“If you love my dick so much, show me how you ride it,” He breathes.
I offer him nothing more than a muffled whine in response as I take his mouth with mine, gripping onto the couch cushion behind him as I grind my shaft into his fist.
“Vaseline – at my station, third drawer down,” he tells me. My brow arches in challenge, the corner of my lips ticking up. “It’s either Vaseline, pre, or spit, and I know how you feel about spit; so pick your fucking poison.”
“You’re such a romantic,” I snark, sliding off of his lap to cross the room to his station.
A deep chuckle slides out of him as I dig through the drawer for the jar of jelly. When I turn toward him again, Tripp’s eyes are on my body, surveying, exploring. His finger swirls against the head of his leaking cock, his hand wrapping around it to offer it a few strokes; something to tide him over until I get back tohim. His tongue wets his lower lip, his mouth falling open as his fist tightens around the head.
Finding my way back onto his lap, I straddle him, keeping my eyes locked on his as I twist open the jar in my hand.
“Fingers first,” I tell him. “Slow. Work your way up.”
With the same gentle touch that a potter might use to work clay, he scoops a dollop onto the pad of his index finger and brings it to the tight ring behind me. He’s gentle as he massages his way inside, watching me with a laser focus that suggests he thinks I might explode if he isn’t careful.
“You do this every time?”
“Not every time, just most,” I answer with a shake of my head. “You’re just bigger than what I have at home. Another one.”
His focus is on the twitch of my cock as he carefully slides a second finger inside of me to brush against the first.
“Is that a compliment?” He asks. “Or a complaint?”
“I’ll tell you when we get there,” I answer with a lopsided smile.
His bandaged palm rests against my cheek as his lips meet mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth as his fingers massage against my most sensitive spot. My cock twitches again in response to earn a soft laugh against my lips.
Our shared and unspoken nerves make this feel like a game. A casual exchange between two old friends. I understand why Tripp is nervous – but I don’t understand why I am. This is old hat to me.
But he isn’t. He’sTripp. And he’s about to fuck me.
As a third and final finger slides inside to join the others, I feed a moan into his mouth, my hips rocking against his; and everything that felt like fun and games just moments ago melts under an inescapable heat that floods my veins.
I miss his fingers when he finally withdraws them to coat his cock with a layer of the jelly. As he notches the head of it behindme, his eyes search mine. I answer his unasked question with another kiss, cupping his face between my hands with a satisfied groan at how well he fills me up as he slowly and carefully nudges inside of me.
His hands clamp onto my ass, his fingers digging into my skin as he pushes me further onto his cock, letting a low moan crawl from his throat to mine.
Our kiss is unhurried, letting us melt into each other as my hips roll against his. With the moans that spill from his mouth into mine, he feeds me the pain that he won’t allow himself to feel, and I swallow it down for him as he lets go of it.
His lips leave mine to suck the skin at the side of my neck, and my teeth nip at his earlobe in response, tangling my fingers into his hair with a firm and demanding grip. My cock twitches from its place sandwiched between our bodies as his fingers massage into the flesh of my ass and he spreads me wider.
“You’re gonna take all of it for me, aren’t you?” he whines against my skin as he feeds my body another inch.
Hands explore skin; not greedy, not rushed.
This isn’t a battle between us, there is nothing for either of us to prove. Neither of us care about winning some pointless game of dominance.
Gripping onto the back of the couch, I lift my hips and he slams his own into them to force strangled sounds from my throat. Every story that I’ve ever told him is reimagined in the way that he uses his body as his hand grips the back of my neck, his lips crashing against me to let his tongue carve a place for itself next to mine.
A sharp breath pulls in through Tripp’s nose, his eyes squeezing tightly shut with a lurch of his chest that tells me more than I think he ever will out loud.
The quiet collapse of four words built around him like a wall and held strong for as long as he’s been alive. Damaged by the cannon fire of the love that he sought and didn’t receive.
Reaching behind him, I tangle my fingers into the back of his hair to press my forehead to his.
“Let go of it, Riptide,” I tell him. “It’s okay to let it go.”
My lips meet his, and as my tongue moves against his, his arms wrap around my body, holding the two of us together in a vise. Pained huffs hit my face, a whine joining as my fingers push through his hair.
