Chapter 12 #2
He ignores me. His mouth eases away just enough to make me curse, his tongue dragging a wet stripe back over my perineum before dipping lower again to circle my hole without quite touching it. I whimper, actually whimper, and feel his smile against my skin.
By the time he finally presses a slick finger inside me, I'm already trembling, my cock leaking onto my stomach, pre-cum pooling in the groove of my hip.
The intrusion is slow, careful, his finger sliding in to the first knuckle, then pausing.
I clench around him instinctively, and he stills, his other hand stroking my thigh in long, soothing sweeps.
"Mark."
"I know." His voice is rougher now, the control fraying at the edges. He pushes deeper, crooking his finger, searching...
White sparks burst behind my eyelids when he finds my prostate. My hips buck, a moan tearing from my chest, and he does it again, pressing against that spot with deliberate, devastating precision.
The second finger follows eventually, slow enough to make me swear, the stretch burning for a moment before pleasure chases it away.
I'm full now, fuller than before, and the ache of it settles deep in my gut.
He scissors his fingers gently, opening me up, murmuring praise against my skin, steady and reassuring, words I barely hear over the rush of blood in my ears.
"That's it," he breathes, his lips brushing my thigh. "Open up for me."
I find myself relaxing into it despite every instinct urging me to rush, my body yielding to his careful persistence. The burn fades, replaced by a deep, thrumming need that makes my cock twitch and leak.
"More," I hear myself say, voice raw and wrecked. "Please."
"Greedy." But there's no reproach in it, only warmth, satisfaction.
"Your fault." The words come out broken, half-moan.
His laugh is low and warm, vibrating against my skin.
He adds a third finger, and this time the stretch is sharper, my body resisting for a heartbeat before surrendering.
He works me open with the same agonising patience, thrusting slow and deep, curling his fingers against that spot inside me until I'm gasping, my hips rocking back onto his hand of their own accord.
He takes his time again, making me feel every second of it, every touch, every careful movement, every brush of his knuckles against my rim.
My pulse races, my entire body wound tight with anticipation, every nerve ending alight.
Sweat beads on my chest, my stomach clenching and releasing with each wave of pleasure.
"You're doing so well," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, stripped bare. "Taking me so fucking well."
I whimper, my hips grinding down onto his fingers, chasing the fullness, the pressure. "Need you. Need your cock."
The words hang in the air between us, raw and desperate.
He groans, the sound guttural, and then he’s standing, reaching for a condom and the lube on the nightstand.
I watch as he rolls it on and slicks himself, his movements jerky, his control fraying.
When he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between my legs, I wrap them around his waist, my heels digging into the small of his back.
“You sure?” he asks, his voice strained.
I nod, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Fuck me, Mark. Please.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. The head of his cock presses against my entrance, thick and insistent.
I bear down, my breath stuttering as he pushes in, slow and steady.
The stretch is intense, bordering on painful, but the way Mark’s watching me, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters, keeps me grounded.
“Breathe,” he reminds me, his voice tight. “Just breathe, Philip.”
I do. In, out. In, out. And then he’s past the ring of muscle, sliding deeper, filling me in a way I’ve never felt before. My head falls back, a broken moan spilling from my lips.
“Fuck! You’re huge—”
He stills, his hands bracing on either side of my head. “You good?”
I nod, my fingers digging into his biceps. “Yeah. Yeah, just… give me a second.”
He waits, his cock pulsing inside me, his breath hot against my neck. Then he starts to move, slow, shallow thrusts that have me seeing stars. Every drag of his cock against my prostate sends white-hot pleasure coursing through me, my own cock leaking steadily, desperate for touch.
“Touch me,” I beg, my voice a whine. “Please, touch me.”
Mark’s hand wraps around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure coiling tight in my gut, my balls drawing up.
“I’m going to come,” I gasp, my nails raking down his back. “Fuck, I’m—”
“Do it,” he growls, his hips snapping harder, deeper. “Come for me, Philip. Now.”
His command sends me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me, my cock pulsing in his grip, ropes of cum painting my chest, my stomach. Mark groans, his thrusts turning erratic, and then he’s coming too, his cock buried deep as he fills me with heat.
We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths. Mark rolls to the side, pulling me with him, and for a moment we just lie there, skin damp, hearts hammering, the world narrowed to the heat of him beside me.
His hand is still on my hip, grounding and warm, but I feel the slight shift in him, the careful tension of a man remembering practicalities after losing himself completely.
I lift my head. “Let me.”
Mark’s eyes flick to mine, something soft and startled moving through them before he nods.
I reach between us, careful as I roll the condom off him, tying it off before setting it aside. It should feel awkward. Clinical, maybe. Instead, it feels strangely tender, this small, quiet act of looking after him when my body is still trembling from what he’s done to me.
Mark watches me the whole time, his expression unguarded in a way that makes my chest ache.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The only sounds are our breathing, the distant crash of waves against the shore, the occasional creak of the house settling. Mark’s fingers trace idle patterns on my hip, his touch grounding, real.
I turn my head, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. His skin is salty, damp with sweat, and I breathe him in, memorising the scent of him, the feel of him. The weight of what just happened settles over me, heavy and sweet.
Mark shifts and meets my gaze. His ice-blue eyes are soft in the dim light, his expression open in a way that feels almost more intimate than everything we just did. “You okay?”
I nod, my throat tight. “Yeah. More than okay.”
He smiles, slow and easy, and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Good.”
We lie there for a while longer, the silence comfortable, the air between us charged with something I don’t have a name for. Mark’s hand finds mine, his fingers lacing through mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. It’s such a small thing. Such a simple thing. But it feels like a promise.
And for now, that’s enough.