I shook my head, stripping out of the rest of my clothes with no formality at all.
“No,” I said, confirming again for both of us what I was after.
I climbed onto the bed and straddled him, his thighs broader than mine by what felt like a mile. Spreading myself open, I eased down toward his cock. The blunt tip of him pushed eagerly against my hole and I bore down, forcing my body to give way for him. It burned—which I wanted—but as soon as his head popped through that tight ring of muscle, the familiar sensations of pleasure started to wash over me.
From my toes up my spine, everything tingled as I lowered myself down around him. When I reached the thick mid-section of his cock, my body protested, stalling my progress, so I raised back up and tried again. It took a good five minutes of short and easy thrusts to get past the broadest part of his shaft, and again the tingling sensation flamed up my spine like fireworks.
“Can I touch you?” Hendrix’s voice sounded strangled and, in reply, I took his hands and put them on my waist.
“Help me,” I said, half a command, half a plea.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
His fingers flexed around my waist, applying just enough pressure to work my body down around his cock. Finally seated fully, I rolled my neck, letting my chin fall against my chest while I got used to the feel of him inside of me.
“Good boy,” I praised him again.
His nails gouged into my skin and I could tell he wanted to fuck me. Likereallyfuck me. But there was no way.
Nope.
A man had to have limits.
“Tell me how to get you off,” I whispered, raising back up his length and dropping back down. His dick brushed over my prostate and my vision went white. “Tell me what you like.”
“Rough.”
Yeah, Hendrix was definitely the worst thing that had ever happened to me.
I bounced up and down his erection, amazed at the expressions that washed over his face. Most men, when in the same position, would try to take over, to control the pace or the speed. It would be clear in their tightknit expressions or the tension of the muscles. But not him, because why would he be like anyone else? Hendrix lay on the bed, nearly boneless, save for the one inside of me. His hands around my waist were firm, but not demanding. More like…he offered his support for balance.
Without asking, Hendrix knew exactly what I was after.
I knew I’d be able to make him come. I knew when his orgasm started to build and when it was ready to crest. But I’d been so focused on him, I hadn’t paid enough attention to myself. I missed—or ignored—the way his dick brushed past my prostate on every thrust, the way my body stretchedjust soto accommodate him. The way my own cock had turned hard again, but now like steel, my balls tight and burning against my body.
I missed the crescendo of my own orgasm until it was painted across his chest.
The sight of my cum burning stripes up the length of his torso sent him over the edge. The fingers that had served only for balance before dug into my skin and he arched away from the bed, body going rigid as I slammed down onto his dick one last time.
“Shit.” I tumbled forward, one hand landing on his chest, the other on the pillow beside his head. “Shit. Fuck.”
“Can I?”
“Aren’t you?” I grunted, cock still seizing between our bodies.
Inside me, Hendrix somehow thickened more, his orgasm tearing through him like a freight train. I pushed off his chest, angling my body back to get him deeper inside of me as he shot his load into the condom. He kept his eyes open, stare trained on me the entire time, and it was almost too much. More cum leaked out of my dick and I wanted to cover his eyes because he saw me in a way that I’d never experienced before and that was utterly terrifying.
I climbed off of him and collapsed onto the bed, one arm over my face and the other reaching out for his dick. I fumbled the condom off of him and tossed it on the floor, petting up his swollen and softening length with my fingertips.
“Can I take you to dinner on Thursday?” I asked, blindly dragging my fingers up his stomach, through the trail of curly hair that I’d made sticky with my release.
“Yes.” His voice sounded like sandpaper, and I rolled onto my side to get a better grip on his body and a better look at his face.
He was flushed and sweaty, relaxed and spent.
Hendrix was beautiful and he was perfect.
And he was mine.
