We both groan, but who’s in charge now? Damned sure isn’t me, because I’m too busy trying not to hit the floor from sheer pleasure.
“Hands,” I gasp. He reaches up, slipping them into my briefs and cradling my balls with one, the other sliding around my hip to cup my ass.
It also means I can let go of my briefs, so I ease up on the grip in his hair and cradle his head in my hands. Now I can take control again, slowing his timing because I don’t want to pop in his mouth. I know where he really wants this load, and I’ll only have the one in me right now.
Unless I break out a few toys.
Which, I might. You never know. Depends on how we both feel in a little while.
I ease my cock in deep, all the way to the balls, forcing him to hold his breath. The tension builds in him as I make him stay there for a long moment until letting him back off just enough he can take another breath before plunging deep again.
Another game we both enjoy.
Repeating this over several minutes, I know from the soft moans and gasps he’s making that he’s deep in the zone. Finally, I tug on his hair to make him stand and I kiss him. “Get naked, baby.”
He races to strip as I finish undressing. It’s fun to fuck him while he’s still partially dressed, but we learned early on that’s one hell of a dry-cleaning bill every month, and he is a practical boy.
A few minutes later, I end up on my back with him on top of me, going down on me again for a moment to fluff me, since I went a little soft. That only takes him a moment before he slicks himself, sheaths me in a condom, and slowly impales himself on my erection.
My hands settle on his hips, our gazes locked as he eases me inside him. Once his ass meets my thighs, he leans in and kisses me. “Love you, Liam,” he whispers.
I smile, because him calling me Master when we’re alone is more at his insistence than mine. I only require it if I’ve told him in advance we’re using high protocols.
But he also knows how much I love hearing my name tumble from his lips during our most private and intimate moments.
Myname. Sometimes shortened to Lee by him.
“Love you, too, Daniel.” He’s always Daniel, never Dan or, Heaven forbid, Danny. He haaaates that, and God help the person who tries shortening his name. He actually put the chairman of House Ways and Means in his place one day, in public, when the jerk called him “Danny boy.”
Because of who I am to my boy, I can get away with calling him D, but I never do that in front of others. I don’t want them assuming they can use that for him, too.
As we kiss, he slowly starts rocking and I let him set the pace. These bonds we share as not only husbands, but as Master and boy, are woven through everything we do in our lives, the vanilla and the kinky, the mundane and the sacred and the profane. There is quiet but insurmountable strength in him from which I steadily draw to maintain my own equilibrium and sanity in a world that some think is my oyster, but which is usually the bane of my existence.
I only need him and his love. Political power games can sometimes be fun but they are a necessary evil. Many people assume I’m destined for the Oval Office at some future point, but the truth is I’d rather fade into obscurity and live a quiet life with this beautiful man. Although, at Daniel’s suggestion, we frequently let people believe the presidency is my ultimate goal.
He is correct that people are more likely to cozy up to me and want to help me if they think I’m going to be POTUS one day.
Every thrust of his body feels like Heaven as his ass clenches around my cock. I slip a hand into his hair again, cupping, holding, fisting and enjoying the eager moan I receive in return. His erection’s rubbing against my abs, leaking and leaving a trail of pre-cum all over me.
I’m close. “Grind it out, baby,” I mumble against his lips, and he groans in response.
His hips roll and rock as he seeks that perfect combination of angle and rhythm that will hit his sweet spot and rub his cock against me to trip him over the edge. I settle in to wait him out, close but not yet past the point of no return. I want it for him because he loves getting off like this. Doesn’t happen all the time, and sometimes I have to finish him by hand or mouth.
Trying is more than half the fun, though.
His eyes drop closed and I watch his face, the ecstasy and pleasure flashing back and forth as he seeks joy from my body. There’s nothing more erotic than witnessing this honest and blatantly needy moment. We keep nothing from each other—other than work-related secrets, obviously. I know him inside and out, and my soul is naked and bared to him.
Who owns who?
As his orgasm starts, I tighten my grip on him and struggle to hold back my own climax until I know he’s finished. With everything now hot and sticky between us, and our bodies sliding back and forth through the cum he spilled, I pump into him and finally crest and fall, pleasure spiking through me as I crush his body against mine and finally fall still.
Nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing fills the room as we hold each other.
He owns me, heart and soul, this beautifully brilliant boy does. Every time I worship at his altar, I’m reminded how truly lucky I am despite the pain I endured to get here.
He is, without a doubt, my greatest blessing.
