He leans forward, still caressing my clit with his one hand, playing with the plug with the other, giving me shallow little thrusts. His breath tickles my ear. I arch into him, so that his lips tease the shell. “What do you need?”
“I need you. I want… you.”
He lazily thrusts the plug in and out a few times and circles my clit to the same rhythm, driving me so mad that if he wasn’t pinning me to the desk, I’d slide right off and land on the floor.
“When would you like me?”
“I- uh- now?”
He keeps working the plug and my clit. “How would you like me?”
“What is this? The five fucking w’s?”
He chuckles, quite pleased with himself for driving me to such a loss of control that he can hear it in my snappy tone.“Nope. I just want to know. I want you to tell me if I’m doing this right.”
“Youknowyou’re doing it right.” Arrogant bastard.
“Maybe I should speed up with this.” He works the plug a little quicker, sharp little thrusts. It’s not big and it doesn’t go very deep, but fuck. I don’t do anal play and so even the small little toy is more than enough to get me going.
I’m already going.
Nearly gone.
He circles my clit with renewed fervor. “Or this?”
“Shadow!” I grunt.
“So I’m Shadow when I’m bad, Finn when you’re feeling tender?”
“Shadow, Finn, or whoever, if you don’t stop that, I’m going to come, and you’re going to ruin all the fun.”
“How would it be ruined?” He drops a kiss to the back of my neck while doing things to my asshole and clit that should beillegal. “I think watching you shatter would be great. And it’s not like I can’t give you more orgasms. You’ll come just from kissing me, tasting the spice of yourself on my tongue.” he inserts the plug all the way and leaves it there, tapping on it lightly with a maddening rhythm. “I think that we should leave this in while I fuck you. I might be able to feel it while I’m inside of you. Youdefinitelywill.”
“Not yet,” I beg, whimpering. Fine. If he wants me reduced to ash, he can have it. “I want to come with you- with- with you inside me.”
“I could arrange that right now.”
“Not from behind. Face to face. Skin to skin.” He freezes up in an instant. It’s not what I wanted. I know how hard intimacy is for him, and we haven’t been naked together, not even partially. I know how hard all this is for him and I didn’t mean to ruin anything. “If not, it’s okay. Truly. Torture me any way you see fit. I promise I’ll take it.”
Unexpectedly, his arms wrap around my waist, and he lowers his face down, pressing his cheek to my shoulder blades.
“I don’t know that I’ll last very long,” he admits, voice raw with rare vulnerability. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are from this angle or what a show you’re putting on.”
My heart thrums wildly. “I don’t care if you last. I’d just like you inside me.”
He tenses again. The room is so quiet. Painfully so, except for our ragged breaths. He leans in again just when I think he’s going to unfurl himself from me and put physical distance between us. Whatever battle he’s fighting, he wins it. He stays.
He kisses the back of my neck, his gold cross tickling my spine. His hard abs press against my lower back, the bulge in his jeans planted firmly against my ass. It’s all I can do not to drive myself back against him.
He’s gentle as he peels himself away. He turns me, bracketing my head and spine as he helps me up onto the desk. I wrap my legs around him in an instant, drinking in the glorious sight of his naked chest. I can’t tell him he’s beautiful. He won’t like that. I think it’s best not to say anything at all and shamelessly drink my fill. I want to memorize every detail. I hope that every single thought is reflected on my face. His absare ridiculously chiseled, strong and defined. The cut through his skin in boxy slices. His pecs are what I once heard a friend from college refer to as ‘caked up’. I thought that term should be saved for asses, but I guess it means about the same. Huge. Rounded out in parts and squared out at the bottom. They flow into shoulders that are also insanely built, heavy with muscle.
I take a chance and glide my hands over his pecs and up. The gold cross swings between us while he sucks in air, arms shaking as he holds himself up with his knuckles smashed into the desk’s surface.
I don’t hesitate as I peel his shirt away, pushing it back over his shoulders and down his arms. I run my palms over the raised veins, the striated muscle, the way his biceps give way to smooth, corded forearms. I touch every inch of him, knowing that I’m going to feel his scars on the backs of his arms if I go there, but I don’t want to stop. I’m not afraid. If I show any hesitancy in wanting this, I know that I’m going to lose him.
Not for good, but for tonight.
The only reason I would slow down, or stop is if he asked me to. I know he’s not comfortable with this. I don’t know if it’s the scars or if he was like this before. However, he’s letting me touch him.
