"That's it. Ask me nicely."
"Please, Ash, please fuck me, I need your cock so bad—"
A slick finger presses into me and I moan, loud and shameless. He works me open slow, one finger becoming two, scissoring gently while his other hand grips my ass hard enough to leave marks. His thumb traces the stretched rim where his fingers disappear into me.
"So tight," he murmurs. "So hot inside. You're gonna feel so good around my cock."
"More. I can take more."
"I know you can. My greedy boy." Three fingers now, stretching me, and he curls them to hit that spot that makes me see stars.
"Fuck!" My hips jerk back, trying to get more, fucking myself on his hand. "Ash, I'm gonna come if you don't—"
"Don't you dare." His free hand cracks down on my ass—sharp, stinging—and the shock of it makes me clench around his fingers. "You don't come until I'm inside you. Until you're full of my cock and I tell you you can."
"Then get inside me. Stop teasing and fuck me already."
He laughs, dark and pleased. "There he is. Knew you had some fight in you."
He pulls his fingers out and I hear the slick sound of lube, then the rustle of him finally shoving his jeans down. The blunt head of his cock presses against me, hot and thick, and I push back against it desperately.
"Look at me."
I twist to look over my shoulder. He's finally shirtless, all that bronze skin and hard muscle on display. Dog tags hangingbetween his pecs, glinting in the low light. His cock in his hand, flushed dark and so thick my mouth waters.
"God, you're gorgeous," I breathe.
His expression flickers—surprised, almost vulnerable—before the heat rushes back in. "Ready?"
"Yes. Fuck yes. Please—"
He pushes in.
It's slow, controlled, but relentless. Inch by inch, stretching me open around him, filling me up until he's fully seated and I can feel him everywhere. So deep. So full. The burn of it perfect.
"Fuck," he grits out, and his voice cracks on it. "You feel—Christ, Jason, you're so tight. So fucking perfect."
He pulls back and snaps his hips forward, and I scream.
After that, it's not gentle. It's not slow. He fucks me hard and deep, one hand on my hip and one fisted in my hair, yanking my head back while he takes what he wants. The angle is devastating, hitting my prostate on every thrust, and I'm making sounds I've never made before—desperate, broken, his name mixed with profanity and pleas.
"That's it," he growls, bending over me so his chest presses against my back. His dog tags drag cold against my heated skin. "Take it. Take my cock. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to be fucked by me."
"Yes, yes, yours, only yours—" I'm babbling, can't stop. "So good, Ash, your cock feels so fucking good, don't stop, please don't stop—"
He groans against my neck and bites down, hard, right where my shoulder meets my throat. The sharp pain mingles with the pleasure until I can't tell them apart.
"Gonna mark you up," he pants. "Gonna make sure everyone knows you're mine. You want that? Want to wear my bruises?"
"Yes, fuck, yes—want everyone to know—"
He pulls out suddenly and I whine at the loss, empty and aching. But then he's flipping me over onto my back, shoving my thighs up and apart, and sliding back in with one smooth thrust that punches the air out of my lungs.
"Want to see your face when you come," he says, and starts fucking me again.
This angle is even better. He's hitting my prostate with every thrust, and I can see him above me—sweat dripping down his temples, muscles straining, dog tags swinging between us, eyes locked on mine like I'm the only thing in the world. His abs flex with every snap of his hips. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Touch yourself," he orders. "I want to watch you come on my cock."
