Chapter 18
When I ripped open the condom wrapper, I could have sworn the entire floor heard it.
Evan was on his back in the center of the king bed, his legs bent at the knees, bare feet flat on the mattress. He watched me fumble, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You need help with that?”
“I’ve got it.” I pinched the tip and rolled the latex down my shaft.
I’d always been on the receiving end before. Now, with Evan watching me, his legs open, it struck me that this was happening, and my hands were shaking.
His phone was propped on the desk. I grabbed the lube, and the gel was shockingly cold on my fingers. When I touched Evan, his whole body went tense.
“Shit,” he gasped. “That’s freezing.”
“Sorry.” I rubbed the gel between my fingers, chasing the chill out, then tried again.
The first swipe made him flinch, but he didn’t pull away. I pushed one finger inside, and his breath left him in a long, controlled hiss.
The inside of him was warm and velvety, the muscle gripping my finger in a slow, rhythmic pulse. I worked it deeper, feeling him stretch around the knuckle. The thought of soon being inside him made my cock twitch against my thigh.
I added a second finger, and Evan’s eyes locked onto mine. He stared up at me, unblinking, his chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm. I curled my fingers and began to move them—slow at first, then building into a steady, pumping rhythm.
His eyes started to glaze. The sharp blue softened, went hazy at the edges, his pupils dilating until they nearly swallowed the iris. His mouth fell open a fraction, and his breath came in shorter bursts. I watched his focus dissolve, his gaze going distant even as it stayed fixed on my face.
I pushed deeper, angling upward, searching. My fingertips dragged along the soft inner wall until they hit something firm and swollen.
Evan’s entire body went rigid. His abs locked, his thighs clamped, his hands fisted the sheets so hard his knuckles went white. His eyes flew wide open, and his spine arched off the mattress. He looked like he’d been electrocuted, every nerve firing simultaneously, his mouth frozen in a silent O.
“There?” I asked, pressing again.
A strangled sound tore out of him. His whole body started shaking—a full, violent quake that traveled from his thighs up through his torso. His cock jumped against his stomach, leaking a thick stream of precum that pooled in the ridges of his abs.
I pressed again. Harder.
His eyes rolled back. His head dropped against the pillow, neck corded, and a guttural moan ripped from deep in his chest. His feet stamped against the mattress, his toes curling and uncurling in spastic bursts.
Holy shit. His prostate was wired directly to every pleasure center in his body. I’d never seen anyone react like this—this explosively, this completely. I jabbed my fingers against the spot again, and his hips bucked.
“FUCK!” His voice cracked, pitching high.
His eyes rolled forward, found me, then rolled back again as I pressed into his prostate over and over.
Each one sent another full-body shudder through him, another thick dollop of precum from his slit.
The sheets under his ass were soaked from sweat and lube.
I was mesmerized. I jabbed again, watching his thick thighs shake, watching his cock bob and leak, watching the great Evan Brock come undone on two fingers.
“Tommy—” His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His grip was crushing, his eyes wild and unfocused when they finally found mine.
“If you don’t quit fucking around and put your cock in me right now, I swear to God, I’m sneaking out of this hotel, finding a sex shop, and buying myself a fucking dildo. ”
I pulled my fingers out. The sound he made—a high, broken whimper—shot straight through me. His hole clenched around nothing, pink and swollen and glistening with lube. His hips chased my hand, his body already mourning the loss.
I grabbed the lube and slicked my cock, the latex slippery under my palm. My hands were still shaking, but for a different reason now. Anticipation had replaced nerves. I was going to be inside him. I was going to feel what my fingers just felt, but with every inch of my cock.
Evan grabbed behind his knees and pulled his legs up to his chest. His thighs pressed flat against his ribs, his knees near his ears, his ass tilted up and completely exposed. His hole twitched, still loose and wet from my fingers.
He stared up at me from between his raised legs, his chest heaving, his cock leaking a steady drip onto his stomach. “Put it in.” His voice was wrecked, raw, barely above a whisper. “I want to feel you.”
The head of my cock pressed against his entrance, and the heat was immediate—scorching even through the condom. I pushed forward.
Evan’s jaw dropped. His mouth opened wide, his eyes going huge, and a keening noise poured out of him—long and high and continuous, climbing in pitch as I sank deeper. His hands gripped the backs of his thighs hard enough to leave marks, and his hole stretched around my shaft.
I bottomed out. My hips pressed flush against his ass, and for one second, neither of us breathed.
Then I pulled back and thrust in.
“Oh God—” Evan’s voice shattered. “Oh, fuck, Tommy! Yes!”
I thrust again, and the angle put me right against that spot. His whole body jolted up the bed. I gripped his hips and started fucking him in earnest. Deep, steady strokes that made the headboard tap the wall with every thrust.
“Yeah, fuck! Right there.” Evan’s words were coming in bursts, punctuated by the slap of skin. His eyes locked onto mine, glassy and wild, and then his mouth twisted into that filthy grin I knew so well. “Look at you. Pretty boy fucking my big ass. Stretching me open with that pretty cock.”
The words were a punch to the gut. My hips snapped forward harder, and he groaned, his head dropping back. “Want it harder?”
His filthy grin grew wider. “I’m six three and two twenty. Fuck me like you mean it.”
The fear of being too much, of going too far, burned away. I was done being careful. I grabbed his hips, dug my fingers into the solid muscle, and drove forward hard. The sound of skin hitting skin cracked through the room.
Evan’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open on a sharp exhale. His hands flew to my forearms, gripping hard enough to bruise. “YES! Fuck—yes, just like that!”
A new rhythm took over, one I didn’t know I had in me.
The bed frame knocked against the wall in a steady rhythm, and Evan’s body bounced with each impact, his cock slapping against his stomach.
His thick toes curled on either side of my head, his calves framing my face.
I turned and bit the inside of his ankle, and he yelped, then laughed—breathless and wild.
“God, you’re so fucking pretty, Tommy. Pretty face, pretty cock splitting me open—I can feel every inch—”
I drove into him, finding an even more brutal rhythm that made the bed creak and his words dissolve into moans. The sight of his cock flushed dark, the head shining, precum pooling in his navel, was too much.
I wrapped my hand around his shaft, pulled up once, and Evan exploded.
There was no buildup. No warning.
“TOMMY!” His voice tore through the room, a scream that the entire floor absolutely heard.
His cock erupted in my fist, the first rope shooting straight up and hitting him across the face.
The second caught his hair, matting the dirty blond strands.
The third, fourth, fifth—I lost count—splattered against the headboard above him in heavy, wet impacts.
His hole clamped down on my cock in rhythmic, crushing pulses, and the pressure was intense enough that my vision whited out. I buried myself to the hilt and came, my hips stuttering, my fingers digging into his thigh hard enough to bruise.
“Oh, Evan!” I cried out as the orgasm tore through me in waves that started at the base of my spine and radiated outward until my arms gave out.
I collapsed forward onto his chest, my face pressing into the warm, cum-slick skin of his neck. Both of us continued to tremble, our orgasms rocking us nearly off the bed. I was almost certain that we were egging each other on in a game of who could have the most powerful nut.
When the last wave of euphoria subsided, his legs dropped, his thighs falling heavy on either side of my hips. His arms came around me immediately, wrapping tight across my back, and pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
We lay there, breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other through the thin wall of our ribs. His fingers traced slow, aimless patterns on my spine. His lips pressed against my temple, lingering there, and I felt his breath stutter against my skin.
The room smelled of sweat and sex and lube. The phone on the desk was still recording, its tiny red light blinking steadily in my peripheral vision. Neither of us went to turn it off.
After a long time—minutes, maybe longer—Evan’s chest rumbled under my ear. His voice was hoarse, barely there. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
I turned my face into his neck and breathed him in. His pulse was slowing under my lips, the rapid hammering easing into something steady and calm. “Yeah,” I said. “Me neither.”
His arms tightened around me. His thumb found the knob of my spine at the base of my neck and pressed into it, a firm, grounding touch. I melted into him, boneless and wrecked and so stupidly, recklessly happy that it scared me.
The phone kept recording. The air conditioner hummed. Somewhere down the hall, someone’s TV was playing a late-night talk show, the muffled laughter bleeding through the walls.
Evan pressed his mouth to my temple again. “Thank you,” he murmured.
The studio was quiet except for the rasp of charcoal against paper, a sound that had been the rhythm of my week. I added the final touch, a shadow beneath my own jawline.