His mouth releases me. With a low chuckle, he rises to his feet and runs his fingertips over my jawline, lightly stroking my beard. A shiver goes through me. This man…fuck, this man. He does me in with one touch. One heated look.
“Turn around,” he whispers. “Hands flat on the counter.”
I do what he asks, and a moment later a pair of strong hands cup my ass. He squeezes and I moan, instinctivelythrusting my hips forward, only to smack my still-glistening dick on the cool, hard granite. My hand slides down to grip my erection and I slowly rub my thumb around the head as Wes continues to knead my ass cheeks. When his finger slides into my crease, I push back against the teasing caress, silently begging for more.
“I’ve missed this ass.” His breath tickles the nape of my neck, and then his tongue comes out for a taste, swirling over my feverish skin. “You don’t know how many times I jerked when we were on the road. How many times I got myself off to the thought of sliding my cock into this tight ass.” He rubs my opening with the tip of his finger, and the sensitive nerve endings there roar to life.
My dick leaks in my hand. Shit. I’m still close. Too close. I squeeze my cockhead hard enough to bring a sting of pain, trying to curb the release that’s threatening to spill over.
“You should’ve hit me up on Skype,” I say. “We could have jerked off together.” It’s something we’ve never tried.
That gets me a strangled moan. Oh yeah, he likes that idea. But I tuck the thought away. Right now, there’s no need to think up creative ways to fuck when we’re thousands of miles apart. Because we’re together. We’re here, in the flesh, able to fuck any way we want.
“Don’t move.” His rough command echoes in the dark kitchen. I hear his footsteps disappear into the hallway. I don’t move. Anticipation builds inside me, and my dick pulses in my hand, begging for Wes to return.
He’s not gone long. I hear a clicking noise, the unmistakable sound of a cap opening. He went to grab lube, and now his fingers are slick as he brings them back to my ass. His slippery hand torments me, sliding between my cheeks, rubbingover my balls. When he pushes one finger inside me, I simultaneously curse and sigh.
“So tight,” he grinds out. He slides in deeper and my muscles clamp around his finger. “You want my cock, Canning?”
“Yes.” I bear down harder on his finger. It’s not enough. I need more. I need his thick erection filling me, pushing against that sweet spot I never knew existed until last summer, when Ryan Wesley walked back into my life and showed me a new side of myself.
He adds another finger, stroking my channel and stretching me open until I’m burning up. Until my vision wavers and my brain stops working. “More,” I beg. It’s all I’m capable of saying.More. More, more, more.I’mbeggingand Wes is still depriving me of what I want. He’s grinding his erection against one of my ass cheeks as his fingers move inside me. His other hand reaches around my chest and glides downward, swatting my hand away so he can grab hold of my dick.
“Jesus,” I hiss when he starts pumping.
“You like this, babe? Me jerking your cock while I finger your ass?”
I mumble something incoherent in response, which makes him laugh. The husky sound warms the side of my neck, and then I jump when his teeth sink into my flesh. Holy shit, he’s driving me crazy. He soothes the sting with his tongue, licking the tendons of my neck, kissing his way down to my shoulder, biting that, too.
“You ready for me?” he whispers.
An anguished groan slips out. “So fucking ready.”
With another chuckle, he withdraws his fingers and my entire body sags in disappointment, mourning the loss, craving the pressure again. Wes doesn’t make me wait long—in aheartbeat, his tip prods my ass, and then his big, lubed-up cock slips through the ring of muscle and plunges inside.
We both groan. His hands clutch my hips, long fingers digging into my skin as he slowly pulls out, then slams back in again.
“Fucking hell, Canning, I fucking love you so fucking much.” He sounds like he’s struggling to breathe, and when half his vocabulary is reduced to F-bombs, that means Wes is barely hanging on to his control. But I love it when he loses control. I know I'm in for a wild ride and holy hell does he give it to me.
He pounds into me from behind, hips snapping, balls slapping my ass with each deep, desperate thrust. I sag forward, bent over the counter. My cock is harder than the granite beneath my palms. I want to stroke it but Wes is drilling me so hard that I need both hands to brace myself. He’s attuned to my needs, though, because he drops one hand from my waist and brings it to my impossibly hard dick. Then he angles his hips in a way that has him hitting my prostate each time he drives forward.
“Come for me,” he orders. “Come all over my hand, Jamie. Let me feel it.”
I shoot so fast it’s almost comical. All it takes is Wes’s gravelly command and I come with a wild cry, soaking his hand just as he wanted. As I shudder from the release, Wes growls, his thrusts growing more and more erratic. Unskilled, utterly frantic, until finally he drops his head on my shoulder and trembles behind me. I feel his release pulse inside me, and when he pulls out several moments later, my ass and thighs are sticky and we’re both quaking with laughter.
“That was…intense,” Wes says dryly.
I snort. “I think you just unloaded a gallon of jizz in me.”Not that I’m complaining. I love knowing that I have the power to turn Wes into a sex-crazed maniac. Even so, I still grumble a little as we spend the next five minutes cleaning up. My own release was equally uncontrollable, leaving behind several pearly drops on the counter and cabinet beneath it. I insist on scrubbing down the entire surface, while Wes teases me about having OCD.
“Weeaton this thing, dude,” I remind him. “That’s not OCD, it’s basic cleanliness.”
He chuckles and continues scrubbing the floor with the rag and cleanser I hand him. “So what do you want to do tonight? Should we hit up that new restaurant Eriksson told me about?”
Toronto’s next home game is tomorrow, which means we actually have the entire day and night just for us. And Tuesdays happen to be half-price ticket night at all the theaters in the city. “Definitely,” I answer. “But we can go there after the movie. I don’t know how much longer it’ll be in theaters.”
“Oh shit,The Long Pass? Yeah, you’re right. We definitely need to see it tonight.” Remorse flickers in his expression, and I know he’s thinking about what happened the last time he had a night off. I’d been dying to see that damn movie, but so had Wes, and he made me promise not to go without him. Except when we finally had the opportunity to see it, Wes’s PR rep called him just as we were walking out the door and informed Wes that his presence was required at a last-minute press conference announcing a surprise trade in the organization. That was three weeks ago.
I don’t mention it, though, because I know he already feels like shit that he had to bail on our date night. “Okay, so how about we catch the seven o’clock show and then have a late dinner after?” I suggest.
