"Ace," I gasp, my back arching so hard it almost hurts. "Fuck, yes, right there."
He pulls back just enough to say, "Turn over," voice rough and wrecked.
I'm already moving before he finishes the sentence, rolling onto my stomach like my body knows what he wants before my brain does. The mattress provides delicious friction against my aching cock, and I have to resist the urge to just grind against it.
Ace grabs my hips, those big hands spanning my hipbones easily, and lifts them up, positioning me exactly how he wants me. Ass up, face down, completely exposed andvulnerable, and I have no idea what his plan is but I don't care. Whatever he wants, he can have.
He can have everything.
His tongue returns, licking and teasing, circling my hole before dipping inside again, and I'm making sounds that would be embarrassing if I had any brain cells left to care.
Then I feel it—his finger, slick with spit, pressing inside me alongside his tongue.
The sensation is overwhelming. Too much and not enough all at once.
He works me open slowly, carefully, his finger sliding deeper, crooking slightly, searching, and then—
"There!" I practically shout when he finds my prostate. "Right there, oh fuck, rightthere—"
He hits it again, deliberately, with purpose, and I can't stop the sounds spilling out of me. I don't even try. I just let myself feel, let myself drown in the sensation of his finger inside me, stroking that spot over and over while his other hand grips my ass, kneading the flesh.
"You're a surprisingly fast learner," I manage between moans, the words coming out slurred and breathless.
"Of course I am." His voice is smug, confident, and somehow that makes it hotter. "Did you think I was all muscle, no brain?"
"Well—"
He presses the tip of his finger directly against my prostate and moves it in a small, devastating circle that makes my toes curl, my hands claw at the sheets, and my words die in my throat.
"Don't you dare answer that," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I laugh, breathless and wrecked, and he adds a second finger, stretching me wider. The burn is perfect, that edge between pleasure and pain that makes everything sharper, brighter, more.
He spreads his fingers, opening me up, and I push back against him, greedy for more, for everything and anything he's willing to give me.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Take it. You're doing so good."
His fingers work me open with patience and precision, hitting my prostate with nearly every thrust, and I'm a writhing mess beneath him, reduced to nothing but sensation and need. My cock is leaking against the mattress, creating a wet spot, and I'm so turned on it's painful.
Three fingers now, stretching me wider, and the fullness is incredible. I'm panting into the pillow, inhaling his scent, my whole body trembling, right on that edge where pleasure becomes too much to bear.
"Is this enough?" he asks, voice rough.
My brain struggles to process. "Enough for what?" The words come out slurred.
"Enough stretch to fit my dick inside you instead." He pauses, and I feel his fingers still inside me. "Unless you don't want that."
I want to laugh at the absurdity of it.Unless I don't want that. Like there's any universe where I don't want exactly that. But I'm too horned up for humor. Too desperate. Too far gone. So instead, I blurt out, "Oh, just fuck me already."
The words barely leave my mouth before his fingers are gone, sliding out and leaving me empty and clenching around nothing, and I almost whine at the loss. "Wait, I didn't mean right this second, I need a minute to—"
But then Ace is stretching over me, his body covering mine like a blanket, reaching for his nightstand, and I roll onto my back just in time to watch his body extend. All those muscles shift and flex, his abs elongating, his arms reaching, and it's like watching art in motion.
I can't help myself—I lean up and lick a stripe across his chest. He tastes like salt and sex andmine.
He sits back on his heels, condom wrapper and lube in hand, and I watch his face transform. The confidence wavers, uncertainty creeping in like fog, doubt clouding those eyes that were so sure just seconds ago.
Not on my watch.
