Once I do, I don’t hold back. I start with two fingers, not being rough, but unrelenting as I push inside him. He lets out an inhuman whine as soon as I find his prostate, and I work over it intently, determined to make him come as quickly as possible.
“Silas. Silas. Silas,” he moans over and over, probably not even conscious of what he’s saying anymore. He’s flushed and wanton, and I need to see him explode before I lose my mind altogether.
I drop his wrists, and this time he doesn’t keep holding them up, instead letting them fall until he’s clinging to the back of my head as he rides my fingers. His fingernails scrape over my scalp, making me shudder, and the need to be inside him soon consumes me. I almost forget about making him come first, until his face starts to pinch and his noises get that little bit higher, and I know he’s right on the edge.
“Come on, baby. Show me how desperate you are,” I’m murmuring in his ear, pulling us close enough together that he can rub his erection against my hip, letting my jersey ride up as he leaves a trail of precum over my superheated skin.
“That’s it,” I say. “I want to feel you clench as you come all over yourself, like a needy little thing. Go on, baby. Show me what you need.”
Cade’s movements are smaller and more controlled than before, but he’s grinding down into my hand with determination, and I can feel his muscles tremble as he reaches the edge. The tip of his cock drags slowly over my skin as he pulls us closer together, then his hips jerk a few times before he finally paints me with his release. It’s hot, slicking my skin, and I love the way he trembles as he holds me close.
My fingers are still inside of him as he clenches and then relaxes, but I can’t give him enough time to truly relax. Before the last few drops of cum have spilled from him, I pull my fingers out, spin him around to face the wall and then plunge them back in to the hilt, adding a third in the process. My fingering becomes less precise now, rougher, trying to open him up wide and overwhelm him at the same time.
I forget all about his cock as I get him ready for me, the noises he’s making—half desperate, half pained—falling around me like raindrops. As soon as I think we’re there, I pull out of him and press my hands on his shoulders. His jersey is still bunched and stretched across them, confining him as I bend him over at the waist and shove his face into the wall. I’m trembling with desire as I pull my own desperate, stiff cock out of my pants, slick myself with more of the lube, and as soon as I press against his entrance, I push myself in as hard as I can.
Cade makes a garbled, harsh sound of surprise, but I still don’t give him the chance to adjust. He’s still relaxed from his orgasm, welcoming me into his tight heat, and it’s easy to set up a brutal rhythm that has his face knocking against the cheap particle board and his breath coming in raspy shouts in time with every fuck.
“What are you?” I ask, leaning forward to drape myself over his back and reaching up to pinch one of his nipples until he squirms.
“Yours,” he groans. “Your slut.”
I can see his hand, trembling hard, move down to start fisting his cock before his erection even flags.
After that, we fall into a sort of lull. I keep fucking him hard and fast, rumbling in his ear about how desperate he is and how pretty he looks split open for me. I call him my whore, and listen to him moan. I listen to the wet, sucking sounds of my body invading his and feel the rumble in his chest as I pinch and squeeze every part of him I can reach.
When I finally come, it’s with a groan, my fingers digging into Cade’s hips to hold him close to me. His hand speeds up, desperate to drag another orgasm out of himself. Even once I’ve filled him with my cum, I keep moving, grinding into him steadily, working him even further open with the base of my cock, telling him how much he needs it until he finally gasps and spurts more cum onto the dirty floor, his ass gripping my dick in the process and a raspy noise of desperation coming out of him.
Eventually it’s just the two of us, panting and leaning against the wall, clinging to each other.
Guilt begins to creep in. Only a little, but still. I don’t like how out of control I feel when I get that way. I’m calling him a desperate slut, but I’m the desperate one when it happens. And even though Cade assures me with a smitten, starry-eyed expression that he loves it, I never know if there’s going to be a day that I take it too far.
We’re both quiet as we clean up—as much as it’s possible—and put our gear away before slipping out of the shed. Thank god no one was home, or was conscious enough to come out and notice us. I don’t have it in me to talk to anyone who isn’t Cade right now.
Chapter Eight
My body fucking hurts when I wake up. Every inch of it. I try not to think of it as a sign I’m getting old, because I’m extremely aware that I haven’t been as kind to my body as I should for the last twenty-three years.
It’s been a long time since I actually went out and rode, and even longer since I went that hard. It felt amazing in the moment. Pure. Just wind and dirt and Silas next to me, so I wasn’t distracted by worrying about him having a panic attack like I had been before I kinda-sorta quit. My muscles are screaming at me now, though, especially considering I didn’t come close to anything like warming up beforehand. Stupid.
Worth it, but stupid.
And then to get dicked down like that after… bliss. I think the universe melted away there for a minute, with Silas’s dirty talk wrapping around my spine and squeezing it as tight as he was squeezing the rest of me.
I caught him watching me after, though. The familiar expression of quiet concern crept onto his face, and I did everything I could to ignore it.
He doesn’t need to worry about me. He’s supposed to be focusing on himself for the first time in his life.
I’m chill.
I decide to prove this to him by convincing him to go out with me tonight. Despite the ache in my ass and everything else, I could stand to do something other than work followed by sitting around, vacillating between over-analyzing everything Silas does and staring out the window like a blank-faced war widow, waiting for some kind of solution to my problems that will never show up.
The girls are still with Jaz, neither of us works tomorrow, and it’s technically still the weekend.
Just to drive my point home, I try to wear a vintage t-shirt I got for a fucking steal online recently that reads ‘YOUNG, DUMB, AND FULL OF CUM’ in block letters, but Silas side-eyes me until I give in and change.
I know he’s right. Possum Hollow isn’t some cartoon version of a rural town where fundamentalist Christians are lurking around every corner, stones in hand, waiting for any queer person they come across, but I don’t need to push my luck, either. When Silas and I first moved in together, I was determined to defend us from all the shitty comments, even if it meant getting physical with every red-hat asshole we came across.
I wanted Silas to know that I wasn’t ashamed of him. Or regretting my choice, or something. He would never say it out loud, but I was always hyperaware that he might feel like an experiment or a phase or something, and the thought freaked me out. Maybe that’s why I threw myself into my whole bisexual identity so hard. Or maybe because it felt nice to belong tosomething for once, even something as nebulous as a sexual orientation.
