“Yeah?” he asks, his hands grabbing my hips and pulling me flush against him. “Tell me about this idea.”
Showing works better than telling, so even as I drag my hard cock against the length of his, I reach for the lube and place it in his hand.
“Not too much prep,” I ask. “I want to feel this…you tomorrow.”
The words make Bastian’s pupils dilate, but his movements remain carefully controlled as he takes over and begins working me open. The first finger slides in with a familiar burn that makes my breath catch.
Why did I ever resist this?
His free hand grips my hip, steadying me as I rock back against the intrusion. “You’re so impatient, aren’t you, baby? You’re dying to have me inside you again,” he says, but I hear the strain in his voice that betrays his own urgency.
A second finger joins the first, the stretch becoming more pronounced as he scissors them with the kind of slow, tender care that makes me want to scream.
“Yes,” I admit, grinding against his hand while my own fingers dig into his shoulders for balance. A third finger pushes in before I’m quite ready, drawing a sound from my throat that’s half pain and half desperate need. “Bastian,” I manage as he works me steadily open. “That’s enough. I’m ready.”
I don’t like the absence of his fingers when he removes them to cover his cock with lube.
When I finally lift up, positioning myself over his cock, time seems to suspend between one breath and the next. His hands return to my hips, steadying but not controlling as I begin a slow descent. The first breach burns exactly like I wanted, the stretch just this side of too much as I take him in inch by careful inch.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my collarbone. “You feel so fucking good.”
His thumbs stroke my hipbones so gently that I’m wondering if there’s a “calm under pressure” award for sex.
I pause when he’s fully seated, letting my body adjust to the fullness that feels new every time. Our skin slides slightly where we’re pressed together.
“Move,” he pleads, and I love that he sounds wrecked when we’ve barely started. “Please, Tay. Need you to move.”
The nickname pulls a response from my throat as I lift slightly, testing the angle that makes both of us gasp when I drop back down.
I find our rhythm, each rise and fall drawing gasps and moans that fill the cabin’s quiet space, mixing with the subtle creak of the couch beneath us. His hands guide more than control, letting me set a pace that quickly builds from careful to desperate.
Sweat replaces the shower’s moisture on our skin as our movement becomes more intense. My thighs burn, but I couldn’t stop if the world ended right now—not with the way he’s looking at me like I’m something miraculous, like he can’t quite believe this is real. His cock hits the perfect spot on every thrust, sending sparks through my nervous system that build toward inevitable explosion.
“Close,” I warn as pressure builds low in my core, the familiar tingling at the base of my spine suggesting imminent release. One of his hands wraps around my cock with a perfect grip. “So close, Bastian. Please.”
His hips snap up to meet my downward motion, finally letting control slip as we race toward the finish line together.
“Come for me,” he commands, his voice carrying an authority that sends me right over the edge.
My release hits me with force, and I cry out, my body clenching around him as pleasure whites out everything else.
He follows immediately, his grip on my hip turning bruising as he pulses inside me. The sensation prolongs my own orgasm, aftershocks running through both of us as we gradually come down together. My forehead finds his shoulder, my breathing begins returning to normal, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me close.
“You are so fucking perfect, Taylen. Just so you know, it’s never been like this with anyone else.” I almost can’t tell what he’s saying because his mouth is once again mapping all the free areas on my skin.
“You make it so hard to resist you.”
“Then don’t, Taylen. Don’t.”
“I can't believe you didn't have sex for seven years.” It's not that I don’t believe him, but seven years is a long time.
He laughs. “I didn’t say I didn’t have sex for seven years. I had plenty of sex. It just never involved anyone else.”
His mouth on my skin turns my brain into mush. “And you're very good at it. Clearly, the lack of practice with another person didn’t affect your skills.”
“Or maybe when you’re with the right person, everything fits perfectly. My body has known for seven years that no one else would ever come close to how you make me feel.”
His words draw a shiver from me, or maybe it’s the cooling sweat. His dick slips out, and I feel way too empty, but I’m happy that I’ll definitely feel this tomorrow.
