It’s fucking torture. I’ve never felt every goddamn ridge and vein on a cock going into my ass before, and yet here we are. I guess I’ve never had a bare cock in me before, either. Maybe that’s what makes the difference.
He’s far enough in that he can lean on his elbow now, his face close, his lips a whisper away from my lips. “You’re a glutton,” he tells me. “You need to learn restraint.”
A sob wells up in me and I clutch at his arm, at the finch tattoo standing on the scar I gave him with my shitty sewing skills. “Is that what you’re teaching me?” I ask, when Icanask something.
“I’m almost in, angel. You like my cock?”
“Fuck.” It’s all I can say. He’s splitting me open but I want more. I want all of him in all of me. Doesn’t he see how perfectly we fit together?
Am I the only one having an epiphany right now?
I can’t be. I look into his eyes and I can see the same wonder that I feel, just hidden away a little better under his dominant act. Not that it’s an act. I can see that need he has: to be respected, feared.
Loved.
“Fuck,” I say again, surprised, and he looks wary then, like I’ve seen too much.
“Yeah,” he says, like he’s answering a question. His thick shaft slides right up into me, my ass opening up in welcome, and he hits home before I can blink.
“You’re really fucking big,” I whisper, while he takes a moment to catch his breath.
“You’re really fucking talkative.”
“Better fuck that smart-mouth tendency right outta me.” I grin while I say it, but he takes it as a challenge, and with one pull of his hips, his dick is almost all the way out again, just the head of it working back and forth in my ring, and I can’t help moaning, dropping my head down. “Please. I’ve wanted you for so long.” I sound more plaintive than I meant to, but it seems to work. He slides his way back in, not as slow this time, but still much slower than I want.
I want him to screw the living daylights out of me. I want him to screw me so hard I forget my name, myfather’sname, my entire familial history. His hand is on top of mine and I splay my fingers so his weave into mine, and hold tight. “Please,” I say again, and goddamn, I sound soserious. Not like me at all, whoever that is.
I’m not sure what all this means.
Idoknow I like it.
And finally,finallyLuca seems to be willing to listen to my pleading, stops teasing, and gets down to it. It’s not hard, not like I expected, but it’s exactly how I need it. It’s deep, the deepest dicking of my life maybe, his cock reaching up and stretching inside me and rubbing over and over my most sensitive place as he works in me. He pulls out as far as he can on the way out without breaking our connection, the crown of his cock making my ring bulge and my mouth moan. I guess he likes that noise, because he drives deep back in and then does it again, pulls all the way out only not quite; and then he doesagainand does it slower this time, maybe to see if that changes the squeals coming out of me.
This guy fucks like he’s got nothing else to do but perfect the art. I try to pull my hand out from under his so I can jack myself, but he shakes his head, a drop of sweat landing on my cheek as he does. “No, angel. You’re doing this forme. Taking it how I want to give it to you.”
I groan and give up, letting my head fall back. “Then give it to me,” I mumble. Hey, if he wants me to lie here and take a fucking, I can do that.
He begins to thrust, finding the best angle for him to get all the way in, deep as he can, and hallelujah, it’s exactly the same angle my prostate needs, too. He keeps it up until my cock is leaking so much it’s like a river between us. He likes it, I can tell, looking alternately smug and hot for it.
“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he croons. “You going to spill soon?”
I’m about to groan that yes, yes I am, when I figure out what heactuallywants to hear. “Only—when you—let me,” I huff out, in time with his thrusts. I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him further in. “Only—with your—permission, husband—”
He lets out this savage noise and his pace picks up in a way that tells me he’s close. He grabs a handful of my hair and tips my throat back to graze his teeth along my jugular. But the pain only sweetens the bliss, and I let out a moan. I’ve had plenty of guys who like to play rough, but this guy? He knows how to do itright.
Or else we’re just made for each other, like I’ve thought for the last five years.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper. “Fill me up.”
He leans down to my ear and pants, “Take it, angel.” Three more thrusts and he lets out a long, low groan, his cock pulsing in my ass, spilling out his hot cum and filling me up so far I think I can taste it at the back of my throat.
“You’re so fucking hot,” I pant. “Do I get my turn now?”
I’m expecting a perfunctory hand job. But he does the strangest thing. He pulls out, and gets up on his knees to look down at me. His blue eyes are darkening, and I think to myself, I might know this man, but I’ll neverknowthis man. His cock is still drooling with the last of his cum, but he ignores it, and instead taps one finger on the head of my dick, making it bounce in mid-air.
“Please, baby,” I say, and I’m starting to shiver. “Let me come.”
Most guys I’ve been with, once they spill, they’re not interested in teasing out my pleasure any longer. But my husband is not most men, and that is something I need to remember.
