We bump into the alcove and pause there. I get so distracted by his bottom lip that I forget where we’re going. We crash into a doorframe and stumble into Connor’s bedroom for no reason other than that it’s closer than mine.
I walk him back to the bed. Purposefully now, not in a fever dream. I want him there. On his bed. I want to lie with him, on cotton and clouds and on him, and I want to kiss him without the challenge of remaining upright.
He lies back and pulls me down with him smoothly, one hand hooked around my neck, teeth snapping gently at my jaw.
I lower myself onto him, and it feels like it did when I kissed him for the first time. Like a relief. Like a respite. Like it’s insane that a time ever existed when he didn’t lie beneath me, writhing, and I didn’t hold him down with my hips and my chest. Where he wasn’t this close to me, and I wasn’t aware of every inch of his body.
Our kisses quickly grow urgent. Faster and harder. Soft moans turn to grunts as we tear at each other’s clothes. I’m on top of him, and I’m not getting off him, so getting to his skin is a problem. I tug at his T-shirt, pulling it up so his belly and chest are exposed. At the same time, I struggle with my shirt, ripping a couple of buttons as he undoes others. Between us, we manage to get my shirt open, but not off my shoulders.
It’s enough. Enough to close the ache between us. The throb. The burn. His skin touches mine and heat sluices through me. Our chests arch. Our hips rise to meet each other.
The ridge in his pants pulses against mine. It has an ache and a throb of its own. A new ache. A new throb. One that wipes my mind clean and makes my hips snap and grind with need that feels like it won’t ever end. Between us, we struggle with zippers and belts, cussing and swearing as I yank his pants down enough to expose his cock, and he does the same to me. My hand slidesup his shaft as soon as it’s free, and everything slows. I stop moving and look down.
Fuck.
I like what I see. Abs that are clenched hard. A mat of trimmed hair, and a dick stretched out and twitching to get closer to me. Not any dick. Connor’s dick. A dick that feels like him.
I buck my hips against him, and my naked cock touches his. There’s a jolt when it happens. A thrill. A roar that rips through me. A burst of arousal so strong it shocks me and throws my head back as a long guttural moan fills the room.
He’s solid and warm. Sinewy and smooth against me. I’m sensitive to the pressure. To the density, to the heat and weight of his cock against mine, in a way I wasn’t expecting. It’s compelling. Captivating. Hypnotic. Electrons spin around atoms, generating an unstoppable pull. A magnetic attraction so strong, the world goes away and all that’s left in existence is Connor’s body and mine.
I thrust against the hardness of him, and the ridge of his crown caressing mine sends dizzying pleasure up my shaft. Up my spine. To the base of my brain. I’m mindless. A mechanical bull. A screaming need that knows nothing but friction. Nothing but heat. Nothing but Connor and his cock against mine.
The shift from brain-numbing pleasure to ecstasy is smooth. An elevator ride through the roof of a building without stopping. A dam wall breaking.
Connor struggles against me, a hand on my back, a leg curled around my waist, bucking frantically. He’s like me. Mechanical and mindless. He’s right where I am, chasing a void. Chasing a tidal wave of pleasure so strong we’re going to forget everything that isn’t the rush of our balls emptying and gushes of cum shooting from our cocks.
I look down, and he’s wild. Eyes closed, teeth clenched. Lips pulled into a grimace that lets a pained sound seep out of it.
He looks up, and the world stops turning. It’s him. The Spark. He’s here, and he’s beautiful and good. So beautiful and so good that my heart cracks open and my orgasm erupts out of me violently.
It’s the kind of pleasure that feels like strangulation. Like a life force suddenly suspended. Like death and dying.
Like drowning.
Like living.
Like forgiveness and righting old wrongs.
It feels like the beginning of something so new that my whole body shakes with relief as wave after wave hits me. Crashing into me and tossing me into the air.
I sink and float.
When I swim back to the surface, there’s a mess between us. A hot, sticky mess that I reach into with no hesitation. My hand finds Connor’s cock. It’s like mine, and not mine. Thick and slippery, wet from what I spilled. I hold myself up—not a lot because I crave being close to Connor more than I’ve ever craved anything—just enough that I’m able to move my hand between us and watch as his face transforms.
He moans through his teeth, low and long, and the sinews in his neck pull. His eyes are open, as blue as they are green, and they’re trained on me. He hisses and pants. His eyes are hungry and slowly becoming unfocused. On me one second, rolling back the next.
His orgasm rushes up his shaft. I feel it. I literally feel it in my hand. The pulse, the pleasure. The surge. He throbs in my hand. Once, twice, three times, and then his seed spurts out of him in thick jets as his cries of pleasure light up the room.
I catch what I can and rub it into his skin, thrusting my cock against his even though I’m so sensitive I could scream.
I have to.
I want to because I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want to make Connor feel good.
It’s a blurry, trancelike night. We clean up and go back to his bed, and then we make a mess all over again.
We use our hands the first few times, and by the time it’s so late that I’m lightheaded from Connor and coming and not eating dinner, he kneels between my legs with his hands on my thighs. He’s stripped everything from me, and I don’t only mean shoes and clothes. I mean heavy things I’ve been carrying. I mean walls I haven’t let people see behind.
