16. Jamie #3
“Shh.” His fingers press gently against my lips, silencing me.
“Let me take care of you.” There’s no room for argument in his tone, no space for anything but surrender.
His eyes lock onto mine, dark and endless, as he drizzles lube onto his fingers.
“I’m not going to miss out on an opportunity to work you open for me, baby.
” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You’re at my mercy, Jamie. ”
Just like that, I am.
His touch is maddening. One finger first, pressing in slow and deep, stretching me with an infuriating patience.
My hips lift off the bed, my body tries to take more even as he holds me still.
My breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, my fingers claw at the sheets beneath me.
He adds a second, then a third, his movements deliberate, his fingers curl at just the right point to drag against my prostate, and my vision whites out at the edges.
Over and over, he hits it, relentless, until I’m a trembling, desperate mess, sweat slicks my skin, tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I fight to hold back the orgasm threatening to rip through me.
“Blue—” His name breaks from me like a prayer, my voice raw. “Blue, please—”
Cyaire doesn’t stop. His fingers twist inside me, his thumb presses against the sensitive skin behind my balls, and my body clenches around him, my dick leaks against my stomach, my entire world narrows down to the way he touches me, the way he ruins me.
“My big, strong hockey player,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a dark, velvety whisper. “Begging to be fucked.” His fingers drag out of me slowly, leaving me empty and aching, and I whimper at the loss. “I love you like this.”
The word, love, falls from his lips like it’s nothing, like it’s as easy as breathing.
Maybe for him, it is. Maybe he’s always been this effortless with his emotions, this unguarded.
Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s the way I’m laid out beneath him, broken open and desperate, that makes him say it.
“Yes—” I nod frantically, my body coiled tight, my need so sharp it’s painful. I don’t care how pathetic I look, how needy I sound. All that matters is him, the way he looks at me, the way his length is thick and heavy against my thigh, the way he’s about to—
“Pull your knees up,” he orders, his voice rough. “Spread yourself wide for me, baby.”
I do it without hesitation. My muscles tremble as I drag my knees up to my chest, opening myself completely for him. The position leaves me exposed, vulnerable, but I don’t care. I want him to see me. I want him to take me.
Cyaire’s gaze locks onto where I’m spread open for him, his dick already weeping at the tip. He shifts, the head of him notches against my entrance, and for a single, suspended moment, there’s nothing but the press of him there, the promise of what’s coming. Then—
One sharp thrust of his hips, and he’s inside me.
Deep. So deep I can feel him in my chest, my throat, my soul.
The stretch burns, the fullness overwhelming, but it’s perfect, he’s perfect, and I cry out, my back arching off the bed as my body struggles to adjust to the sheer size of him.
Cyaire groans above me, his hands grip my thighs, his fingers dig into my skin as he holds himself still, giving me a second to breathe.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his forehead drops to mine, his lips brush against my temple. “Jamie—”
“Please, Blue,” the word fractures from my throat, barely more than a broken whisper, but it’s all I can manage before Cyaire drags himself back until just the thick head of his dick stretches me, teasing at my entrance, then slams home with a force that steals my breath.
My fingers claw at the sheets, my body arches into the impact.
I don’t want gentle. I don’t want careful.
“Fuck me,” I groan, the words torn from me as he sets a rhythm that’s nothing short of brutal.
His hips roll with each thrust, grinding against me.
My vision blurs, my dick leaks like a fountain against my stomach.
The bed creaks beneath us, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, wet and obscene, and I’ve never heard anything more perfect.
Cyaire’s voice is a ragged chant above me, “I’m yours.
I’m yours. I’m. . .” Each word punctuated by the sharp snap of his hips, his dick hits that spot inside me that curls my toes.
My back bows off the mattress. “Yours, Jamie.” The words are a vow, a confession, a prayer, something sacred and desperate all at once.
He’s not just fucking me. He’s claiming me, giving me exactly what I want.
I try to speak, to tell him, anything, but my throat is too tight, my mind too splintered by the way he’s wrecking me.
All that escapes are broken moans, my body trembles as he pulls me apart and stitches me back together with every punishing stroke.
His hands grip my thighs, his fingers bruising, anchoring me as he drives into me like a man possessed.
The air between us is thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the musk of us mingling until I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.
Then he shifts, just a slight adjustment of his hips, and. . .fuck! The angle changes, and suddenly he’s hammering my prostate with every thrust, the pleasure so intense it’s almost violent. My dick jerks, precum spills over my fingers as I stroke myself.
“Yes! Fuck, yes—” The words are a litany, a plea, a surrender. Everything beyond him falls out of focus, my body coils so tight I’m half-convinced I might actually black out from the overload. It’s too much. It’s everything, and I never want it to stop.
Cyaire’s forehead drops to my shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fucks me through the overwhelming pleasure, his voice rough with emotion. “Whatever happens, please, know I’m yours.”
The words are raw, unguarded, the kind of honesty that terrifies me because I know he means them. Not just in this moment, not just like this, always. The thought of it, the weight of it, nearly undoes me.
“I know, Blue,” I manage, my voice cracking.
“God, I know.” My fingers stroke the back of his neck as he reaches between us, his hand wraps around my dick with a possessive grip.
The first stroke is almost enough to send me over.
My body is there, teetering on the edge, my balls drawn up tight, my skin electric.
He pumps me in time with his thrusts, his thumb swipes over the slick head, and it’s over before I can even brace for it.