19. Awakening #3
The crack of it went off the walls. Flat and loud, and the sting came up through my palm after it, and my own breath caught.
His whole body jumped. "Oh fuck—!" His head snapped around, and his eyes found me, wide, trying to see all of it from that angle, and the print of my hand was already coming up red on him.
I looked up at him and waited.
GHOST
"That fine?" Caleb, on his knees behind me, half a whisper.
"I think I almost fucking came from that." My voice didn't sound like mine. "Fuck. Can you do that agai?—"
Crack.
Same cheek, already hot, so the second one landed on the first and doubled. Then his left hand got the other side, and my hips jerked into the wall, and I cursed into it. My cock was pinned between my stomach and the plaster and it jumped there with every hit.
My head had done twelve things at once every day of my life. Right then it was doing one thing. Every channel I had was pointed at my own ass and the man kneeling behind it, and the rest of the world had gone dark, and it was the best quiet I'd ever had.
His hand pressed flat on the small of my back, and I bent for him, ass pushed back, legs spread wider, and I heard him take one breath through his nose. I knew that breath. It was the one he took before he moved on a mat, and my whole body went tight waiting for what came after it.
Then his tongue was in my ass. Hot and wet, one long flat lick straight up the middle of me, and I stopped breathing.
Nobody had ever touched me there, me included until that morning, and now Caleb Rossi had his mouth on my hole, and my forehead hit the wall.
His hands spread me open and his tongue went in circles and then pushed, and my knees nearly went.
"Oh fuck yeah, that feels crazy, that feels—Caleb, eat my ass, Cale—" My hands had turned into fists on the wall.
Crack. Right cheek. My mouth shut on the name and my whole body shook, and he didn't stop. He ate me hard and loud, his stubble scraping the inside of my cheeks, and the sting of it went straight up into my cock. I was leaking onto the floor. I'd been in gunfights with a steadier pulse.
He stood and turned me around, and I was against the wall with my cock standing straight up between us, and my back was cold on the wall.
He grabbed the hoodie at the back of his neck and hauled it off in one drag, the shirt under it coming with it, and there he was.
All of him, wide and hard, the scar through his eyebrow and the dark eyes under it locked on me.
I worked the button of his jeans with my mouth on his chest, found his nipple with my tongue and dragged it across, and the sound he made went through the wall behind me. The jeans went down his thighs on their own weight, and there was nothing under them.
"On your knees, stealth op." His voice had dropped to the bottom of him. "Suck my cock."
I was down before the sentence ended.
I'd known since the first night that I liked being told. By him. The man they called Ghost, kneeling on a hard floor because a cook had told him to in that voice. I wanted to know how much more of that I could take.
I took him slow. My mouth over the head, wide, and down.
Heat and weight on my tongue, my jaw working for it.
I went down as far as a mouth goes and then further, where the throat opens, and there was no fight in me, there never had been, and I felt his cock slide down into it until my nose was at the base of him.
"Fuck." His hand came into my hair. "Look at you take it. You're built for this, Jake, you're—God, your fucking throat?—"
I moaned around him, deep, and his thighs went hard against my palms.
His hands came to the sides of my head, fingers spread over my ears, and he started to move.
Slow first. Then faster. He fucked my mouth with his hips, long strokes, nose to skin every time, and I knelt there with my eyes up and took every inch of him with nothing in me but want.
Spit ran down my chin. My eyes watered. My own cock ached between my thighs without a hand on it, and there wasn't one part of me that wanted him to stop.
He pulled out of me in one long slide and stood there with his cock wet and jumping. "Fuck, Jake! I need you now. Right now, or I'm going to cum down your throat and I don't want—not yet, I want?—"
I got up. He caught my hand and walked me backward to the bed.
I climbed onto the edge of the mattress on hands and knees and pushed my ass up and back toward him, forearms down, spine bent low in the middle.
Then I looked back over my shoulder.
Every channel in my head fired at once and every one of them was screaming something different.
That I was on all fours. That I was wide open.
That the man I'd killed for was standing at the foot of the bed looking at my hole.
That I had never in my life felt this exposed and had never once been this hard.
The stealth op from the most dangerous club in Nevada, ass in the air, looking back at the cook who was about to fuck him stupid.
My ears burned. My cock dripped onto the sheet.
Both of his hands landed on my ass at the same time.
"Jake." He breathed it out. "Your ass. Woah?—"
"You like that? Show me how much you li—oh fuck!" My head snapped up.
He'd gone in with his tongue again before I got the sentence out, straight in, his face buried in me, wet and deep. My arms shook. My cock hung under me leaking onto the sheet in a thread, and I pushed back into his face and didn't care what I looked like doing it.
"Caleb." I got it out. "Caleb. I need to try. Please. Put it in me."
He stood, and his mouth and his chin were wet.
"First drawer." I tipped my head at the nightstand. "My side."
He pulled the drawer and looked in it. The corner of his mouth went. "Irish hook you up with this too?"
"Just put your dick in me, Caleb." My forehead went down onto my arms. "I need to know how it feels."
I heard the cap, and I looked back again, because I couldn't not, and watched him slick himself, his fist sliding up his own cock and the lube shining on it in the light from the window. Then he squeezed more onto his fingers.
Two of them came against my hole and pressed.
The lube was cold. His fingers were thick and warm and they went in slow, one first, then both, and the cold and the heat hit at the same time and the groan that came out of me came from somewhere under my gut.
He worked them in me, turning, and my legs shook, and I pushed back onto them and he let me.
Then the fingers left, and something wider pressed where they'd been.
He went slow. I felt him hold there with the head of his cock against me, and I felt him decide to be careful even though I'd told him not to, and my throat went tight for a second.
Irish had told me four things at a corner table with Nolan pretending not to listen.
Breathe. Push out, like you're pushing him out.
Don't clench. You'll think it's too much for about five seconds, and then it isn't.
I breathed. I pushed out.
The head went in.
The burn of it ran through my whole body and what came out of me wasn't a word.
Then I did what Irish told me and pushed back toward him instead of away, and he slid into me, an inch, another, and I understood the fifth thing Irish hadn't told me, which was that nothing in the world felt like it.
My mouth had taken him a hundred times. This was my mouth with every nerve I owned turned all the way up.
Full, from my hole up through my gut, until there was no room in me for anything but him.
I pushed back further. His hips met my ass.
In me to the base, his balls against me, and I hung there on my forearms with my mouth open and no sound coming out. He was inside me. All of him.
"Jake." His voice came down from above me, wrecked, and his thumb pressed into the small of my back. "Talk to me. You good? Tell me you're?—"
"Don't you fucking stop." It came out of me into the sheet.
He laughed, one breath, and pulled back and pushed in again.
Slow. The whole length of him dragging out and going back, and by the third stroke the burn had turned into something that made my eyes roll.
"That's it." Low, steady, the words landing on the back of my neck.
"Your hole takes my cock as good as your throat does. Better."
"Harder." I pushed back onto him.
Crack. His hand across my ass, and he drove into me on the same beat, and I shouted into the mattress.
"Say please." His hand stayed where it had landed, hot.
"Please!" It tore out of me.
He gave it to me. Faster, his hips slapping into my ass with a sound that filled the room, his fingers digging into me hard enough to hold me where he wanted me.
I took him the same way I'd taken him with my throat, pushing back to meet every stroke, making sounds I'd never heard come out of a man.
Sweat ran down my back. The sheet under my face was wet with my own spit.
My cock swung under me, fully hard and untouched, leaking onto his sheet without a finger on it.
He pulled out.
Slow, the whole length of him sliding out of me, and the emptiness of it made me groan louder than the fucking had. His hands turned me. Onto my back on the edge of the bed, and my leg was already up, knee pulled high and my hand hooked behind it, before he'd finished turning me.
"Please." I didn't recognize the voice. "Please, Caleb, get back in me, please?—"
He lined up and pushed, and he didn't stop.