“Oh fuck!” he groans.
“Are you okay?” I ask in panic. I’m about to pull out when he answers.
“I’m fine. I think you hit my prostate,” he says.
I pause, trying to gather what I know about male anatomy. “That’s… good, right?”
“Very good,” he says breathily. “Keep going.”
I start to move again, and Ash groans.
“Definitely my prostate,” he says.
I gasp as he clicks the vibrator up a notch, and I pump a little faster.
“Holy fuck,” he says.
I take long, controlled strokes, despite being nearly doubled over with my own pleasure as the vibrator sends shivers all over my body. Pressing into Ash also puts friction on my clit, and I feel my climax build as I fuck him. There’s something strangely satisfying about pumping my hips this way, and his grunts at each thrust only arouse me more. I force myself not to get overzealous.
I hold onto Ash’s hips as I move, and I have to admit, there’s a certain power in governing another person’s body this way. I understand why men enjoy it. I lean further over him so I can grab his shoulder with one hand as I press my hips into his ass. I thrust a bit harder, and Ash groans.
“You like that, baby?” I purr.
Ash grunts a laugh. “Don’t get too used to this. It’s only for Stanley Cup playoff time.”
“Then you better make the playoffs every year, because this is fun.”
The vibrator kicks up higher, and I cry out again as I thrust faster. Seconds later, Ash swears loudly and lets out a grunt as milky jets of cum shoot from his cock onto the duvet.
We probably should have planned that better and put a towel down, but as I understand it, only a certain percentage of men come that way during anal. Apparently, Ash is one.
The vibrator stops between my legs, leaving me short of a release. I whimper but stop moving as Ash lays his forehead on the mattress, andhis body eases from the last throes of his orgasm.
“Undo my hands,” he orders.
I carefully pull out of him and get off the bed to release the metal clasps that tether the wrist cuffs to the straps. He sits back to flex his shoulders before he goes into the bathroom and comes back with a hand towel that he uses to wipe the cum off the duvet.
I start to unfasten the strap-on, but Ash grabs my waist and throws me down on the bed so I’m lying flat on my back. He finishes unfastening the strap-on, helps me pull it off, then tosses it aside.
“Did you come?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Good. We’re going to play a little game,” he says as he pushes my thighs open, then sinks down on the bed with his head between them. “We need to win four games to take the Stanley Cup.”
I nod at him, not sure where he’s going with this.
“The number of times I make you come tonight is the number of games we’re going to win,” he says.
My eyes widen. “No!” I try to sit up, but he pushes me back down. “Ash, please, don’t make me responsible for your Stanley Cup hopes.”
Athletes are a superstitious bunch, and if I can’t get my body to come enough times…
Ash looks up at me from between my legs. “You need to trust me, baby,” he says. “I know your body, and I know what I’m doing. Can you trust me?”
The whole thing is ridiculous, but he’s not going to let this go. I’ve learned that much about him.
“I trust you,” I say as I lie back on the bed.
