I wanted to bite them until he screamed.
He let the shirt drop to the floor.
"All of it," I said.
Newt reached for the waistband of his shorts, fingers slick with water, and pushed them down past his knees. His underwear followed, pale blue, soaked and clinging. When he kicked them off, his cock sprang free, already half-hard and leaking at the tip.
He blushed, and I almost laughed. The kid had no idea how good he looked. He shifted, unsure. His cock bobbed against his thigh, balls tight and high from the chill.
I let the silence stretch, the anticipation suffocating. "You want me to touch you?" I said.
Newt nodded, eyes never leaving mine.
"Say it."
His voice was a whisper. "Please."
I let the command hang in the air.
Then I stripped. First the shirt, which came off in one motion. The scars, the tattoos, the web of veins down my arms—they were all for him now. I saw his pupils widen, saw his lips part as he stared. Newt tracked the muscles, the old wounds, the ridges and dips of a body built for war. His cock jerked at the sight.
I unlaced my boots, set them aside, then shucked the pants and underwear at once. My own cock was at full mast, heavy and dark, jutting straight out. I didn't bother to hide it. I wanted him to see.
Newt saw.
His mouth went slack.
Good.
I climbed on the bed, knees bracketing his thighs, hands planted on either side of his ribs.
Newt smelled like sun and sweat and the lingering tang of river water.
I leaned in, lips at his ear. "Last chance to run."
Newt shook his head.
I bit the lobe, then his neck, then moved down to the hollow above his collarbone. He gasped, back arching, hands coming up to grab my arms.
I pinned Newt’s wrists to the bed, easy. His pulse thudded under my fingers. He whimpered, and it went straight to mycock. I ground my hips against his, our cocks sliding together, slick with sweat and precome. He moaned, soft and high, pressing up for more.
I could've made him beg, but I wanted him too much.
I let go of Newt’s wrists and slid a hand down to his balls, rolling them in my palm, then squeezing until he yelped. He was so fucking responsive—every touch made him shiver, every rough edge made him want more.
I ran my thumb along the seam at his taint, then circled his hole, pressing just enough to make him gasp. Newt spread his legs, offering himself up without shame.
I spat in my hand, lubed my fingers, then pushed one inside him, slow but deep. He clenched around me, panting, trying to ride the intrusion instead of fight it.
I added a second finger, scissoring, stretching him wide. He was tight, but not a virgin. He knew what he wanted. I curled my fingers just right and he cried out, the sound echoing off the bare walls.
"Knox, fuck—"
I grinned. "You want more?"
"Please," he said, voice gone to hell.
I could've teased him all night, but I was beyond patience.
