“Harrison…oh yes, so, so good.”
He crooks his finger, massaging my prostate, and that’s it. Game over. I cry as I come into his mouth. I’m overwhelmed with sensation and trying to catch my breath.
“God, I’ve wanted to taste you since that day at the studio,” he says, licking his lips.
“You’re a fucking bastard, you know that.” I laugh and let my body fall sideways on the bed.
He turns over to catch my mouth, and I taste myself on his tongue. It’s bitter, slightly salty, and so fucking erotic that my dick stirs again even though I’ve just come.
“I thought I was being generous,” he says, kissing my neck and then my collarbone while I’m still boneless. “Maybe I’ll reassess my plans for the rest of the night.”
“No reassessing. Just get down there and fuck me good.”
His laughter is satisfying and lets me know he’s present. There’s no outside world, no responsibilities or expectations. Just us.
His assault on my skin soon has the intended reaction when my dick seems ready to play again. I’m not as hard as before and the urgency to come is gone.
The fucker read me like a book because now I’m ready to feel all of him. If he’d fucked me before my first orgasm, I’d be chasing it like a roadrunner. Now I can savor it.
“God, your fingers are so big,” I moan, opening my legs to give him better access.
He doesn’t suck me again, but lazy strokes timed with his fingers thrusting in and out make me overheat.
“I’m good, please, Harrison.”
Somehow the condom has ended up stuck to my leg, so I grab it and tear it open. He takes it from me and suits up, using the rest of the lube on the condom and my ass before chucking the wrappers on the floor beside the bed.
His dick presses against my hole as he covers my body.
“This is an exercise in self-restraint, Fletcher. You have no idea what it’s taking for me not to ram my dick inside you.” His voice is tight, and I see the raw need in his eyes. All for me.
“Do it.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
I close my eyes. “But it would hurt so good. Please, Harrison.”
He lines his cock with my hole and pushes in.
I hiss at the pain but encourage him to keep going. As if he knows what I’m doing, he peppers my skin with kisses until his lips reach my mouth.
“You’re such a fucking good kisser,” I say.
“With the right partner, kissing can be better than sex.”
I want to make a joke, but he pushes farther inside me and then distracts me once again with his tongue. Before I know it, he’s bottomed out, and I’m back to that tightrope of wanting this to last and needing an orgasm.
“Harrison,” I beg.
He takes my hands and pins them above my body, lacing our fingers together. Then he pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in, his thickness rubbing past my prostate and driving me insane.
I want to close my eyes, but I also want to see everything.
What a piece of art we’d be. Two bodies coming together, sharing so much pleasure. Colors and textures fill my brain, and I grip Harrison’s hands tight.
“Stay with me, Fletcher,” he says into my ear. “You feel so fucking good.”
“I’m here, Harrison. I’m so here.”
