He moans at that, his hole clenching around my finger. I start a gentle rhythm, in and out, letting him get used to the sensation. When I curl my finger, searching, his whole body spasms. “Holy shit,” he pants. “That’s—fuck, Drew!”
I press against the spot again, and Jackson makes a sound I’ve never heard from him before—raw and desperate and absolutely filthy. I grin, adding more lube before working in a second finger. The stretch makes him tense initially, but I keep rubbing against his prostate, and soon, he’s pushing back against my hand, chasing the sensation. “Look at you,” I murmur, scissoring my fingers gently. “Already so eager for it. Been thinking about this, haven’t you? About how I’d open you up?”
“Yes,” he gasps, no hesitation. “Wanted it for so long. Wanted you.”
My heart all but stops beating as I focus on making this perfect for him. By the time I work in a third finger, Jackson’s a writhing mess. He’s leaking all over his stomach, cock fully hard again, and the sounds he’s making are going straight to my dick. Every time I brush his prostate, he practically levitates off the bed.
“Please,” he finally begs, reaching for me with paint-stained hands. “Drew, please, I need?—”
“I know what you need.” I slowly withdraw my fingers, and he whimpers at the loss. “Gonna give it to you, baby.”
I grab the condom with shaking hands, trying not to fumble it. My cock is harder than it’s ever been, the precome dripping steadily. When I roll the condom on and slick myself up with lube, Jackson watches with hungry eyes.
“How do you want it?” he asks.
“I want to see your face.” I place his ankles on my shoulders, the position opening him up beautifully. His hole is pink and wet from my fingers, clenching on nothing, and I have to close my eyes for a second to regain control. “Ready?” I ask, lining myself up.
Jackson nods frantically, and I push forward slowly. When the head breaches him, we both groan. He’s fucking tight, even after all that prep, and I have to fight every instinct screaming at me to thrust home.
Inch by torturous inch, I slide inside. My cock is big—not Gerard big, but enough length and girth that I’m impressed that Jacky’s not running for the hills.
His face is a masterpiece of sensation. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline, then pinch together in the middle. His jaw clenches, teeth bared for a split second before his mouth falls open in a silent gasp. His eyes flutter—closed, then open, thenhalf-lidded—pupils blown so wide I can barely see the brown. His fingernails bite into my forearms, ten perfect crescents that’ll be there tomorrow for everyone to see.
“So big,” he gasps. “Fuck, Drew.”
“Almost there,” I promise, though I’m only halfway. “You’re doing amazing, Jacky. Taking me so well.”
Fuck. Me.I’m finally fully seated, my hips pressed against his ass. We’re both panting like we’ve run a marathon, and I can feel Jackson’s hole clenching around me, trying to adjust to the intrusion.
“Just…give me a minute,” he huffs.
I’d give him forever if he asked. The sight of him spread out beneath me, stuffed with my cock, is enough to sustain me for years. But my body has other ideas, every muscle imploring me to move, to thrust, to claim.
I focus on his face instead. The pinch between his eyebrows slowly smooths out. A flush blooms high on his cheekbones, spreading down his neck. His chest rises and falls in deeper, steadier rhythms. Then his eyes find mine, and I feel the deliberate ripple of muscle around me.
“Fuck,” I hiss, my hips jerking involuntarily.
“I think…” He clenches again, deliberately this time. “I think I’m ready.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Just go slow.”
Like I could do anything else.
I pull out carefully, an inch or two, then slide back in. Jackson’s eyes go wide, his mouth popping open in a perfectOof surprise.
“Oh my God,” he breathes.
I do it again, easing back until just the head of my cock catches on his rim, then slide forward with a slow, deliberate push that makes his ankles tense against my shoulders. His toes—those thick, quarterback toes—curl and twist beside my ears, knuckles going white as they grip at nothing but air.
The sight makes me grin, and I pick up a slightly faster rhythm, still careful but steady. “Good?”
He moans. “It’s—fuck, I can feel you everywhere.”
I shift my angle slightly on the next thrust, and…there. Jackson’s eyes roll back, and he makes this sound, an almost monstrous groan that I want to record and debase myself to later.
“Found it,” I say cockily, hitting the same spot again.
