“Alex,” he breathes. “You feel too fucking good.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “So you say.”
He pushes in a little further, past my resistance, sliding in easily. The motion drives him over top of me and he settles his elbows beside my face. He presses his forehead to mine, his gaze imploring mine.
“Look at me, Alex,” he says, his voice a dark whisper.
I keep my eyes trained on him, just like he asks.
“Good boy,” he says, slipping a hand between us to grab my cock.
One thrust.
“Jordan…” I moan, the words scratching the part of my brain that craves the praise he gives me.
Two thrusts.
“You take my cock so good, baby.”
My back arches, and I bring my hands to his abdomen, feeling his muscles and every movement he makes. I slide them up his chest, around his neck. I feel like if I don’t hold on I’m going to fall. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe it’ll be okay.
His free hand finds mine, placing it on the pillow above my head. He holds my wrist, but not forcefully. His thumb traces my veins and my fingers curl, grazing the back of his hand. It’s the faintest touch, but it’s the one that does me in.
“Jordan, I—”
Everything inside me is a storm.
I close my eyes trying to push out the thoughts that threaten to poison this moment.
No one’s ever touched me like this before…
My breath comes in fast because it’s too much.
Three thrusts.
His mouth finds mine as he continues his steady, slow thrusts, his rhythm torturous. My cock aches in hishands, his cock filling me to the brim. His tongue in my mouth. His hand on my wrist, his heavy chest pressed against me.
“Come for me, Alex,” he whispers against my mouth. “Forme.”
His thrusts come faster. Harder.
He takes his hand off my wrist, sliding it down my body until he finds my thigh and grabs it. He hooks it around his hip and pushes me back, the angle making his cock run right over my prostate, and I moan loudly.
“Fucking hell, Jordan!”
He chuckles as he finds my lips again.
His hand on my cock tightens as he jerks me faster. The sensations are overwhelming.
He smells like vetiver and sweat and sex, and his voice is scratching all the right parts of my brain. My skin is on fire and my heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my fucking chest.
Tears prickle the edges of my eyes, which isn’t new. Crying through an orgasm is something I’m used to. On my own, and with a partner. But these aren’t orgasmic tears, I don’t think.
They’re something else, but I’m not sure what. I try to stop them because the anxiety swells. I know how people react to this. How they look at me when I cry in the middle of sex. Like I’m broken or traumatized. I tense,fighting the feeling of pushing him away and pulling him closer. I’m not sure which I need. Which is better.
I hook my other leg around his hip, crossing my ankles, my heels digging into his ass as I drive him closer.
Closer it is, then.
