8. RYAN #4
“I don’t know. Depends on whether I get bored with it or not.” His slick finger leaves me, fucking in between my ass cheeks.
“Tate—that’s not fair.”
“I didn’t promise fair.”
“Please. Your finger … two fingers,” I amend, grunting.
Swallowing. But I don’t stop there, I beg with my ass, rubbing it in time with his motions.
At least the begging works. He gives me what my broken voice pleads for, sliding both fingers in.
Halfway, out, then all the way in. My dick throbs, and I groan, shivering.
“You like that, dollface?”
“Yes,” I whisper. He might not give a fuck, but I still feel the need to be quiet. There’s a house full of people downstairs. All I need is for one of them to come up here. Did he lock the door?
But I quickly forget about doors and people, reduced to writhing on his fingers. I take a peek at his cock, leaking in the moonlight. He strokes it some more.
“You want this?”
“You know I do,” I almost whine.
“Say it. Say you want me to fuck you in this perfect ass of yours.” He smirks at the displeasure on my face, shaking his head. “You’ll debase yourself for me, dollface. Every time. Or maybe you don’t want my cock that badly, hmmm?”
He’s such a fucking bastard, but I figured out one of his weaknesses last time. I’ll beg, but I’m doing it in a way he can’t resist. A way that makes him feral. Two can play.
“I don’t want you to fuck me.” His fingers pause, brow furrowing. “I want you to take me. Use that big fat cock of yours and ruin me, Tate. Make me all yours.”
He growls, flipping me over. Crack! Pain blooms over my right ass cheek. And I swear I hear … is that the click of the door?
“That’s it, pretty boy. Get that ass in the air and spread those legs for me.”
Arching my back, I obey, sticking my ass up high, opening wide. A delicious shiver works its way down my spine. How I must look for him. My big ass, round, wordlessly begging to be fucked.
There’s a sound. A door creaking, maybe?
“What’s that—” I whisper.
“Nothing,” he says into my ear.
Whatever. He’d stop us, at least hide my ass if someone came in. Pretty sure. But I want him too badly to care right now. He slides his wet cock between my cheeks, and then the head breaches my hole. I moan loud and long as Tate enters me slowly.
He leans over, speaking into my ear. “This is where you belong—on the end of my cock.” He slips out, then in again.
Have I always loved cock this much? I can’t remember.
It’s been a while. Father didn’t exactly forbid me from fucking, but it was heavily frowned upon unless I was in a respectable relationship, and so one of the many ways I chose to lay low was to abstain.
I did most of the fucking, though. Before that.
Being fucked, well, it isn’t new, but being taken like this is.
But if Tate’s dick is what I was waiting for, it was worth it. It takes up all the space inside me, filling me with his impenetrable presence.
“Oh, god, keep fucking me, Tate. Right … right there,” I moan.
Tate gathers my hair in a fist. “Say the magic words.”
“Fuck you, VanCourt.”
Smack! Pain blooms across my ass cheek. I exhale a sharp cry.
“Try again, or I’ll take it away.”
“Please. Fuck, please.” My voice just fucking cracked.
That seems to satisfy the hungry animal in him, and he yanks on my hair again, pulling at the roots. I’m at the end of his tether, leashed, taking it.
And it’s so, so, fucking good.
I lose track of time. There’s just the burning slide of his cock, little tugs at my skull every so often when he uses my hair to put me back in my place, and his hips smacking against my ass with bruising force. Tearing my fucking ass apart.
“C’mon. Milk my cock, dollface. I wanna feel you squeezing,” he says, his voice all hoarse. I’m doing that, making him lose his voice like that. “Yes. You’re a good little whore for me.”
“Oh, god. Ffffuck. I’m gonna come, Tate. Please.”
That earns me another crack to my burning ass, and he slows his pace, my poor cock leaking a string of cum onto McKinnon’s sheets. “Oh, c’mon,” I bitch. “I’ve done everything you said.”
He pulls his cock out altogether. That’s it. I’m going to strangle him.
“Roll over,” he says, letting go of my hair.
Pushing up onto my arms, I turn, but it’s not fast enough for him, and he leans back, spinning me with a hand to my hip. He’s quick to slide an arm under my thigh and sink right into me again.
“See? I wasn’t gone long, baby.”
That’s the second time he’s called me that.
Yes, I’m counting. It fucks with my head even more than dollface does.
That one might be growing on me. But “baby” is …
endearing. At least to me, and that’s not what this is.
He wants me to be a possession, so I’ll be a possession. I’m not conflating that with love.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Baby?”
“Yeah.”
He smirks, smiling like the devil in a way that makes my heart miss a fucking beat.
“And stop being so … so handsome.”
Tate does a slow glide in and out. “Stop calling you baby, stop being so handsome. Anything else?”
“Yeah, make me come, VanCourt.”