24. The Joy of Dick
THE JOY OF DICK
Asher
I’m stalling. And I’m not sure why.
Maybe it’s because Flip would kill me if he knew I’d deflowered his fiancée’s brother’s ass.
Maybe it’s because I’ve never been anyone’s first time.
Maybe—and this is not my favorite theory—maybe I’m not sure I really deserve the way Mark is looking at me. Like I’m a superhero. I’m basically Iron Man right now. Just ask my dick.
Mark weaves his fingers into my hair and tugs. “St. James,” he says against my mouth. He kisses me so hard that I think that’s the end of the sentence. But then he adds, “Fuck me now. Pound me right into the bed.”
In answer, I let out a horny groan and hump his thigh. Because I’m eloquent like that.
“You’re wasting time,” he whispers. “And it’s not like we have lots of it.”
Of course he’s right. This perfect moment won’t last. They never do. I untangle myself from Mark and reach for the condoms. “You’re sure about this?”
“Deathly.”
I get busy suiting up. And when I turn back to the bed, kneeling between Mark’s thighs, he tucks his hands behind his head, lifts his chin, and gives me a look that says what are you waiting for?
God, Mark Banks could break me. He knows what he wants, which is sexy as hell. And he’s not afraid to ask for it.
He isn’t the boring man I mistook him for a few months ago.
Hell, he’s not who I thought he was yesterday morning when we got on that plane to Florida.
He’s so much more, and if he floored me in all the best ways yesterday, that’s nothing compared to how he’s affecting me now.
I’m utterly stunned to discover who he is and what he wants.
It’s a big fucking deal to be someone’s first.
That’s why I was stalling. For him, but truly, for me.
I want to give him something he’s never felt before. The most intense pleasure ever. I want to make this so out-of-this-world for him that he never regrets the night I walked into his room when he was watching that show.
And hell yes, I can fucking do that.
Iron Man didn’t shirk away from his mission. I won’t lose sight of mine?making this moment worth it for him.
In every single way.
Including one really fucking important way.
Words.
“Just tell me if it hurts. Tell me if you want to stop,” I say, since that’s the stark reality of sex. Not everyone likes it every way.
“I will, but . . .” His blue irises flames at me as he reaches for the lube, squirts some on his hand, and then coats my covered cock. “. . . I can’t do that till you’re in me. So just get in me,” he rasps out. “Or do I have to beg?”
My entire body shudders, a wave of pleasure jolting through me. I can’t remember the last time I ever felt this . . . restless about sex.
But that’s the wrong word entirely.
I’ve never been this thrilled .
My body buzzes with excitement as I rub the head of my cock against his entrance, my breath staggering past my lips the second I make contact.
A tight gasp comes from him. He pushes up on his elbows, his eyes wild as he watches my face, then as his gaze drifts down to where we connect.
His fearlessness spurs me on.
I grip his knee, pushing his right leg up, making this easier for him as I breach him.
“Oh fuck,” he grunts tightly, his breath hitching.
I know what he’s feeling. The first stirring of pain that’s not quite pleasure yet. “You good?”
Mark won’t want me to ask if it hurts. He probably won’t care anyway if it does. He’ll make it through those inevitable seconds of pain that always ebb away till everything feels just right.
That’s where I want to get him.
“I’m good,” he mutters. This guy knows his body, knows his needs, and he reaches for my arms, locking his hands tight around my biceps.
I sink in deeper, pleasure twisting through me as his gorgeous body hugs my cock.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” I rasp out since I can’t not tell him. Can’t not share.
He feels so fucking good, it’s mind-blowing. The tightness, the heat. Most of all, the way he trembles under me.
“More,” he urges, a husky, needy plea.
I dip my face, and capture his lips with a hard, wet kiss as I ease in all the way.
“You got me?” I ask as I pull back, meet his eyes.
He just nods a few times, lips parted, breath hot. His grip on my arms is almost too rigid, like he’s holding on.
In that space between pleasure and pain.
And so, I give him what he needs. My man is such a sucker for kissing. As I let him adjust to all these brand-new sensations in his body, I kiss him again. Hungry, greedy kisses that he deserves, and with each press of my lips, he relaxes under me. Welcomes me inside.
His hands relent their death grip on my arms. Then he sinks back down, his head pushing into the pillow.
His eyes pin mine.
“Fuck me hard now,” he says, and I unleash a carnal growl.
Mark Banks isn’t intimidated by a single thing between the sheets, and I am so into him.
“Gonna make it so good for you,” I tell him as I start to move, pumping my hips.
“Good for us ,” he corrects.
He has no idea how good he is for me. But then, I didn’t know that he’d be good for me either, and I’m discovering so many things as I introduce Mark Banks to the joys of dick for the first time.
Top amongst those? I thought I was the teacher and he was the student, but that dynamic fell by the wayside some time ago.
We’re just two men in bed. Two lovers who want to make each other feel incredible.
Experience is irrelevant right now when I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that all we both want is to experience each other like this.
Mark slides his hands up and down my chest, like he’s looking for a place to put them. At last he settles on my hips, anchoring them there.
And then I deliver exactly what he asked for. Because when a man tells you what he needs, you damn well ought to give it to him and give it good.
As I thrust, adrenaline spins higher in my cells, and I ask in a dirty growl, “You want it hard, Mark?”
“I do,” he grits out.
“You want me to pound you into the mattress?”
He pushes up again, his face meeting mine, inches away. “Nail me.”
“With so much fucking pleasure,” I say, and then I rise up between his thighs, push his knees to his chest and I pound the fuck out of the other best man.
We are nothing but groans and grunts.
The world narrows to the slap of flesh, the beads of sweat, the moans as we fuck.
It’s the thing I never expected to happen between us. But strange things do happen in Florida. Like this kind of sex. Wild, passionate, bold.
His eyes squeeze shut, and his mouth falls open as he reaches for his cock.
No way . “I’ll get you there,” I demand as I take over, wrapping a palm around his thick shaft, my hand flying. I give him everything he asked for.
Turns out it’s everything I want too.
The vein pulses in his neck, like an orgasm beacon. His features twist with that relentless press of delicious agony. He pushes up, wraps one strong hand around the back of my head, and crushes his lips to mine for a few delirious seconds before he lets go.
Then rasps out the sexiest words ever . . . “Fuck yes .”
He shoots all over my hand and his stomach. And my whole body overheats, my brain a static haze of bliss as I follow him there with a heady rush.
Panting, I fall onto his chest, his release smearing all over me. “Holy . . .”
I can’t even finish the thought.
And I’m not sure I should say what I’m starting to think: Was that as good for you as it was for me? Because you are the best adventure I’ve ever had in bed . . .
That wouldn’t even be post-orgasmic hyperbole.
It’s just the truth.
A few minutes later, we’re in the shower, cleaning off chlorine and climaxes.
I’m still not sure what to say, because too many thoughts are bumper cars in my head.
Does it hurt? Did you like it? I mean, I know you liked it, but did you like it as much as .
. . the other sex you’ve had? And are we still on for tomorrow night too ?
And, holy fuck, how did I not notice the first time we met how fucking sexy you are?
Or how much I’d relish being your first?
I keep that all to myself and try to focus on the safest way to ease any post-sex weirdness he might feel.
“So, sliding scale of hotness for fucking you,” I muse, as I run the soap over my chest one more time while he rinses his hair. “I’m going with ultra-hot.”
He just smiles, a little drowsily. “Sounds about right.”
I turn off the shower, and when we’ve dried off, I usher him back to my bed, pull up the comforter, and glance at the clock. It’s past midnight, and I’m too blissed out to do much more than yawn and plant a kiss on his shoulder.
“Hey, Banks,” I murmur.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
He tenses, and I run a hand down his arm. “Why is there a fifty percent chance of two people in any group of twenty-three having the same birthday?”
“You really want me to answer that now, St. James?”
“Mmm. I do,” I murmur. “I think it might help me sleep.”
“You sarcastic fucker.”
I drag him close, kiss the back of his neck and drift off.