8. Eight #2
"Present," he said, voice rough. He tossed it onto the bed.
"You're going to fuck yourself on it while I watch.
I want the full show. Every moan. Every inch.
You're going to come on that cock like it's mine, and you're not going to touch your own dick until I say so.
Understand?" He tossed me a small bottle of lube.
I licked my swollen lips, tasting him. "Aye. Sir."
Aleksi dropped back into the armchair, legs spread, still half-hard cock out of his trousers. He watched me rise on shaky legs and crawl onto the bed.
The dildo was cool and heavy in my hand. I slicked it slowly, holding his eyes, and pressed the head against my entrance and let him watch me take the first inch with my mouth open and my head dropping back.
Aleksi's hand tightened on the arm of the chair.
I worked it deeper, finding the right angle, and moaned, eyes rolling back. I didn't even have the decency to pretend any more, even if I'd wanted to. The stretch was good. The weight of his stare was good. Him, though. Him watching was the problem.
I worked the dildo in slow rolls of my hips and watched his face.
He looked undone. Not from the sex.
"Slow," he said. "I want to remember every second of this."
He lasted maybe thirty seconds in the armchair. The mattress dipped, and then he was beside me, and his thumb found my slit and kept returning to it, stealing pre-cum, tasting it off his fingers each time. His eyes were wild.
"Enough," he growled.
He pulled the dildo out of me in one smooth motion, leaving me clenching around nothing. I whimpered. Before I could protest, Aleksi shoved his trousers and briefs down his thighs, freeing his cock. It slapped against his stomach, already leaking.
He climbed onto the bed and pushed my legs wider with rough hands. Then he lowered himself on top of me, chest to chest, and the weight of him drove the air out of my lungs.
The whole length of him pressed against the whole length of me, his heart going as hard as mine, his breath ragged against my throat. I'd planned for want. I hadn't planned for this.
"Like this," he muttered, half to himself. He gripped both our shafts in one big hand, pressing us together, and his breath caught. "I want — I need to feel you."
It was clumsy at first. His first thrusts were uncertain, almost tentative. I could feel every ridge of him against me, every pulse. The heat of his palm, his cock dragging against mine, the slick where our pre-cum had already mixed.
"Fuck—" He groaned, hips jerking as he found a better angle. "Why is it — you're so —"
He couldn't get there. He kept starting sentences he couldn't finish, and I understood that. I was doing the same.
He started moving faster. The drag grew wetter, filthier.
He ground down hard, then long slow pulls that made the heads of our cocks catch and rub together, and I moaned.
Aleksi was panting into my neck, his face buried there, open-mouthed against my skin, not kissing, just breathing, needing somewhere to put his face.
"Never felt —" He broke off. "Fin. I've never — it's never — fuck —"
I pulled him down harder against me, and he groaned and started moving in earnest.
"Aleksi — I'm gonna —"
"Fuck, yes," he said against my throat, and his voice had nothing of the order left in it. "Give it to me."
The command tipped me over. I cried out, body seizing as I came hard between us. Thick ropes of cum pulsed from my cock, painting both our stomachs and his fist. My hole clenched uselessly, still aching from the dildo. I shook through it, his name in my mouth.
Aleksi didn't stop. He kept rutting through my orgasm, using my release as lube. My cum made everything slick and obscene, the wet sounds louder now as he jerked us together with his cum-covered hand.
"Fuck, that's perfect," he groaned, eyes fixed on the mess I'd made. "So much cum… all for me."
He let go of my spent cock and wrapped his fist only around himself, stroking fast and rough with my cum as lube. The sight of him using me like that, jerking his thick cock with my release, had me twitching again already.
Aleksi rose up on his knees, straddling my chest, stroking himself hard.
"Open your mouth. Tongue out."
I opened my mouth.
He came with a guttural roar, painting my face in heavy, hot stripes. Cum landed across my cheek, my lips, my tongue, even streaking into my red hair. He milked every drop, smearing the head of his cock over my face.
When he finally finished, Aleksi stared down at me.
He ran two fingers through the mess on my cheek and pushed them into my mouth. I sucked them clean while he watched.
Aleksi stayed braced above me, chest heaving, his spent cock still twitching against my stomach. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked down at the mess he'd made.
The haze drained from his expression, replaced by something colder. Sharper. His jaw tightened.
He recoiled.
"Get out."
Aleksi rolled off me and stood in one abrupt motion, yanking his trousers back up. His hands were shaking as he fastened them. He didn't look at me.
"I said get the fuck out of my room, Fin. Now."
My stomach dropped. I'd known better than this. I'd known from the first day exactly what he was, and I'd done it anyway, and now I was sitting in the proof of it, naked, with his cum on my face, while he looked at the wall.
I scoffed. "That's it? Ye fuck my throat, watch me ride a cock for ye, rub yer dick all over me until we both come, paint my face, and now ye're kicking me out?"
Aleksi's shoulders stiffened. He turned his back to me, grabbing the half-empty whiskey glass from the nightstand and draining what was left.
"I don't need a fucking analysis. Leave."
I stood on unsteady legs, naked, covered in his cum, and stared at the rigid line of his back. The rage felt cleaner than the want ever had.
"You're a coward, Aleksi."
He went very still.
"A fucking coward," I repeated, louder. "Forty years old and ye finally touch a man—finally let yerself have what ye've clearly been starving for—and the second ye come down ye cannae even look at me. Pathetic."
I snatched my clothes off the floor, not bothering to clean myself up. Let him see his mess as I walked out. I dressed fast and sloppily.
Aleksi didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there, knuckles white around the empty glass.
I paused at the door, one hand on the frame.
"Next time ye want to play with yer little redheaded toy, find the balls to keep me in the bed after ye come. Or dinnae fucking touch me at all."
I slammed the door behind me so hard the frame rattled.