22. Dalton #2
“With your cock,” he said, like I was some kind of simpleton. “Just.” He sighed. “Do it.”
Someone had taught him, or he’d figured out along the way, that rough was how it was done. I wanted to teach him otherwise, but perhaps that moment was not the time.
“Okay,” I said, mostly breathing in on the word, so it came out tinny and small. Like I didn’t want to do it. Like I was afraid.
I wasn’t. I just wanted this to be good for him.
Taking my cock in my hand, I rose up a little and snubbed the head against his hole. I was leaking pre-cum, but not enough to make the way easy. Still, any hesitation on my part might come across as a kind of rejection. And in no way was this that.
He shifted on the bed, making the metal frame squeak, his thigh brushing my thigh. “Dalton.” His voice was so low, I felt it vibrating inside me. Like it was coaxing me.
I pushed into him. I was no virgin, so I knew you had to push and pause, push and pause. Especially without lube. Especially with the spit drying.
The spit had already dried. I could sense none of it now, but my cock was leading the way, happy to be inside his warm body. Inside that tightness.
When I was all the way inside, sheathed, cock to ass, he moved again. It was as though he had me on a tether, topping from below, and my body came alive.
He could pull me inside his body, never to come out, and I wouldn’t complain. Curling my hips, I pushed in farther still, because I knew it was my responsibility to make sure this would be an amazing fuck.
Thank God for pre-cum, or I would have been tearing him from the inside. But he dipped his head onto his arms and seemed to be humming, which told me it was okay. That he liked this.
So I pulled out and pushed in again. Building a rhythm where pleasure was the only goal. There was more of my slickness now, easing the way. A steady, small chorus of slick sounds where our bodies met.
And inside me, pleasure built itself, outrageous joy and the scream of something wild that I had never experienced before. I paused in my fucking to bend close and bite the back of his neck, a claim. He was mine.
In response, he turned toward me, his hand coming back. A reach for a touch, a connection. As I kissed his palm, tasting the salt from his skin, I slipped out. I wasn’t as tall as he was, blast it.
I shifted down and tucked myself behind him once more, then pushed back in. A little hard. Hard for me, at least. He grunted. His ribs rose, and he buried his face in his arms again. This was how he wanted it. Like a punishment he must endure. Gritty and rough.
I paused at that thought, but I wanted to finish.
I wanted him to feel me finish. I wanted to sigh when I came and collapsed against him, sweaty and worn out.
But more, I wanted him not to feel ill-used.
Jesus Christ, what a hard balance. I picked up my rhythm again, my hands gripping his hips, just about growling as I took the pleasure he was offering.
I came in a burst, no stuttering into orgasm but a sudden bolt out of the blue. Beneath me, he shifted into my last hard push, right before I pulled out, dribbling semen everywhere, it seemed, to collapse on his back.
I licked the back of his neck and gently clasped his head, tugging my fingers through his hair. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to be in his arms.
My body shuddered down from its high, a weighted thing that threatened to fall and fall, bound now by gravity rather than pleasure. “Okay?” I gasped. “Was that okay?”
“Yeah.” He sighed the word. He rolled onto his back and gathered me in his arms. Heat and sweat slithered between our bodies as our breaths slowed.
I wanted to see his expression, but the curtains were drawn, and the only light was from the bathroom, where the door was half-closed.
There was no bonfire outside, no shadows on the wall to make me feel like we were in a cave.
Leaving me with no way to know if he’d enjoyed himself. If I’d done it right.
I guessed I needed more than a single word to tell me I’d not performed like some lunkhead who didn’t know how to pleasure his partner. I needed to know because I was selfish, though I wished I wasn’t.
“I mean, did you like it?” It sounded like I was choking because I couldn’t catch my breath. “I’m so bad at this. Usually I’m on the bottom, but—”
“Shhhhh.” He placed two fingers on my lips, and if he wanted me to shut up, then I was shut up. “How could you ever doubt that you are the most perfect thing? The prettiest thing in the whole wide world?”
I became very still in his arms. My eyes widened and prickled with heat. I wanted to bury my face in his neck so he wouldn’t see me bawl like a little kid.
Every time we talked, it was always the same: You are pretty. You are amazing. You are perfect. You are exactly what I need.
My life hadn’t contained anything like the things he said to me.
I doubted his had either. I needed to remember that so I could tell him, too, though it was so hard to articulate all the things I thought about him.
What he was to me. Tall. Strong. Good. Unbelievably handsome. And kind. Utterly, utterly kind.
That’s when I buried my face in his neck, trying to hold back from bawling, but failing.
“Sweetheart,” he said in a whisper. “Sweetheart, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
Those soft words and his gentle clasp of my neck with his calloused hands just about did me in, if I’d not already been done in.
“You can bottom next time,” he said in the same voice he’d used when he’d told me I was special and perfect. “And we’ll get more lube. A whole bucket. We’ll leave a bucket in every place on the ranch that there is.”
That made me laugh in spite of myself. I pulled him on top of me and sighed as his body settled on me. All that weight grounding me to earth so I wouldn’t fly away.
“Okay,” I said with a gasp and a laugh. “You tell me your favorite brand, and I’ll have it delivered. Two-day air. Fast, fast, fast. So you can fuck me, and I can fuck you without feeling like some kind of beast who doesn’t care about his partner.”
“I like it like that,” he said, very low, as he bent to kiss me.
He was resting on his elbows, like a gentleman. And he was telling me very plainly that he liked it rough.
I wanted to teach him to like it gentle, but I also made a vow to always listen to him when he said what he wanted. To listen to what his body would tell me. In the dark. With shadows coming through the windows as the wind whispered through the trees.