12. Shane #5
The lube was cold when it first touched the skin between my cheeks, its thick drops trickling down the middle and over my perineum.
Patrick was more than generous with it, dragging his finger up from my taint to my hole and spreading the lube over me and his fingers.
He slipped into me after a short warning, and it was smoother than silk passing through fingers.
I groaned, and Patrick released a sigh of relief and pleasure as his finger sank into me. “Better?”
“Fuck yes,” I grunted, my voice hoarse as I forced myself to remain relaxed for him.
There was something magical about it. My abs needed to tense in order to force myself open to him, and his finger reaching into my body sparked an instinctive reaction in me—tensing my cock, making my hole tighten, making me push harder to stay relaxed for him, and moving in this enchanted circle.
“Think you can handle more?” Patrick asked, his hand moving back and forth, twisting this way and that.
I’d better, I thought. “Please,” I said, my voice no more than a ripple in the air.
My head lifted off the pillow when Patrick’s middle finger joined the first, stretching me so suddenly that the air hitched in my throat. He didn’t go hard at all, but the shift in size seemed monumental to me.
I dug my fingers into the pillow and looked at the flickering candles, their light bouncing and shifting.
Air flowed through me again, and I relaxed, letting Patrick enter me deeper with two fingers.
It wasn’t at all the lack of wanting on my part; I wanted him inside me so badly I could taste it.
I wanted his fingers, his tongue, his dick, his very soul to enter me.
But my body kept getting spooked. In the back of my mind, a steady rhythm pulsed.
It’ll happen now. You’re gonna fail. It’ll all go to hell.
It’ll happen now. You’re gonna fail. It’ll all be a waste.
“You’re doing so fucking great,” Patrick said, quieting that voice as if he could hear it, too. “Turn off your brain. It’ll be better.”
I wanted to chuckle at that. It made total sense why people preferred sex on drugs and alcohol; they helped you shut the fears off.
Not me, though. I wanted to be sober with him, even if it left me terrified.
I wanted to be aware of every move of his hand, of every breath we took in sync, of every passing moment when his fingers rubbed against my prostate and made me want to melt into the mattress.
Patrick felt it before I did, this new wave of relaxation and openness. I welcomed him in, two fingers and then three, and didn’t worry so much anymore.
“Just like that,” he said from time to time, usually when I was breathing properly, and would twist his hand a little and grunt, ramming his fingers into me with growing ease. “I stretched your little hole so nice, Shane,” he purred. “You’re all slick and ready.”
It wasn’t the thickness of his cock I feared so much anymore, but it wasn’t going to deter me anyway. “Fuck me, Patrick,” I pleaded.
“Turn around,” he told me, sliding his fingers out of my body and rubbing my hole soothingly. “I want to look at your face when I enter you.”
Had I not been so completely hard until now, this would have done it. My very soul tightened in response to his words.
I turned around and stuffed a pillow under my lower back, a trick I’d lifted from porn and tested with myself more than once, certain that it was one of the rare things we could actually learn from it.
Patrick ripped the condom wrapper with his teeth, and it was somehow the sexiest thing he’d done so far.
There was something manly about it, something like the furious devil skating across the rink to let himself be slammed into the boards just so his team could score a point.
He was that person again, both mischievous and wholly on fire.
When he slipped the condom onto his cock, I bit my lip hard and waited. He poured plenty of lube down his length and rubbed it slowly, his cock as hard as it had been when I sucked him.
Patrick positioned himself between my legs and cocked his head this way and that. “Wanna put your feet on my chest?” he asked.
I nodded. It was a good position, intimate and easy to do.
I planted my bare feet on his pecs, pointing to his shoulders, and Patrick covered my left foot with his left hand, reaching down with his right to touch my hard cock.
He stroked me with the generous traces of lube on his fingers, then slipped his hand down to my hole and soothingly circled the rim.
His dick slipped through his hand, aimed perfectly at my hole, and its pressure replaced Patrick’s fingers. It was so overwhelmingly real that I stopped breathing.
My lips parted. My gaze locked onto Patrick’s face. My chest didn’t move. My toes sunk into his flesh, all the while he pushed his cock into my body, breaking the last barrier toward this idea of adulthood that I had carried deep within me for years.
Patrick gazed into my eyes, letting go of his cock and placing both hands on my thighs, close to my hips. He hooked my body that way and waited, letting me inhale before thrusting himself a fraction of an inch deeper. “Good?”
“It’s fucking heaven,” I told him, breathing again with relief as Patrick swayed his hips back and thrust them forward.
A layer of sweat glistened on Patrick’s tanned skin.
His abs flexed hard, a gorgeous view between my legs, and he jerked himself forward, ramming into me slightly harder.
Each time, the thrust was a little more powerful than the last. Or it appeared to me that way.
He was deeper, I knew that, and it felt almost like trying to inhale more air than my lungs could hold, except that I kept finding that I very much could if only I did it the right way.
Because it felt like breath. It felt like oxygen, like the source of life, like the essence of existence. It freed me just the same as it bound me. It freed me from the anticipation and anxiety, and it bound me to him. I didn’t go into this wanting that to happen, but I had known it might.
I looked at his face, at his body, into his blazing blue eyes as he fucked me, and I knew I was his. Utterly, completely, indestructibly his.
For better or worse.
“Fuck me harder,” I begged, probably because I had heard it before, not because I was confident I could take it.
But it didn’t hurt. Not after that first brief flash of white heat that consumed your body and made you think you could never go through with it.
Not when he was so careful—so very careful—about your needs and your limits.
Did men like this even exist? If so, they were as rare as unicorns. I struggled to believe one was with me, here, inside me. I struggled to believe any of this was real until the moment Patrick’s hips quickened their pace and he leaned deep in, pressing his lips hard against mine.
He fucked me like I only could have dreamed. There were few words that could come close to capturing what these moments were.
My feet slipped off his chest, and my legs coiled around his waist, my arms twisting around his shoulders and holding him close. He buried his tongue in my mouth, kissing me, filling me with his heated breaths, his saliva, and his body.
Each thrust of his hips brought me closer to Heaven of sorts, or Hell if you wanted to be literal about it.
But I didn’t care which one it was. Sin or virtue, joy or damnation, it was all the same to me so long as I could hold on to him, so long as I could feel him deep inside me, impaling me and owning me.
I had no doubt about who I belonged to. This, in a way, was a ritual, a transfer of power and a surrender.
You are the only god I believe in, I thought. And I believe in you with all I have. And all I have is all I give you.