I added a second finger, and he groaned, his hands fisting in the sheets beside his head. I worked him open slowly because rushing would hurt him, but I couldn't help curling my fingers and preening a little when I found his prostate. His back arched off the bed and his cock jerked against his stomach, leaving a wet streak on his skin.
"There," he gasped. "Right there, fuck—"
I did it again, and his whole body shuddered. His hands came up to my shoulders and then higher, his fingers threading through my hair, and he pulled me down into a kiss that was messier than before, more desperate.
I added a third finger and swallowed his moan, felt his body stretch and then relax around me. He was ready, more than ready, his hole clenching around my fingers like he was trying to pull me deeper.
"Not so chatty now, are you?" I pulled my fingers out, and he whined at the loss, actually whined, and the sound made my cock throb. I grabbed a condom from the drawer, rolled it on, and slicked myself with more lube than I needed. "Turn over."
He rolled onto his stomach without hesitation, and the trust in that gesture made something catch in my chest. I ran my hand down his spine, over the curve of his ass, and he pushed back into my touch like he couldn't help it.
I lined myself up and pressed in slow, just the head at first, and his whole body went taut beneath me. He was so tight, so hot, his body gripping me like it never wanted to let go.
"Breathe," I said.
He let out a shaky breath, and I sank deeper until I was fully seated inside him. I held still, my hands braced on either side of his head, giving him time to adjust. His face was turned to the side on the pillow, his lips parted, his eyes closed.
"Fuck." His voice was barely a whisper. "Fuck, Sparkles."
I pulled out slow and pushed back in, and the sound he made was worth every second of waiting. I did it again, finding a rhythm, and his hands clawed at the sheets while his body rocked back to meet each thrust.
"Harder," he said.
I gave him harder, snapping my hips forward, driving into him deep enough to make the headboard creak. He moaned into the pillow, and I reached down, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pulled his head back.
"Let me hear you."
The next moan came out loud and unfiltered, and I rewarded him with another deep thrust. His back arched beneath me, the curve of his spine obscene, and I let go of his hair to grip his hips instead, to pull him back onto my cock with every forward stroke.
"Fuck, that's—" He couldn't finish the sentence. His whole body was shaking, his hands white-knuckled in the sheets. "Don't stop, don't—"
"Turn over. I want to see you."
He made a frustrated sound but obeyed, rolling onto his back, and I pushed back inside him before he could catch his breath. The new angle was deeper, his legs wrapped around my waist, his heels digging into my ass to pull me closer.
“Look at me,” I demanded.
His eyes snapped open, and my rhythm faltered. My heart did something stupid in my chest, something it’d never done before. Itached.
His hand found mine where it was braced against the mattress, and he laced his fingers through mine. "Slow down," he said. "I want—just slow down. Okay?"
I didn't know how to do slow. Slow meant thinking, and thinking meant feeling, and if I started feeling there would be nowhere left to hide from what I'd done by inviting him here.
But his hand was still holding mine.
I started moving again, slower this time, long deep strokes that let him feel every inch. His free hand came up to cup my face, and he held me there, held me still while I moved inside him, and I let him because I didn't know how to stop him.
"That's it," he said. "Just like that."
His thumb traced my cheekbone. His eyes never left mine. Every thrust pressed my stomach against his cock, trapped between us, and I could feel him leaking against my skin with every movement.
His fingers found my other hand, the one still braced beside his head. His thumb traced the scar on my palm, the old one from the mirror in Vegas, and I flinched.
"What's this from?"
"Nothing." I pulled my hand away.
But he caught it, brought it to his mouth, and pressed his lips against the raised tissue.
