42. My Only One #3
His voice comes firm and commanding. “Keep going. I want to watch.” He’s straddling me now, high on his knees, supporting me with one strong arm. He’s stretched out so long and so beautiful when he turns his head to look down at me.
I tighten my hand around my dick, stroke down, and as I do, he sinks his cock into my mouth in perfect rhythm with the movement. Fucking hell, it feels good. I try to let out a gasp, only to have it stopped with his enormous cock.
Who needs air? I am so happy to die like this.
“Don’t stop,” he rasps.
So… maybe I won’t die just yet. Not if he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
I let my hand shift back to the crown, trying not to lose control completely, but I don’t think many people could understand what it is to simultaneously experience a blow job and a hand job, and I think I really might explode.
I want to close my eyes to try to keep it under some sort of wraps, but Archer is too beautiful.
He’s stupidly gorgeous, and the way his slim waist shifts forward with each thrust, the way his abs contract, the way his lip curls with filthy satisfaction at every stifled moan I try to get out…
I want him to come all over me. I want him to soak me in it.
I want him to do everything imaginable to me.
But I also don’t want him to stop this. All I want right now is for his pleasure to be equal to mine.
I press into my hand a little harder at the thought of it, and Archer lets out a gasp. “Fuck, Liam.”
My god. He’s not feeling it too… is he?
Tightening my hand, I fuck into my fist, and, “Fuck! Liam, fuck!”
Oh my god. What is even happening?
I do it again, crunching my abs, concentrating hard, trying to stop myself coming too fast. I barely catch it on the edge, the orgasm so close, when Archer snaps, as if he can’t take anymore either.
He wrenches his dick from my mouth, throwing me back onto my pillows.
He drops down, my cock landing in his mouth with one swift movement.
My fingers twist into the quilt, shouts of pleasure racking out of me, the bliss of the moment blocking out every sound and sensation beyond sex until he slips his finger in, and my entire body arches off the bed.
He’s already coated his fingers in oil, and it’s smooth and delicious and world-changing.
He works me, devours me, then, after a time, shoulders trembling, he pauses and meets my gaze, his eyes hooded with the intensity of his pleasure. “Are you… um… is this sex magic?”
I knew it was working for him. I knew it. “Yeah,” I laugh. “It is. Are you okay with…”
“Fuck, yes,” he whispers. The second finger slides home, his teeth landing on my chest, sucking my nipple between them, biting so hard I shout out.
I scrape my fingers over his back, needing more and more and more of him, wanting my marks all over his beautiful body.
He’s mine now. Mine today. Mine forever.
“Liam,” he whispers. He climbs on top of me, his thighs pressing mine back, forcing my legs wide apart.
He presses his cock against me, the weight and heat of him so enticing I can barely control myself.
Then his hand stills on my cheek. The way his eyes burn into me, drink me in, it’s…
It’s too tender. Too much care. So much melancholy. It’s almost like… a goodbye.
“Please,” I beg him, writhing against him, fingers deep in the flesh of his beautiful shoulders. “Please. Even if it’s only tonight. Please make it feel like forever.”
“Oh, Liam.” His hand slips beneath my neck as he takes a hold of my shoulder and presses forward, his forehead falling against mine.
I want to scream as he fills me up. The fullness of him, the intensity of his hold on me, the ecstasy, but also…
I can feel myself pressing into him. It’s double the pleasure—it’s too much pleasure.
And every bit of it is augmented by this strange sadness in him that I can’t put my finger on.
The way he’s already fucking me—like he cannot get enough of me, like he can’t get close enough, and I’m scrambling to keep from falling apart.
“Archer.” His fingers sink into my hair, his kisses coming so passionate and loving. And it might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said, but, “I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I?”
Another kiss, more adoring than the last, and his forehead back against mine as he promises me, “Yes. Tomorrow. I’m going to be back tomorrow. With you. And every day.”
“Every day?” My whole being arches as he takes me, sinks into me, over and over, kisses never erring, the intensity building with every whisper of promise.
“Every day, honey. You and me. I don’t ever want to go a day without seeing you.”
It’s all I want. He doesn’t have to say it. The words that are right on the edge of my lips. But I can’t. I won’t. I’ll swallow them down and do my best not to scare him away. I’ll take this. This is more than enough.
Tomorrow. Every day. Me and Archer. Every day.
Gently, almost too gently, he takes my hands, reaches them over my head, and holds them there.
His grip turns firm. He sinks his fingers between mine, and when I close my hands against his, I feel all the strength he’s been holding back.
His muscles coil as he leans out long. He hurts me just right with the way he’s holding me.
And I beg him, “Make me feel it, Archer. Please. Show me.”
He withdraws, slowly, just far enough to let me feel the loss of him.
Then Archer lets loose.
He slams back into me, and holy fuck, if I thought he was filling me up before, I had no idea. He’s like a sex god come to life, and whatever soft part of him was repressing this, he’s out now, free and with me, and he’s losing control.
I cry out, scream his name, and I don’t care how thin these walls are. I want all the world, every ghost in London, to know he’s mine. Archer’s all mine, and he’s losing control.
He fucks me like it’s the last time; he bathes me in kisses, bites my chest so hard it will bruise, and I’m proud of it.
I wish I could show everyone. He holds me close against him, his body relentless and perfect, on and on until I’m a begging, spent mess of a man.
Until I can’t take another minute of it, this being fucked, fucking him, this tangle of emotion, this strung out, riled up, knot of a person who has needed this for so long, but never once knew how much I did.
That I needed him all along. But even then, he keeps going.
Keeps wrecking me, pulling me apart, destroys me utterly.
And it all comes to one enormous, delicious, almost perfect climax when his body shudders, when his lips lean close to mine, when he looks deep into my eyes and says, “Liam, I…”
I know what he wants to say. It’s everything I feel. But he’s stopped, right there on the edge.
It’s too soon. Too terrifying, dangerous, and close to risking this thing neither of us dares to lose. Even if it’s true. Even if we both know it.
I thrust my hips forward, smashing him into me, pulling him as close as I ever can.
He gasps out my name, fingers in my flesh, and he spills.
It’s as if I don’t even have a choice. My body is so in tune with his, like we’re the same being.
The orgasm rips out of me, and I feel his.
It’s both of us, it’s more, and it’s utterly flooring, draining, restorative, beautiful, catastrophic.
It’s a wonderful, terrifying, incredible mess. It’s everything. It’s perfect.
He holds me like that. Holds me there for so long, kissing me. And I never want him to stop. But finally, he slides down beside me, and I roll over to hold him, to kiss him. To not even let him speak.
He already said it, without words.
And I hope I did too.
Archer. My beautiful Archer. The one who completes me, when I hadn’t even realised how much of me was missing.