3. Cyaire #2
“Cum for me, Blue,” he growls, his voice rough with want. His rhythm picks up, fucking me harder, more insistent. “Let me feel you squeeze my dick.”
I do. I let go. My body tenses as pleasure crashes over me in waves.
My dick jumps in his hand. My release paints our stomachs and chests with thick, white ropes.
He follows me over the edge a second later, buried deep inside me, his body tenses, his dick pulses and fills the condom with his release.
The aftershocks leave us both trembling, our bodies slick with sweat and cum, our breaths coming in desperate gasps.
He collapses on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, and I wrap my arms around him, holding him close.
His heart hammers against my chest, the rhythm steady and sure, matched by the rise and fall of his breath against my neck.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
The only sound in the room is our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the relentless noise of the New York night.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His fingers brush my cheek, his touch gentle. My heart races in response. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice soft, his eyes searching mine. “I’m not nearly done with you yet.”
I want to. God, I want to. The weight of tomorrow presses down on me, heavy and suffocating, the life I’m about to walk away from, the life I’m about to build.
The way this feels like a dream I’ll wake up from.
The way my parents would look at me if they knew, if they saw me like this, lost in the arms of a man who makes me feel alive in a way I’ve never allowed myself to be.
Right now, in this moment, none of that matters.
Right now, all that matters is the way his body feels against mine, the way his breath catches when I roll my hips, the way he holds me against him, like I’m already his.
I nod, my throat tight, my voice barely a whisper. “Until morning.”
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push. Just nods, his fingers trace the line of my jaw, his thumb brushes over my bottom lip. “Until the sun comes up.”
Then he kisses me again, slow and deep. His touch tender, almost worshipful, and I let myself melt into it, let myself pretend, just for a little while, that this could be more than just one night. That I could have this. That I could have him.
He rolls me onto my side, his body curling around mine, his dick already hardening again against my thigh.
His fingers find my hole, used and still slick with lube.
He discards the old condom and sheathes himself in another, then he pushes inside me with a slow, deliberate stretch.
Lifting my leg over his, opening me up for him, he wraps his hand around my dick, and I’m hard instantly.
I arch into him, my body aches with need, my breath comes in sharp pants as he fucks me slow and deep, his hips rolling against mine in a rhythm that feels like a promise.
“I can’t get enough of you. I want your ass all night,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice rough with want, his breath hot against my skin.
“Yes,” I gasp, reaching back to grab his ass, pulling him closer. “I need you.”
He groans, his hips snap against mine, his dick hits my spot and I cry out and beg to him or whoever will listen for this to never end.
“Fuck, Blue. You feel so good,” he says, planting kisses down my neck and over my shoulder.
I whimper, every muscle straining with the effort of holding back, my dick throbs in his hand. “Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice breaking. “Please, don’t stop.”
“Never,” he growls.
He keeps going, his hips piston against mine, his fingers grip my dick hard, working me over in time with his thrusts, as he fills me, stretches me, ruins me.
The pleasure builds, coiling tight in my gut, my balls draw up against my body.
I climb higher, delirious with pleasure, my body tightening with every thrust, every stroke of his hand.
“I’m gonna—” I gasp, my head falling back against his chest, my back arching. “I’m gonna cum again.”
“Do it,” he growls, his voice rough. His hips grind against mine. “Cum for me, Blue. Give it to me.”
Pleasure crashes over me in waves, cum shoots across the bed, spilling over his fist, making a mess I couldn’t care less about.
He follows me moments later. I shake in his arms, completely spent as he slides out of me, leaving me bereft.
He tosses the condom and lays down beside me, turning me to face him, pulling me into his arms once more.
We lie like that for a long while, our bodies tangled together, our hearts hammering against each other’s chests.
We fuck until the first light of dawn creeps through the curtains, painting the room in shades of gold and pink.
Eventually, he passes out beside me, exhausted.
I know I should go. I know this is over, but I can’t bring myself to move, not yet.
His arms are still wrapped around me, his breath warm against my neck, his fingers trace idle patterns on my skin even as he sleeps, and I want to bask in this feeling a little longer.
Another hour passes and I slip out of his arms, leaving him asleep in his bed.
His face is relaxed in sleep, his lips slightly parted, his dark lashes fanned out against his cheeks.
I want to wake him. I want to tell him my name, ask him his, but I know that wasn’t what this was.
It takes a herculean amount of effort, but I leave.
I don’t look back. I don’t leave a note.
I just walk away, leaving behind the man who made me feel, for one perfect night, like I was more.
Like I was real.