Chapter 8
I’ve spent my entire life preparing for the unknown. Researching expeditions that failed, learning from other people’s mistakes, planning for every possible scenario in the wilderness. Temperature drops, equipment failure, altitude sickness, wildlife encounters.
But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for this.
For lying naked in a tent in the Himalayas while Ace, a guy I met a few days ago, rummages through his pack for the small bottle of lube he apparently carries everywhere.
Outside, the storm rages. But in here, in this tiny space that smells of woodsmoke and sweat and sex, the only storm is the one building inside me. A blizzard of desperate, aching need.
“Found it,” he says, holding up a small bottle of clear liquid. He settles between my legs, nudging them apart with his knees. I let them fall open, exposing myself to him in a way that would have been unthinkable yesterday.
He drizzles the cold, slick liquid over my hole, and I jump.
“Cold,” I squeak.
“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sorry. “I’ll warm it up.”
He rubs it in with a thick finger, circling the tight ring of muscle, and I have to force myself to relax.
It’s a strange sensation, the gentle pressure, the slow glide, and my body isn’t sure what to make of it.
Especially when he starts to push, when that finger breaches me, sinking into my body up to the first knuckle.
I gasp, my hands fisting in the sleeping bag. It’s not pain, not really. It’s foreign. A deep, strange pressure, an intrusion my body instinctively tries to fight.
“Breathe,” Ace says. “Just breathe.”
I do. I take a deep breath and feel my muscles loosen. He pushes in deeper, his finger fully inside me now, and starts to move it, a slow, gentle exploration that has me squirming.
The lube helps. It warms fast, and soon his finger moves easily, gliding in and out of my hole, opening me up.
Another finger joins it, and the stretch turns sharp again, a bite of discomfort.
But his free hand strokes my cock, distracting me, and I focus on that, on the warmth and pressure and friction.
When the third finger pushes into me, my body fights it.
It feels like too much, a burning stretch that makes me whimper.
Ace leans down and kisses me, swallowing the small, pained noises I make as his fingers sink into me.
He works me open slowly, and the burn fades, replaced by a dull, pulsing ache.
His chuckle is low and dirty. “You have no idea how hot you look right now, Simon. Half of my hand inside you. Fuck, you make me so hard. So fucking hard, you have no idea. I can barely wait to put my cock in there. Feel your tight little hole wrapped around it.”
His words send a hot, sharp pulse through my gut. My cock leaks precum onto my stomach in a steady stream. He keeps his hand on it, squeezing, stroking, working it while his other hand keeps pushing into me.
I don’t know how long it goes on, the slow burn of being opened up, the delicious friction on my cock, the dirty, whispered promises.
But when he finally pulls his fingers out, the emptiness is a shock.
The cold mountain air swirls around my wet, stretched hole, and I find myself wanting that fullness back.
He drizzles more lube on himself, coating that massive cock, and my stomach clenches.
I’ve smelled it. I’ve tasted it. I’ve had it grinding against my ass.
But the thought of him putting it inside me is another thing entirely.
The sheer size of it, the impossible length and thickness of it, makes my nervous system fire on all cylinders.
“Let me know if it’s too much,” he says as he lines himself up. The broad, blunt head presses against my sloppy hole with a wet sound. “If you need me to stop, just say the word. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He leans over me, his body dwarfing mine, and I can feel the weight of him pressing me into the ground, the solid muscle, the heat radiating from his skin. The thick column of flesh nudges at me, and his arms come down on either side of me, his face inches from mine.
I stare up into those blue eyes, the frozen lakes I could get lost in.
And then, with a sharp intake of breath, he starts to push.
My body tightens, an automatic reaction to the intrusion. It burns, a deep stretch that crosses straight into pain and knocks the breath out of me. My hands fly to his shoulders, fingernails digging into the hard muscle, not to push him away but to brace myself.
“Breathe, Simon,” he says, his voice rough with strain. “Relax. It gets better. Just let me get the head in.”
I pull in a deep, shaky breath, and as I let it out, he pushes forward, harder this time. With a pop, the widest part of him breaches me, sinking past the tight ring of muscle and into my body.
“Oh god,” I gasp, my back arching off the sleeping bag. The pain is sharp and immediate, a burning sting that makes my eyes water. “Wait. Wait. Ace.”
He stills at once. “Too much?”
“I don’t… I don’t know,” I manage. “It’s a lot.”
“Okay.” He stays perfectly still, giving me a moment to adjust. His body is a warm, solid weight on top of me, and I can feel the frantic beat of his heart against my chest. “Just breathe. Look at me. Focus on my face.”
I look up at him. At the tight line of his jaw, the dark scruff on his chin, the way the firelight catches in his eyes. A sheen of sweat sits on his forehead, and I realize this is taking a toll on him, too. The restraint it takes to stay still, to let me adjust, to hold his hips in place.
I breathe through it, just like he said, and after a few moments, the burning subsides. It doesn’t go away entirely, but it lessens, the pain turning into a dull, throbbing ache.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I run my hands down his back. The muscles bunch under his skin, tight with effort. “I think you can… um…”
“Push further?” he finishes.
“Yeah.”
He presses his forehead to mine and lets out a shaky breath. “Good. Because I don’t know how much longer I can stay still like this. You feel so fucking good.”
He doesn’t drive into me. It’s a slow, incremental push, a fraction of an inch at a time, giving me space to breathe and adjust. I feel myself give way to him, my body stretching to take him, and with each inch he sinks deeper, the ache in my ass begins to transform.
The pain is still there, but beneath it, growing stronger with each passing second, is a new sensation. A fullness that turns warm and sweet.
It blooms low in my gut, and the more he gives me, the more I want. When his hips finally press against mine and the coarse, wiry hair brushes the tender skin of my balls, a wave of pleasure sweeps through me.
His cock is so far inside me, so impossibly deep, I feel it everywhere. All through me. My whole body hums with it. My skin tingles, my nipples tighten, and a flush crawls up from my chest to the tips of my ears.
“Look at you,” Ace breathes. “Fuck, Simon. You’re taking all of me.”
“I can feel it,” I gasp. “Every inch.”
“Yeah?” He gives a small, experimental rock of his hips, and the head of his cock drags over something inside me that sends a blind, electric burst through my system. “You like being full of me?”
“Yes,” I cry out. “God, yes.”
My hands move from his back to the hard globes of his ass, pulling him closer, my fingers digging into the flesh. He answers the silent plea and pulls out slowly, the drag of his massive length against my sensitive walls making me shudder.
My body clenches around him, trying to keep him inside, and the emptiness is almost as intense as the fullness. But then he pushes back in, a long, steady thrust that ends with him grinding against my ass, and my world whites out.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he growls. “What you’ve been doing to me since I met you.”
He starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has me gasping with every thrust. My body learns the language of his, the push and pull, the grind and retreat.
I’ve never felt anything so good in my life.
It’s better than the view from the highest peaks, better than the thrill of a discovery, better than any fleeting academic validation. This is what it feels like to be alive.
Ace finds a pace that’s just shy of punishing, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes. I’m lost in it. Lost in the feel of him on top of me, the sound of his ragged breathing in my ear, the musky scent of him, the friction of our bodies moving together.
“Such a fast learner,” he murmurs. “I knew you would be. That smart little brain of yours.”
And it’s true. I am learning. My body is learning what it likes. My hips lift to meet his, my legs wrapping around his waist, my heels digging into the small of his back, changing the angle and pulling him even deeper. I want it all. All nine inches. Everything he has to give.
“Please,” I gasp, not even sure what I’m begging for. “Ace, please…”
“I know, Simon. I know.” He pushes into me, harder this time, and the change in pace steals the air from my lungs. “I got you.”
He’s watching me. His eyes stay locked on my face, reading every expression, every gasp, every little shudder. He watches the way my eyes roll when he hits that perfect spot, the way I bite my lower lip to swallow a moan.
“Don’t do that.” His thumb brushes my mouth, pulling my lip free. “I want to hear you. Every sound.” His hips snap forward, and I cry out, a sharp, helpless noise. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”
I stop holding back and give him everything. The moans, the whimpers, the desperate, pleading cries I didn’t know I was capable of making. And the more I give him, the harder he fucks me, until all I can do is hold on, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick skin of his back.
My shyness, my hesitation, is gone. All my anxieties about being a noodle, about being inexperienced, are being fucked right out of me.
The only thing that matters now is the thick cock impaling me, the heavy body pinning me, the deep, commanding voice in my ear telling me how good I am for him. How good I feel around him.
But right when I’m balanced on the knife’s edge of release, Ace slows down. He stills inside me, and the loss of that frantic rhythm makes me whimper with frustration.
“What? Why’d you stop?” I’m writhing beneath him, trying to get the friction back.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” My brain is a muddled mess of lust. All I can hear is the frantic thud of my own heart. I grab his hips, trying to pull him deeper. “Don’t stop, Ace.”
“Listen.”
I fall silent, straining to hear over the ringing in my ears. The wind. The crackle of the fire. The distant, howling storm.
Then I hear it. A low, guttural rumble. It’s not the wind. It’s too deep for that. Too resonant. It’s a sound that vibrates through the stone floor of the cave, through the sleeping bag, through my very bones. A deep, resonant call that raises the hair on my arms.
A yeti call.