He sucked me in, moaning around the thickness, tongue working the underside, drool slipping from the corners of his mouth. I watched him, hand tight in his hair, fucking his face slow, making him take it, making him feel how desperate I was for this.
“Yeah, just like that,” I groaned, hips rolling, cock slipping deeper. “Take it. Show me how much you want it.”
I pulled out just enough to spit—messy, filthy—right into his mouth, watching him swallow it down without hesitation. Then I spat again, this time onto my own cock, slicking it up, making every thrust wet and obscene.
“Filthy,” I praised, voice a snarl. “You like the taste of me? Like getting used like this?”
He nodded, mouth still full, eyes wild with need.
I fed him more, letting him worship every inch, letting myself lose control—both of us lost to the hunger, the heat, the mess we were making together.
I gripped Michael’s hair tighter, guiding him down as I fed him even more of my cock—inch by inch, letting him feel the weight and stretch, letting him choke a little before pulling back, only to push forward again. His throat worked around me, jaw aching, spit coating every inch, the sounds wet and obscene.
“Take it,” I rasped, hips rocking, loving the sight of him so ruined for me, so hungry he’d do anything I asked. “You can take more—yeah, just like that.”
He moaned around me, tongue working, hands gripping my thighs as I set the pace. I felt the pressure building, the desperate edge of needing more, of wanting to drown in him as much as he drowned in me.
I pulled back, panting, cock shining with spit, and grinned down at him. “Move up the bed,” I ordered, voice rough. He scrambled back, breathless and wrecked, and I crawled over him, turning so my cock hovered above his mouth while my face hovered over his cock and hole.
We fit together perfectly, wild and eager. He grabbed my hips, sucking me back into his mouth, groaning as I rocked forward, feeding him all I had.
I lowered my head, dragging my tongue through his hair, nuzzling deep, inhaling the thick, masculine scent at the root of his cock, then licked a broad stripe over his balls, down to his hole. His ass was so hairy, so musky and perfect—I buried my face there, licking and sucking, spitting and groaning into the curls, worshipping him with my mouth.
His whole body arched, cock bobbing against my cheek as I licked him open, tongue fucking deep, letting spit drip and trail down as I rimmed him again and again. I reached up, spreading him wider, letting my thumbs reveal that perfect, pink, hungry hole. I spat again, then pressed one thick finger in, then two, working him open as he whimpered around my cock.
Michael didn’t stop—he took me as deep as he could, drooling, choking, desperate, then let one hand wander back, cupping my ass, kneading, before sliding a finger into my own hairy hole. I groaned, pushing back into the touch, loving the slick slide of his fingers working me open while I did the same to him.
“Yeah, you want that?” I growled, pulling back to breathe against his rim. “You like having my tongue and fingers in your ass, stretching you open, making you shake?”
He moaned, letting go of my cock just long enough to gasp, “Need it, Daniel. Want you inside, want to feel you everywhere?—”
I grinned against his skin, then pressed in with a third finger, then a fourth, stretching him wider, watching his hole gape and flutter, hair slicked down with spit. He whimpered, sucking my cock harder, fucking himself back on my hand.
“You can take more,” I promised, voice dark and reverent. “You want it all, don’t you? You want to be ruined, filled, fucked open for me?”
“Yes—please—Daniel, please?—”
I worked a fifth finger in, slow and careful, marveling at how hungry his body was, how he opened up for me, how perfectly he took it. My fingers curled inside, stretching, twisting, fucking him while my mouth worshipped every inch, licking, sucking, biting.
He sobbed, spit and precum and sweat making everything slick, and used his other hand to spread my own ass, fingers finding my hairy hole, pushing in, fucking me slow and rough while he swallowed my cock to the root.
We rocked together, a mess of bodies and mouths and hands, both of us lost, both of us desperate to give and take and own and be owned.
Eventually, the desperate rhythm of our mouths and hands slowed—not because the need had faded, but because it had sharpened into something even more urgent. I pulled off Michael’s cock with one last, filthy lick and rolled us, shifting our tangled bodies until he was straddling me, chest gleaming with sweat, hair wild, face flushed and hungry.
He hovered above me, both of us panting, eyes locked in the low light, every inch of skin buzzing where we touched. For a moment, we just looked at each other—me sprawled out beneath him, legs open, my cock wet and hard against my belly; him kneeling above me, chest heaving, body trembling with need.
I reached up, running my palms over his chest, loving the wiry hair, the sharp lines of muscle. “Come here,” I ordered, voice rough but thick with worship. “Let me taste you again.”
He bent down, lips crashing into mine, and the kiss was everything—hungry, messy, full of spit and moans, tongues tangling as we devoured each other. He pressed his weight down, cock grinding into mine, hands roaming greedy and restless over my sides, my arms, my chest.
I let one hand tangle in his hair, the other slipping behind his neck, holding him close. When he broke the kiss, gasping, I tugged him lower, mouth to his ear. “Worship me,” I whispered, voice a demand and a plea. “Want your mouth on my nipples, your face in my pits. Want to see you breathe me in. Want to mark you—want everyone to know who you belong to tonight.”
His eyes widened, dark and eager, and he obeyed without hesitation. He dragged his tongue down my jaw, nipping at my throat, then lower, teeth scraping across my collarbone, lips closing around one nipple, then the other.
He sucked, licked, flicked his tongue over the tight peaks, sending jolts of pleasure racing down to my cock. I arched up into his mouth, moaning, hands gripping his hair as he bit down, not gentle, loving every gasp, every curse he pulled out of me.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I groaned. “Use your teeth. Mark me up. Make me feel it for days.”
