Chapter 45 #3
My eyes go wide, lust-filled, and I nod, breath hitching.
He tightens his grip, feeling my throat work against his palm, my cock swelling even harder between us.
I thrust down onto him faster, chasing the heat, feeling my face flush, my eyes glaze.
"Fuck, baby," I gasp between breaths, hands gripping his waist, riding him with desperate force. "Harder. Choke me harder."
He squeezes, cutting off my air, and I buck above him, fucking myself on his cock with intensity that makes my vision blur.
The power of it rushes through me, him holding me like this, controlling my breath while I take him, his cock hitting that spot inside me that makes me shake.
"That's it, baby, you don’t need to breathe, just ride me," he growls, voice low and rough.
I nod as much as I can, eyes rolling back, and he feels me swell, feels me getting close.
He loosens his grip enough to let me gasp, and I suck in air greedily, groaning, "Don't fucking stop.
" He tightens again, thrusting up hard, his other hand working my cock, the pressure building, building, until I'm right there, right on the edge.
I reach up, wrap my hand around his on my throat, pressing harder, and I think I'm going to come like this, choking, full of his cock.
But then he growls, and his hands are on my hips, lifting me off him, flipping me onto my back, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand while he lines himself up with the other. He rasps, voice wrecked, my throat still red from his hand. "Need to fuck you harder, Rhys. That okay?"
"Yes," I gasp, spreading my legs wider, desperate. "Fuck yes. Make me scream." He slams into me in one thrust, no warning, no patience left. I cry out, head falling back, the stretch and burn sudden and overwhelming from how deep I feel him in this position.
He doesn't pause, just starts pounding into me, hard and deep, the bed creaking beneath us, his grip on my wrists tight enough to hurt.
"Is this what you wanted?" he growls, snapping his hips, driving into me with so much strength that my eyes water.
"You want me to fuck you wide open? Make you take my cock? "
"Yes," I cry, tears spilling down my face from how much I feel, too intense, nails pressing into his back wherever I can reach.
"Yes, yes, yes, fuck, split me in two." I moan in rhythm with the headboard scraping.
He groans, shifting his angle, hitting that spot inside me that makes me see stars.
"I got you, baby," he rasps. "So tight and hot around me.
You can let go for me." He flips me again, so my ass is up, and presses my face hard into the pillow.
He presses into me with relentless pumps in and out, in and out, until all I can feel is Jamie.
I still beg for more. He releases me, picks me up against him so my back is on his chest, and reaches between us, wrapping his hand around me, stroking rough and perfect in time with his thrusts.
"Come for me," he demands. "Let me feel you squeeze around me when you come. "
When I come, it's with his name broken on my lips, his cock hitting my prostate so intensely over and over again, that my vision goes white.
I spill over his fist, shaking, my ass clenching around him, and he follows right after, groaning, burying his face in my neck, emptying himself inside me in thick, hot pulses.
He doesn't pull away. He stays, softening, kissing the sweat from my skin, hand stroking my hair. I feel wrecked and safe and seen, all at once, his cum leaking out of me, marking me as his. "Jamie," I whisper, voice raw and full.
He smiles against my shoulder, holding me closer than ever. "I'm right here. I got you." And for the first time, I believe it. I close my eyes and let myself rest, tangled up with him, full of him, owned by him.
Afterward we lie in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon that has gone somewhere neither of us planned. His arm around me. My head on his shoulder. The record long finished, the room golden with late afternoon light. He traces the tattoos on my arm and chest and knuckles without thinking about it.
"This one," I say. The spaceship. "My brother has the same one on his arm. We got them after Eldridge." I trace the edge of it. "So I'd have him with me." So I wouldn’t ever feel alone again.
He looks at it for a moment. "That's not cheesy," he says. Like he knows I was about to say it.
"Little bit cheesy."
"It's not." He says it with a certainty that closes the conversation. "You're close with him."
"He's my person. Before Blake. Always my person." I pause. "Do you have one?"
"One what?"
"Person."
He considers it for a moment, which I appreciate. He always answers all of my questions with thoughtfulness. "Kowalski, maybe. Closest thing."
"That tracks." I look up at him longingly. "You know you're allowed more than one."
His hand moves at my shoulder. "I know," he says. “But you’re something entirely different.”
The room feels suspended after everything we said, our words still hanging in the air like static. My chest aches in a good way, like I'm breathing again for the first time in years.