Groaning deeply, Dawson nodded and lined up, pushing in slowly.
Ever since Dawson had arrived in Toronto, this had been a satisfying and reoccurring fantasy. Dawson’s cock carving out the perfect place inside him, deep and real and true. But somehow the reality was even better, leaving him panting and weak-limbed, only able to lie there on his couch and take it as Dawson began to fuck into him with slow, even thrusts.
“Shit, baby, you feel so good,” Dawson said, head hanging down, hair in his eyes. Cam reached out and tangled his fingers in it, pushing it back so he could see Dawson’s face, and that made it even better. Everything was white hot and electric as Dawson found the angle that made him cry out and then pushed and pushed and pushed him.
Cam was aware of how much stupid nonsense he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop, it all spilling out of his mouth in a torrent, the pleasure unlocking something inside him.
He gripped Dawson’s shoulders and just didn’t care. Rode it out.
“Gonna,” Dawson panted what could have been a minute or an hour later. Cam felt so good he could float here, almost forever, he thought, Dawson’s cock a perfect weight inside him.
He wanted to come, but he didn’tneedto come.
They could just keep going like this, forever.
But then Dawson sped up, thrusting fast and hard, and suddenly that need rose to the surface.
Cam reached for his cock and gave himself a stroke and then another, barely touching himself, because he knew it wasn’t going to take much. Sex had been good, but it had never felt like this before. It would be so easy to get addicted to this feeling, and Cam didn’t think he was alone. Dawson’s face was creased and slack, eyes rolling behind his head as he gave one last thrust and then he shook, coming hard.
He only needed one last touch to follow, cock twitching in his hand as he unloaded onto his own stomach, clenching around Dawson’s cock as they both came down from their orgasms.
Cam flopped back onto the couch, panting.
“God,” Dawson said and carefully bracing himself on the back of the couch, pulled out. He chuckled under his breath. “We’re definitely . . .uh . . .going to make a mess.”
Cam felt a throb of satisfaction deep down at the thought theycould. “Grab my T-shirt. That’ll work for the worst of the cleanup.”
Leaning down, Dawson did, haphazardly wiping up most of the mess from Cam’s stomach and between his legs.
Once that was done, he let the fabric fall back to the floor, and before Cam could suggest that he come back down with him, Dawson was already doing it, cuddling up close, an arm slung casually across Cam’s chest.
“Damn, that was so good,” Dawson murmured, reaching up a bit so he could press a kiss to one of the marks on Cam’s collarbone that he’d made last night. “You have the best ideas.”
“Your idea to come over,” Cam said, and that was still something he was going to reach for whenever he felt sad or lonely.
“Your idea earlier.” Dawson’s fingers curled into Cam’s skin. Like they wanted to dig in and not let go. Honestly, Cam would let him. Cam was beginning to think he’d let him do anything he wanted.
“Fifty-fifty on the credit,” Cam suggested.
“Sixty-forty. Sixty to you, ’cause the fucking was your idea.” Dawson snorted, and it was so cute he could barely stand it. He was that particular combination of snarky-sexy-cute that seemed to be the perfect key to Cam’s lock. Maybe that was why the sex was so good.
Maybe that was why he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever get enough.
“I’ll take it,” Cam said.
They were both quiet for a long minute.
Then Dawson spoke up again. “Had dinner with Aidan and Mo tonight.”
“How was that?”
Dawson snorted again. “Kind of horrible. Kind of awkward. But it got better. Mo seems like a good guy.”
“Yeah?”
“He’snever seen Aidan puke in a bush,” Dawson said. “But despite that, they seem like pretty good friends. Good enough that Mo had no issue helping me gang up on him.”
“I will never get used to that,” Cam said honestly.
