—18— Diego
Diego
I’d be a damned liar if I said I didn’t want it.
Wyatt? Looking the way he does when he’s all dressed up for church in his tight khakis and cute shirt?
Feels like I’m ripping the clothes off my Sunday school crush.
And the way he attacks me like I’ve done something wrong to him. Like the mere fact that I exist somehow equally pisses him off and ignites lust-filled rage.
The glass he got out gets bumped into the sink. Maybe broke.
Neither of us care.
I’m in heaven when he slams me against the side of the fridge, knocking off an avocado magnet and a calendar.
I get his shirt off fast. He drags my tank top up over my head and tucks it behind my neck, exposing my chest.
I’m obsessed with how he devours me. How his fingers run all over my skin. How he isn’t afraid at all to take what he wants. To use my body. Like I’m the first and last man on earth.
I stumble backwards out of the kitchen and fall on the couch. Wyatt doesn’t give me a second to breathe, climbing right over me and burying his face in my chest.
This guy has no end to his hunger.
Good thing I don’t, either.
He kisses one of my nipples while his fingers tease the other. I put my hands on his head, his hair too short to grab, as groan after groan comes out of me.
When the hell did I become a groaner? I don’t groan. I’m the one who makes others groan.
I feel his fingers at the waistband of my flimsy gym shorts.
They slide down my thighs like butter.
And I ain’t wearing underwear.
“Fuck,” I hear him moan.
What is it, Wyatt? Did you just see something you like?
My taunting thoughts shut right up the second his lips touch my dick. There I go, letting out another groan. Doesn’t end there. The guy swallows me down inch by inch. Drags his tongue around my meat. Sucks me both hard and soft, unpredictable, mad.
I grip his head, probably too tight.
But it makes him suck me even harder.
Like he enjoys being handled.
Suddenly I’m taking control, guiding his head up and down on my dick with increasing power. This just went from a blow job to me fucking his face.
And the harder we go, the more he moans.
And the less I can hold back my own.
Someone’s teaching me a whole lot about what he’s into real fast without uttering a single word.
His hands slap onto my pecs while he keeps going to town on me. It’s so unexpected, I let out a grunt of surprise, then melt into his hands as they start feeling me up, kneading and squeezing my chest as I drive his head up and down.
This isn’t the Wyatt I first met. It’s the Wyatt I met last night in a room all by ourselves.
Something’s telling me this is the real Wyatt.
Someone that no one in Spruce ever lets out to play.
Including Wyatt himself.
This adorably dirty cock fiend whose appetite is apparently as insatiable as mine. Whose desires have gone neglected for who knows how long. And who’s chosen lucky-ass me as the lucky-ass recipient of those pent-up frustrations.
And I’d be lying if I said my own needs haven’t gone ignored.
And that Wyatt is doing a perfect fucking job of waking them all up with his mouth on my dick and his hands greedily fondling my chest like it’s prom night.
Use me, Wyatt.
Every inch of me.
Take all of me down your sexy throat if it’s doing it for you. Grab my chest and feel me up. Let me grip your head and drive you up and down my dick until you choke.
I want you to want me as bad as I want you.
If we’re going in, we’re going all the way in. I half-ass nothing. And I take as much as you—
He pinches my nipples.
Squeezes for dear life.
“Fuck me!” I howl out, caught by surprise as pain runs through me like he just pierced them—followed by a surprising and fucking undeserved rush of pleasure through my body. I sigh beneath him, his head still bobbing up and down without letting up at all.
I think he got the message I liked that.
Even if I’m still not sure I did.
So he does it again. “Fuuuck,” I roar out, almost fighting him off me, but he stays attached, gripping me so tight he just might take my dick with him if I bucked him off.
The next second, he’s off my dick and crawling back up my body. I’m still recovering from the surprise tittie twister when his lips cover mine, breathless, desperate for a kiss. All my emotions swing from lust back over to passion as I grip his hips and pull our bodies together, crushing his mouth.
“You liked that, huh?” he breathes against my lips.
I can’t answer.
Because I don’t know.
He’s got my head so fucking scrambled, he could convince me lavender trash bags turn me on.
I move my hands between us, undo his pants, and slide them down his thighs along with his underwear. Now I’ve got a bare cheek in each palm, playing with them as we make out. I guess it’s doing the trick, because his dick is grinding against me with every thrust of his mouth on mine.
Then he lifts his face from mine.
Everything comes to a stop. My hands. Our grinding. We’re looking at each other’s eyes right now as if something happened, but I don’t know what.
Then I realize he’s saying it with his eyes.
Yanking down his pants was the invite to the party.
He’s RSVPing.
I grip him under the thighs and lift him straight off the couch.
His lips are locked right on mine as I carry him to the bedroom.
Drop him back onto the bed. Crawl over him.
Nightstand drawer. Pop open the lid. Squirt.
Then bring my fingers down to his crack where they tease their way in so much easier than mere saliva did on a fancy rug in someone’s castle.
He’s already so ready for me, two fingers slide halfway in with no effort. I can’t help but crack a smirk at the sight of his dropped jaw and pretty little eyes flipping back.
“Is this okay?” he asks through a breath.
My fingers don’t stop. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“God yes,” he groans.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“N-No problem. None at all. Jesus, Lord …”
“Taking so many names in vain? And on a Sunday?” I click my tongue at him as my fingers twist deeper. “Have you no shame?”
“Mmm, none at all.”
I come close to his ear. “I wanna put all of me in you.”
“All of you?”
“If you want.”
When he slaps his hands onto my hips like a spank, my eyes go wide as he bares his teeth and says, “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve done anything with anyone?”
That makes two of us. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You can’t.” He grips me tighter. Pulls me against him firmer. “I’m unbreakable.”
There’s something in the way he says that. Like he means a lot more than what he’s saying.
I’m too horny to figure it out. “Been a while for me, too.”
“Then let’s do it already.”
I go for the nightstand again. Tear off the package. Roll it on. Another squirt of my trusty brand. He turns over onto his stomach while I take hold of his hips.
Then it isn’t fingers teasing between his cheeks.
And as I work my way in, I feel his whole body collapse under my grips, like a sigh expressed through muscle. I’m gentle with my thrusts. I’m not exactly Godzilla down there, but I’m sure not small by any means either.
And Wyatt is tight. I fucking love the way sliding inside of him feels, how his body lets me in and fights me at the same time. Just like a fucking glove.
He grunts and mutters something under his breath.
“Too much?” I ask him, thinking he’ll tell me to go slow.
“Harder,” he says instead.
This guy …
I keep my hold on him. Pump him deeper with every thrust. He keeps sighing into the pillow.
“Faster,” he groans.
I’m more than happy to up the pace. It’s starting to feel like a challenge. One I wasn’t aware I was taking on when I saw his face through the window and decided to open the front door.
What was I saying when I did that? Come in for some coffee? I’ve been thinking about you nonstop the whole time you’ve been at church? I can still feel you clinging to my side all last night?
I want to fuck you?
This feels so insanely good. And from the sighs and groans I keep pumping out of Wyatt, he’s enjoying it just as much.
Hope he keeps enjoying it, because I can go a long time.
All fucking day, if he’s got it in him.
If he really is so “unbreakable”.
His ass is so perfect. Haven’t I mentioned that a few times? I’m in heaven every time I thrust forward and feel its perfect, plump shape slap against my front. How the hell does he get an ass like this? Genetics? Does he do squats every day when he wakes up?
I grab hold of his hips, pulling him up. He complies right away and gets on all fours. Now the whole bed rocks with every thrust I give him, every one slapping harder. Then he lifts up and I wrap my arms around him, holding him against me as I drive into him deeper and deeper.
He grabs hold of my hand and presses it over his mouth.
Is he telling me something?
I take over and grip his mouth, pulling his head back against me like I’m both cradling it and silencing him.
His throat fills with muffled whimpering, telling me I did exactly what he wanted me to.
My other hand holds him against me so tightly, like he’s bound to me by something stronger than rope, unable to get away. Mine.
His mouth opens under my fingers. His teeth graze them, as if tempted to bite. I let my fingers in, which lets his whimpering out.
Then I drag my other hand down his body and find his dick, completely untouched, bouncing all over the place as I fuck him.
The second I touch it, his moans intensify.
I start stroking him. Driving him straight up the wall. It isn’t clear whether he’s losing his mind in a good or bad way. Only that he’s definitely fucking losing it.
My wet fingers slip from his mouth, down his chin, and over his chest. I arrive at his nipple and let the fingertip draw circles around it. Should I pinch it? Give him a taste of his own medicine?
He reaches behind him and grabs hold of my hips, pulling me against him harder with every thrust. Nothing is enough with this guy. He wants it harder. He wants it faster. He wants it rougher.
Then he wants it now. “I’m so close. Diego. Diego …”
I could go for hours, but I love riding that edge. “Me too,” I say right into his ear, low and hungry.
“Come inside me,” he begs. “Hold my mouth and come inside me. Hard. Don’t let go.”
I jerk him faster as my other hand leaves his nipple and slaps right back onto his mouth.
Just that action alone sends him over the edge, his whimpers turning into outright howls of joy.
He’s so loud, I press my hand even firmer over his mouth just to quiet him down, thinking the whole damned neighborhood will hear.
But when he comes, his howls go quiet, and I feel his whole body rock back against me like he’s falling apart.
Bearing the weight of him against me, still fucking him with all my strength, I suddenly can’t hold it back another second. I let go inside of him. All of me. Every bit I’ve got.
Then the world slowly comes back.
And Wyatt. “Diego,” he breathes as he recovers. We’re still on our knees on the bed, him in front of me, me inside him, his head lolled back on my shoulder. “I want … I want to … to …”
“What?”
He sighs happily, shakes his head, and says, “Thank you.”
I wonder what he’s thanking me for. Then I let out this funny sort of breath, maybe it’s a chuckle, and lean my cheek against the side of his head, his moan still in my ears, the feel of his lips under my fingers, and the look in his eye when he said: I’m unbreakable.