16. Jace #3
Easton came in a thunderous climax, shuddering and trembling, cum filling my mouth and coating my tongue.
Its warmth and sweetness made me flicker with lust as I sealed my lips around him, not letting a single drop escape me.
I sucked him still, ramming the dildo deep into him as my own dick throbbed in his mouth.
When I lifted my head and swallowed, I felt cum squirting out of my cock, my balls tight and my dick finally relieved.
Easton choked on it, his chest flat and still and his abs tense as hell.
Even then, my fist held the toy, torturing him for a moment longer.
I jammed it deep in him as the wave of my orgasm lifted me far and carried me wide.
An instant later, I pulled my cock out, letting Easton swallow and breathe in, his chest shaking as he lifted his head.
I rolled off him and to the side, lying in the opposite direction, my face resting on the inside of his thigh and my hand holding the flat bottom of the toy that was still lodged deep inside his body.
Easton moaned, panted, and moved just a little, not even once trying to get me to take the dildo out, even though I had let him come. He was a quick learner and a fiery match for my freakiness.
I rested on his thigh, breathing deeply and savoring the remaining flavor of his cum, watching his dick slowly soften and the uncontrollable pulses make his muscles convulse.
Lube glistened around the stretched rim of his hole. I moved my hand a few inches away, watching as Easton breathed deeply. The toy began to slide, and I pressed it again, pushing it into my fallen angel, and he gasped. “Fuck, Jace,” he whispered.
“A minute more,” I said. Being able to decide something like that, simply for the sake of calling the shots, filled me with another kind of pleasure.
Yet it wasn’t at all about my power over him.
It was about the fact that only the right guy would allow me that power. And Easton was right in all the ways.
As my hold relaxed, the dildo began to slip out again, but I held it firmly, making him whimper. What sort of torment was this? He had already come, and so had I. Why keep doing it? But we didn’t need a reason. Only sensations. Only what our bodies could feel.
When I finally let the dildo slide out, his hole pulsed. It tightened, pink and shiny with lube, bruised and loosened from such good use. I put two fingers on it, rubbing it gently and feeling its warmth.
I stood up first, somehow finding the will to part from the comfort of Easton’s thigh. My wicked boy was exhausted, hands resting on his chest and stomach, mouth open as he breathed deeply, and I left him there. I brought back a warm, wet towel, wiped his lips and chin, and then kissed him deeply.
He carried my scent even then, the flavor of my body on his tongue, and I kissed him twice as much. Then I wiped him clean, his dick and groin and his hole, before carrying everything back to the bathroom.
When I returned to the bedroom, Easton had moved. His head was on the pillow, and his naked body was curled, awaiting me. I positioned myself behind him, wrapping one arm around him and making our torsos and legs fit in together.
It wasn’t long before the fatigue left me, and the fact that my crotch was so comfortably pressed against his ass kicked off a chain reaction. The hard-on was spontaneous and inevitable, and it was enough for Easton to let out a chuckle. “Already?”
“With you looking all sexy like that, always,” I said and pressed my lips against the back of his neck.
Easton was quiet for a moment, then pushed his ass back against me. “You really are the devil,” he said.
“Never said I wasn’t.”
That made him laugh again, his hand moving back and searching between us until he found my swelling cock. “If you’re ready, I’m ready.”
“We’re never gonna get anything done,” I said, but I was already rolling him to his front and biting his ear.
After, even I thought we were exhausted.
The second round was much more tender, our bodies exploring one another in ways that were impossible when you were blinded by lust. So we left the bed somehow and showered together.
Easton offered to play something else on the piano, and I told him I would listen only if he remained naked.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, untying the towel from around his waist and leaving it on the floor.
I smoked a cigarette while he played a more uplifting tune by some Tchaikovsky fellow who was apparently a flaming homosexual back in his day, or so Easton said.
“He lived across a military academy,” he explained, and we both shared a smirk.
He must have had some fine views, but none could have been finer than what I saw before me.
Somewhere in my chest, something like a warm pulse of my heart made itself known. I’d long thought that I had no heart. But maybe it was there. Perhaps it was still beating, and beating for more than just pumping the blood into my arteries.
Maybe I had a heart for Easton.
Would that be so hard to believe?