Chapter Seventeen
“Strip, Blackwood. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you naked,” Alec boomed before I closed his apartment door.
The space was modern, scented with teak and pine, and immaculate.
No sharp edges, all curves, and circles in rich greens and deep browns like a Restoration Hardware marketing shoot.
The table was set as if he were expecting fancy guests.
As I shed my clothing in his doorway, I realized Alec’s company must have been doing well.
It had been so long since I heard the dominant timber of Alec’s voice, or that look of veiled starvation behind his glasses. I was raging hard before my first button was open.
I had said, “Yes, sir,” but was already stripping because I wanted to be naked. I needed him to see me. Needed that hunger in his eyes to grow to the point he broke and fucked me so hard I couldn’t breathe.
My cock head was angry red and sopping wet. The shaft pulsed and throbbed in front of me. I knew I looked good, but I kept any cockiness at bay. Though, if I was correct and Alec wanted me to put on a show for him, I’d spray my seed all over his expensive-looking tile after two strokes.
“Fucking hell.” He was already out of breath. The thin fabric of his tight slacks formed an obscene tent from his erection. “Better than I remember.”
“Been killing it at the gym, sir.”
“Good boy,” his face cracked, revealing a wicked grin. “I wanted to watch you touch yourself, but from the looks of it, you won’t last long.”
“No, sir. I’ll come with a single stroke. This is the most aroused I’ve been in a year. Maybe ever.”
“Fuck, Blackwood,”—he bit his lip—“me too.” And groped himself. “Why don’t you finger your hole for me? Show me what you missed so badly?”
“Yes, sir.”
I took a fraction of a second to consider logistics and sat down. The tile was freezing when I rocked onto my back to hoist my legs and display for him. Then, after sucking on my finger like a blow job, I circled the tip around my entrance and pushed in.
It didn’t hurt. I’d bought several dildos in the past year.
Once you come with something up there, it’s hard to go back.
I wanted to put a show on for Alec, just like the first time we ever fucked around.
But I didn’t need to ham it up. I was so turned on that just expressing myself was more than enough.
I bit my lip, furrowed my brow, and moaned like I was in heat. No, not like I was in heat, I fucking was. I couldn’t remember the last time my ass yearned to be fucked—if ever. My finger alone was not what it needed.
My head hit the tile as I added a second finger. “Fuck, Alec…” I moaned, my tenor rising. It was challenging to stay in character.
“Mmmm. Fuck yourself, Blackwood. Get it ready for me.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, still in a high register. “I need you to fuck me so bad.”
Alec gulped, his demeanor slipping.
“I need to fuck you, too,” he said with a strangled throat.
I arched my back on the floor as I got a third finger in. My groan was porn studio worthy. I crushed my chin to my chest and opened my eyes. “Fuuuck, Alec…”
As calmly as he could, he said, “Get up.” I did. “Undress me.”
I approached him, but didn’t reach out. I was caught in his gaze. We stared at one another, our chests heaving less than an inch apart. His face broke along with the act. Our dominance game ended, leaving us open and bare to each other. His breath shuddered as his eyes searched mine.
“I missed you so fucking much, Mason.”
I threw my arms around his neck and pressed my lips to his. Our tongues met, and the kiss deepened. Not as lost friends or lovers, but as ravenous beasts. I tore a button off his shirt, undressing him. After a year, I needed to see his body and feel his flesh.
Alec held my face in his hands, kissing me while I stripped him nude.
He stepped out of his pants and flung his shirt off, only breaking our kiss to toss his glasses on his couch.
Once his erection was pressed between us, his hands fell to my ass.
He growled into my mouth and squeezed my cheeks almost to the point of pain.
His blunt fingertips ran down into my inseam, and with little more than an exhale, Alec hoisted me in the air. We didn’t stop kissing as he carried me into his bedroom. I wrapped my legs around his waist, wetting the hair on his stomach with my cock head.
The room was as clean and well-decorated as the other space, though I didn’t see it until much later. I was busy being laid down on his mattress, still wrapped up in Alec. We were already in missionary position, and I was ready to take him.
Alec’s lips left mine to travel down my body. Kissing and nipping his way south. He didn’t sound like a man in the throes of intense lust, more like someone feasting after imprisonment. My nipples were crudité, my abs hors d’oeuvres, and my pelvis the soup before the main.
He gathered my balls in his hand to lick and suckle, ignoring my throbbing cock.
It was exquisite torture. I dug my head into his fancy pillows and groaned.
There was no way I’d rush him, but the imperative to orgasm was mounting, and my vision blurred.
I didn’t feel him let go of my balls, but I did when he took hold of the base of my cock.
“I’m gonna suck you, but do not come. If you do, there’ll be consequences.” His smile leeched into his voice, sounding playful and authoritative without being commandeering.
I had no time to object or accept, and my cock disappeared into his mouth.
In the three months we spent together, Alec blew me many times.
He wasn’t taking out all the stops, trying to get me to come like when I woke up late but horny.
Nor was it the oral sex of foreplay—the kind of sucking meant to drive me wild back in the hotel room after a long day.
It didn’t matter what pace or speed he used. Not only had I not come in days, but the knowledge that I was with a naked Alec again could’ve finished me off alone. Plus, being in his mouth again, and…
“I’m gonna fucking come—like right now.”
Alec hopped off my cock. “Good.” He placed his knees on either side of my body and crawled to my face. “Now blow me,” he said, tapping his cock head on my lips.
He was still dominant and in charge, but it was different from a year ago.
There was a deep longing in both his face and voice.
Mine, too, as I allowed his cock into my mouth.
I watched him. He wasn’t the forceful, dominant man who fucked me to nirvana in hotels across the country.
Nor was he the pseudo-boyfriend getting head after a long day. He was something else.
My eyes closed as I lost myself to blowing him. At that moment, there was nothing else in the world I’d rather be doing. Other than getting fucked. But the feel and taste of him, the strength and masculinity, his groans and grunts as I fell back into old blow job habits—it was its own sexual bliss.
Alec backed away and got off the bed. I didn’t know what was happening. Before I could ask, he said, “We’re both pent the fuck up and about ready to burst. But I love watching you finger yourself.”
It wasn’t a command or question, but a suggestion. A memory. Something Alec liked, and maybe missed. I happily obliged.
I closed my eyes and went at myself again. Moaning and groaning, but thankful to be on his bed, not on the cold tile. God, I wanted him to fuck me. Rearrange my guts while grunting like a beast. Just take me. Fuck me and leave me sweaty, filled and exhausted.
Moments spent in faraway rooms came tumbling back to me the harder I clenched my eyes and gnawed on my lip.
The scent of their corporate cleaners. The itchy sheets.
How hard I’d get at the end of dinner knowing what awaited me once we got back.
And then, how Alec would bark orders at me.
No, not bark. He was never cruel or demeaning.
Demanding and domineering, yes, but he never let my enjoyment fall from his mind.
No, whatever weird sex games he had us play, both of our pleasure was his goal.
Not just in the physical, sexual sense, but on a deeper level.
I liked that kind of sex more than the quiet lovemaking at home.
But even that was wonderful, too. The sensation of more than just his body—his person—connecting with mine was sublime.
In some ways, even more so than calling him “sir” and being called “good boy” in return.
“I really need you to fuck me right now, Alec,” I said, opening my eyes.
He was at the foot of the bed, watching me as if in a trance. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was drooling.
He climbed on the bed, saying, “I really need to fuck you right now too, Blackwood.”
Blackwood without the bite. Like how he used it before we ever hooked up. Friendly and jovial. Familiar.
He grabbed my ankles and hoisted them on his shoulders with force. He had lubed his cock while watching me. And then, finally, blissfully, Alec Whitaker pressed his massive cock into my hole for the first time in a year.
That no other man had before or since him was nothing. My sex life was nothing without him. My life itself was a dull drudge of sameness in his absence—capable of flight but without reason to.
“FUCK!” he hollered once seated inside me. “I missed this.” Then he fucked me. Hard.
He held my thighs in a vise and hammered away. His face curling into a snarl only made me harder. It was more than sex, but a release. There was so much we both needed to be pounded away. Though, how he could jackhammer me when he was so close to coming moments before, I didn’t know.
I grabbed my dick to beat it while he fucked me, but not to come. I was sure he wanted me to finish in his mouth. My climax approached faster than expected, and I let go of my cock like it had burst into flames.
“Fuuuuuuck,” I moaned, falling deep into that getting-fucked bliss.