good, Ash, your cock feels so fucking good, don't stop, please don't stop—"
He groans against my neck and bites down, hard, right where my shoulder meets my throat. The sharp pain mingles with the pleasure until I can't tell them apart.
"Gonna mark you up," he pants. "Gonna make sure everyone knows you're mine. You want that? Want to wear my bruises?"
"Yes, fuck, yes—want everyone to know—"
He pulls out suddenly and I whine at the loss, empty and aching. But then he's flipping me over onto my back, shoving my thighs up and apart, and sliding back in with one smooth thrust that punches the air out of my lungs.
"Want to see your face when you come," he says, and starts fucking me again.
This angle is even better. He's hitting my prostate with every thrust, and I can see him above me—sweat dripping down his temples, muscles straining, dog tags swinging between us, eyes locked on mine like I'm the only thing in the world.
His abs flex with every snap of his hips.
He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Touch yourself," he orders. "I want to watch you come on my cock."
I wrap my hand around myself, already slick with precum, and it only takes a few strokes. I've been on edge too long, wound too tight, and watching him fuck me, feeling him bare inside me—
"Ash, I'm—"
"Do it. Come for me. Show me who you belong to."
I come so hard my vision whites out. Pulse after pulse, spilling over my hand and my stomach, clenching around him while he fucks me through it. I hear myself saying his name, over and over, like a prayer.
"Fuck, that's—" His rhythm stutters, hips losing their precision. "So beautiful when you come. My perfect boy. Mine."
He slams in deep and holds, grinding against me, and I feel him spill inside me—hot and wet, filling me up. His whole body shakes with it, a groan ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Just breathing, trembling, trying to remember how to exist. He's still inside me, softening slowly, and I don't want him to pull out. Don't want to lose this feeling of being full of him.
Eventually he slips free, and I feel his come leak out of me. He looks down between us and makes a low, satisfied sound.
"Fuck, that's hot," he mutters. "Look at you. All messy with my come."
"You're filthy."
"You love it."
I really do.
He collapses beside me, chest heaving, and pulls me against him immediately. Like he can't stand not touching me for even a second.
"Jesus Christ," he says to the ceiling.
I huff a breathless laugh. "Yeah."
He turns his head to look at me, and his expression has gone soft. Tender. The predator intensity replaced by something I haven't seen before.
"C'mere."
He arranges us so I'm tucked under his arm, my head on his shoulder. His hand strokes up and down my back, soothing over skin that still feels electric.
"You okay?" he asks.
"More than okay." I press a kiss to his shoulder, right where it meets his neck. Taste salt. "That was incredible."
"Wasn't too rough?"
"It was perfect." I lift my head to look at him. "You don't have to check on me every time. I'm not fragile."
"I know you're not." His hand comes up to touch my jaw, tilting my face toward him. "But you're mine now. That means I take care of you. That means I check."
I like hearing that more than I should. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He kisses me, soft and sweet, nothing like the desperate claiming from before. "Stay. Tonight and tomorrow and as long as you want."
"What if I want to stay a while?"
"Then stay a while."
"What if I want to stay longer than that?"
He's quiet for a moment, and I think I've pushed too far, asked for too much too soon. But then he pulls me closer, his arms tightening around me.
"Then stay longer than that," he says. "Stay as long as you'll have me."
I settle against him, listening to his heartbeat slow. His hand keeps stroking my back, steady and grounding.
"Ash?"
"Mm?"
"This is the first time I've stayed over at someone's place in... a long time."
"Yeah?"
"Usually I'm the one kicking people out of my bed. Or leaving theirs. Easier that way. Less complicated."
He's quiet for a moment. "Me too. Never wanted anyone to stay before."
"But you want me to stay."
"I want you to stay." He kisses the top of my head. "I want you to stay tomorrow, too. And the day after that."
"Careful. I might take you up on that."
"I'm counting on it."
He yawns, and I feel it move through his whole body. "Sleep. I'll make you breakfast in the morning."
"You can cook breakfast?"
"I can make coffee and burn toast. Same thing."
I'm laughing as I drift off, safe and thoroughly fucked in the arms of a man who's finally letting someone stay.
My boyfriend.
Mine.