“That doesn’t sound fun,” Memphis said with a laugh.
“You’re about to find out.”
Memphis didn’t know why he was so nervous. It wasn’t fear of Preacher seeing his body—not anymore—but more the overwhelming care he took to ensure that Memphis felt comfortable while he touched his naked body. In the shower, Preacher took his time, using a soapy washcloth to ensure every part of Memphis was squeaky clean, and every drag of the rough fabric over his skin was like foreplay, making him achingly hard. He didn’t think that was an accident.
Though Preacher wasn’t actively touching Memphis’s dick, he was slowly trailing kisses along his shoulder, licking droplets of water from the hollow of his throat, biting at his lips, teasing his tongue just inside Memphis’s mouth, only to retreat before the kiss could flame into something more. It made Memphis feel dizzy and off balance. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced in his life.
Preacher was fully in control, turning Memphis how he wanted him, holding him in place as he played with him. Giving him gruff orders like ‘open your legs’ and ‘look at me.’ God help him, he liked not being in control, liked not having to think about what might happen next. Preacher told him what came next, and all Memphis had to do was comply. It was so…freeing.
By the time Preacher dried him off and shoved him back on the bed, there was no hiding his rock hard cock, flushed pink and straining just under his belly button. He expected Preacher’s weight to follow him down, press him into the mattress, but he never did. Instead, he dropped to his knees on the floor, yanking Memphis closer by his ankles, before pushing his legs back obscenely, leaving him open to Preacher in every way.
It felt like an hour passed as Preacher just looked at the most vulnerable parts of him without moving, but it was probably just seconds. He found himself arching upwards, like he could entice Preacher to touch him, to do something. Memphis needed him to do something. He was going crazy.
Memphis sucked in a breath at the unexpected broad sweep of Preacher’s tongue across his hole. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned, staring up at the wintry sky overhead, his hands fisting the sheets.
When they’d done this last night, Preacher had attacked him like a wild animal, his tongue probing, trying to work past the tight ring of muscle. This was a more subtle assault. This time he worked his lips and teeth and tongue over Memphis in a kiss far more intimate than it maybe should have been. There was no such thing as casual sex with Preacher, not for Memphis. It was all overwhelmingly emotional.
When Preacher sat back on his haunches, Memphis whined at the loss, until he heard the sound of the lube cap opening and closing and felt Preacher’s thick finger probing his entrance. Memphis was pushing down on his finger without thought, desperate to have any part of Preacher inside him. He looked down to find Preacher watching his finger disappear in and out of Memphis’s body, watching Memphis basically fuck himself on Preacher’s finger desperately. He didn’t even care if he looked desperate. Each time he rolled his hips, the pad of Preacher’s finger grazed his prostate, sending sparks shooting along every nerve ending.
“Fuck, you look hot like this,” Preacher muttered.
Before Memphis could even try to formulate a response, Preacher pressed against that tiny bundle of nerves, putting just enough pressure for Memphis to cry out, eyes rolling back, hips arching as pleasure hit him like a tidal wave, causing his throbbing cock to leak onto his belly. “Oh, fuck,” he whined, barely recognizing the voice as his own. “I need more. Please. I need you inside me.”
Preacher gave a dry chuckle, but it sounded strained. “I am inside you,” he said, infuriatingly smug.
Before Memphis could tell him that wasn’t what he fucking meant, Preacher’s finger disappeared only to be replaced by two, causing Memphis to gasp at the unexpected invasion, his entrance burning as it fought to accommodate Preacher’s fingers, which were now twisting rhythmically inside him.
“Please, Preacher. I’m ready. Fuck me. I can’t handle much more.”
“Let me decide what you can handle. Besides, I told you exactly what was going to happen. It’s not my fault if you weren’t paying attention.” Preacher’s fingers once more ground up against Memphis’s prostate, short-circuiting his brain and whatever cuss words he was about to unleash on Preacher.
Then a hand was closing around his achingly hard cock, and Preacher was using Memphis’s pre-cum to jerk him off in a rough, almost sticky grip that would have been too much if his fingers weren’t doing magical things inside him at the same time. The weird pleasure-pain response was causing Memphis to forget the simplest things like words. It was all sensation. The hairs on his arms stood at attention, his nipples were rock hard, and all he could do was drive himself up into Preacher’s fist before trying to work himself down hard on his fingers.
He was babbling; everything falling from his lips was nonsense, shit that would probably embarrass him later, but when he looked down, Preacher was gazing at him with a look that could have melted solid steel. He had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, like it was taking effort for him to see this through to the end. Somehow, it was that look that did it. Memphis’s toes curled, and he cried out as he came, his release coating Preacher’s fist and Memphis’s belly and chest. It seemed like a lot considering how many times he’d come since yesterday.
“Fuck, yeah. That’s it. Good boy. Good boy,” Preacher said, almost like he couldn’t help the praise falling from his lips.
Memphis liked being Preacher’s good boy, and he didn’t want to think about all the reasons why that might be. Luckily, Preacher didn’t plan to let Memphis think. He kneeled on the bed, manhandling Memphis higher onto the mattress so he could sit between his spread legs. When he caught Memphis staring, he crawled up over him, leaning into his space to capture his mouth in a filthy kiss. “You look so fucking sexy when you come.”
Memphis could feel himself blushing. “What about you?”
“Oh, now, it’s my turn.”
Memphis watched as Preacher slid his finger through the mess on his belly, putting his finger to Memphis’s lips so he could suck the taste of himself off his skin. Why was that so fucking hot? Before he could ponder it further, Preacher was gathering Memphis’s cum on his three fingers, locking eyes with him as he pushed it into Memphis’s hole.
“Oh, fuck,” he heard himself mutter.
“Yeah,” Preacher managed, gathering up more of the fluid and slicking his cock with it.
Then the head of his cock was pressed against Memphis’s hole. “You good?” he asked, voice raw.
“Yeah, do it. I want to feel you inside me.”
Memphis couldn’t help the gasp as Preacher’s thick cock pressed past that first ring of muscle. It wasn’t painful, more a burn that faded to an ache that led to a feeling of fullness that Memphis didn’t remember feeling before. Maybe he’d disassociated with other guys, but there was nothing like that with Preacher. There couldn’t be. The moment he was fully seated inside Memphis, he caught his knees over his elbows before his lips found Memphis’s, his tongue sliding inside in the same slow, tentative movements as his thrusts.
Even when he broke the kiss, he hovered just above him, looking into his eyes, like he needed to make sure Memphis was okay, that he was still enjoying himself. As if that were ever in doubt. He was sensitive, sure. Each slow thrust sent tiny shivers through him that might have been painful if Memphis couldn’t see how much Preacher liked being inside him, how he seemed to be fighting an urge to just wreck him. Knowing that he could make Preacher that on edge was an addictive feeling, one that had him fighting past his sensitivity to press up each time Preacher drove down until the only sounds were their panting breaths and their skin meeting as Preacher’s pace picked up.
“Fuck, you feel so fucking good. You’re so tight, it’s making me crazy.”
