Chapter Thirteen #4
I stare in fascination. Every time my palm smacks his flesh, his hole twitches.
The pink, swollen ring of muscle clenches and releases, spasming around empty air like it’s begging to be filled.
It’s the dirtiest, most responsive reaction I’ve ever seen.
I smack him again just to watch it happen.
The muscle tightens, pulsing in time with his sharp gasp.
He wants it so bad his body is screaming for a cock.
The black lace frames the whole dirty scene beautifully.
“You filthy whore,” I mock him, landing another blow. “Crying into the floor, but your cock is rock hard rubbing against my leg. Your hole is winking at me every time I hit you. You love this, don’t you?”
“No,” he sobs, though his hips stutter forward, seeking the drag of my pants. “Fourteen.”
“Liar,” I say, delivering a sharp slap over the center of his cheek. “You’re a needy little masochist. Tell me you love it. Tell me you want me to ruin your tight ass.”
“I love it,” he cries, tears spilling over his lashes. “Sixteen. I want it.”
I keep going, driving the color deeper until his ass turns a pretty shade of cherry red.
The black lace pops against the bruised, flushed skin, making him look like a ruined masterpiece.
He’s a mess, trembling violently across my lap, his chest heaving with exertion.
He loses count around twenty-two, his voice dissolving into pathetic, breathy whimpers.
I finally slow down, letting my stinging palm rest flat against his burning skin. He hiccups, a tiny, broken sound muffled by the crook of his elbow. A slow tremor runs down his spine, his bare shoulders shaking as he tries to catch his breath.
My hand rests on his burning skin for another second before I push him down again.
“Hands flat on the floor,” I order, reaching for my zipper. “Brace yourself.”
Jax sniffs, dragging his palms across the carpet until his arms are locked, keeping his chest elevated.
His ass stays arched in the air, the black lace thong framing his cherry-red cheeks.
He looks over his shoulder, hazel eyes dilated and glassy with tears, watching as I jerk my zipper down and pull my cock out.
I’m so hard it aches, a drop of pre-cum already welling at the tip.
I don’t bother with extra lube. He’s a mess of spit and my own cum down there anyway. I step in close, lining the blunt head of my cock up with his swollen, pink rim. He whimpers, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary twitch forward.
“Take it,” I tell him.
I push my hips forward, splitting him open.
Jax lets out a high, strangled gasp as I sink into him.
The tight ring of muscle stretches around my girth, biting down hard, fighting the intrusion before melting around the heat.
I drive my hips forward, burying myself to the hilt in one quick shove.
The impact knocks the breath out of his lungs.
I wrap my left hand around his hip, fingers digging deep into the soft skin just below the lace waistband, anchoring him in place. With my right hand, I grab a fistful of his messy brown hair, yanking his head back.
I fuck down into him with no mercy, setting a brutal, punishing pace.
He takes every inch, his body jerking forward with every thrust, only kept from collapsing by my bruising grip on his hip and hair.
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh sounds through the living room, mixing with his desperate moans.
His stretched hole grips my cock and milks me with every slide.
The black lace shifts and pulls against his skin, framing the filthy scene like a painting.
He’s losing his mind. His cock swings beneath him, leaking a steady stream of fluid onto the rug. He tries to push back into my thrusts, his ass bouncing against my groin, desperate for more depth. He can’t handle the sensory overload.
“Ryker, please,” he begs, his voice hoarse. “Please let me. It’s too much, I need to come.”
He sounds ruined. His desperate, broken tone drives me feral.
I let go of his hair and slide my hand around the front of his neck, my fingers locking over his throat.
I squeeze, cutting off his frantic babbling, and haul his upper body backward.
He scrambles, his knees dragging across the carpet as I pull his torso upright, trapping his back flush against my chest.
I keep my grip tight on his throat, tilting his chin up toward the ceiling. He gasps for air, his hands flying up to clutch at my wrist, his nails digging into my skin. We are chest to back, his ass pressed tight against my groin as I keep fucking him.
“Come then,” I snarl against his ear, grinding my hips up into his ass. “Come on my cock like a good hole.”
That does it. Jax lets out a piercing keen against my palm.
His body goes rigid, locking up as the orgasm careens through him.
He releases a jet of cum onto the rug, followed by another and another.
His hole clenches down on my cock, a vice grip of spasming muscle that milks the life right out of me.
I can’t hold back. I groan as I follow him over the edge. I drive my hips up, burying myself as deep as I can go, and empty my balls inside him, pumping hot jets of seed into his core, pinning his writhing body against my chest as we both ride out the climax.
He’s a trembling, boneless mess the second the orgasm finishes rolling through his nervous system. His knees give out. If I wasn’t holding him up, he would faceplant into the floor.
I release his throat and hook my arm around his chest, dragging him backward until I hit the couch. I fall back onto the cushions, pulling him into my lap. He slumps against me, his head dropping onto my shoulder, utterly spent.
I look down at him. His face is a brilliant, blotchy red, his chest heaving as he struggles to pull air into his lungs. Tears streak down his cheeks, leaving wet, shiny trails on his skin, his hazel eyes blown wide and glassy. He looks devastated, beautifully broken apart.
I wrap both arms around him, cradling his limp body against my chest.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” I murmur, my voice dropping the sharp edge from earlier.
I lean down, pressing my lips to his cheek. I kiss a salty tear right off his skin, trailing my mouth up to his temple to catch another.
“You look so pretty when you cry,” I whisper against his cheekbone. “Such a good boy for me.”
Jax shudders, a full-body tremor that shakes his broad shoulders. He turns his head and buries his face into the crook of my neck, hiding his tear-streaked face against my skin. He lets out a soft, breathy sob, his hands curling weakly into the fabric of my shirt.
Deep inside his ass, my cock twitches, still buried to the hilt, bathing in the wet mess we just made. His inner muscles flutter in response, giving me a weak little squeeze.
Fuck, he’s perfect.
I slide one hand up to the back of his head, running my fingers through his messy hair. I stroke the damp strands, untangling the knots I made earlier, soothing him while my other arm stays locked tight around his ribs.
“Perfect little cockslut,” I mutter against the crown of his head, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Took every inch.”
He whines softly into my neck, nuzzling closer like a clingy animal seeking warmth. I rub his back, feeling the rapid, fluttery beat of his heart slowing down against my chest. He smells like sweat, sex, and the faint trace of his body wash. It’s intoxicating.
I can’t get enough of him. It hits me right in the gut.
We brought him in as a toy, a fun addition for the three of us to try out for a month.
A trial period for a stray kid who needed a place to crash.
I look at him now, wearing my favorite lingerie, his ass bruised by my hands, his hole filled with my cum, crying into my shoulder because I fucked him stupid.
He fits in my arms like he was custom made to be there.
I can’t fathom letting him go. Not at the end of the month. Not ever.
He’s ours now. He belongs in this penthouse, in our beds, submitting to us.
If he thinks he’s packing his bags when his thirty days are up, he’s in for a rude awakening.
I’ll buy him whatever he wants, fund any class he wants to take, pay for anything he asks for.
I’ll bleed my trust fund dry keeping him comfortable.
But he’s staying right here, tucked under my chin, right where he belongs.