Tank shifted his angle, hooked my leg over his shoulder, and suddenly every thrust was hitting my prostate dead-on. I screamed—actually screamed—my vision going white at the edges.
"There—fuck—right there?—"
He pounded that spot mercilessly, his cock dragging across it with every stroke. I was close—so close—my own cock leaking steadily against my stomach, desperate for friction. I reached down to touch myself, but Tank knocked my hand away.
"No." His voice was a growl. "You're going to come just from this. Just from my cock inside you."
The command sent a fresh wave of arousal through me. I'd never been able to come untouched before, but with Tank—with the angle he was hitting, with the intensity in his eyes, with the sheer overwhelmingfullnessof him?—
"I'm gonna—Tank?—"
"Come for me." He drove into me harder, faster, his own rhythm turning ragged. "Let me feel it."
I shattered. The orgasm ripped through me like nothing I'd ever felt—my whole body seizing, my cock pulsing untouched, cum splattering across my chest and stomach. My ass clenched around Tank's cock, and he cursed, his hips stuttering.
He buried himself deep and came with a groan that sounded torn from somewhere primal. I felt him pulse inside me, hot and wet, and another wave of pleasure crashed through me at the knowledge that I'd done this to him. That I'd made this man—this strong, stoic, careful man—completely lose control.
We collapsed together, breathing hard, sweat and cum slicking the space between us. Tank's weight pressed me into the mattress, heavy and grounding. I ran my fingers through his damp hair, feeling his heart pound against my chest, feeling the aftershocks still trembling through both of us.
We lay tangled together for a long time, neither willing to move.
Tank had pulled out carefully—even now, even wrecked, he was careful with me—and cleaned us both up with a tenderness that made my chest ache. Now we were curled together on the wrecked sheets, my head on his chest, his arm heavy around my shoulders. The room smelled like sex and sweat and something indefinablyus, and I never wanted to leave.
"So that's what I was missing." Tank's voice rumbled beneath my ear, his chest vibrating with each word. "All these years."
"Worth the wait?"
"Ask me again in the morning when I can think straight." His hand traced lazy patterns on my back, mapping the knobs of my spine. "Right now all I know is I want to do that again. Soon. Possibly immediately."
I laughed, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Give me twenty minutes."
"Twenty minutes?" He sounded offended. "I'm not that old."
"You're not that young either." I bit his nipple gently, felt him shiver beneath me. "But I appreciate the enthusiasm."
The easy humor felt precious after everything—the violence of the morning, the grief of the afternoon, the revelation that still sat heavy in my chest. For a few minutes, I let myself forget all of it. Let myself sink into the warmth of Tank's body, thesteady rhythm of his heartbeat, the simple pleasure of being held by someone who wanted to hold me.
This was what Cross had tried to convince me I didn't deserve. This feeling—of being wanted, of being seen, of being enough exactly as I was. Three years of his voice in my head, telling me I was too much, too needy, too broken. And now here I was, in the arms of a man who looked at me like I'd hung the moon, and all I could think was:fuck you, Marcus. I win.
"Tyler?" Tank's voice was quieter now, thoughtful. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Before. In the shower." He paused, seeming to search for words. "You said you wanted to show me. That you wanted to be the one." Another pause. "Why does that matter?"
I propped myself up on one elbow, looking down at him. In the dim light filtering through the window, his face was all shadows and angles, but I could see the genuine curiosity in his eyes. The vulnerability he was trying to hide.
"Because with you, I get to be the experienced one." I traced my finger along his jaw, feeling the stubble rasp against my skin. "With Cross, I was always the one being taught. Being corrected. Being told I was doing things wrong. He made me feel like I didn't know my own body, my own desires." I leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "With you, I know exactly what I want. And I got to give you something no one else has. That matters to me."
Tank was quiet for a long moment, processing.Then his hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
"I'm glad it was you." His voice was rough with emotion. "My first time with a man. I'm glad it was you."
Something cracked open in my chest. I kissed him again, deeper this time, trying to pour everything I felt into it—the gratitude, the want, the terrifying beginning of something that felt like love.
When we finally broke apart, I let myself sink back down against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around me.
Then I remembered why I'd come here in the first place.
