“Not a chance,” I said, and cupped the back of his neck, thumb kneading the tension out of the knots. He shivered under my touch, and the way his body went loose told me he’d give me anything I wanted.
I hooked an arm around his waist and flipped him onto his stomach. He didn’t protest, just laughed low and soft, letting me manhandle him into place.
I pressed a knee between his thighs, nudging them apart, and settled myself over his back. My cock, already hard again, rested against the cleft of his ass, and I ground into him just to feel the jolt of anticipation spark down his spine.
“Christ,” he muttered, fingers clawing at the mattress. “You ever take a break?”
I leaned down, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Not when I have something worth working for.”
He bucked his hips, half-defiant, but I just grabbed both wrists and pinned them above his head, holding him down with a force that made him gasp. His back arched, tattoos stretching across the expanse of skin, and I bit a line from his shoulder to the base of his neck. He yelped, then moaned, the sound melting into a wordless plea.
“You like that?” I said, voice thick.
He nodded, forehead pressed to the pillow, but I wasn’t satisfied. I nipped again, harder, and said, “Say it.”
“Yeah. Fuck. I like it,” he said, words tumbling out between ragged breaths.
I released his wrists and reached for the nightstand, flipping open the drawer and grabbing the bottle of lube. I slicked two fingers, then dragged them down the crack of his ass, teasing at the tight ring. He shifted, spreading his legs wider, and made a hungry, impatient noise.
“You in a hurry, Bo?”
“Please,” he said, and the tremor in his voice was pure need.
I circled his hole, working the lube in slow, patient rings. When I pushed the tip of my finger inside, he sucked in a breath, body tensing, but then he exhaled and relaxed, letting me slide in up to the knuckle. I moved slow, gentle at first, wanting him to feel every inch. His ass gripped my finger, hot and slick, and when I added a second, he groaned, rocking back to take it.
“You can take more than that,” I told him, voice gone hoarse.
“Can and want to,” he shot back, trying for bravado, but it broke on the last syllable when I spread my fingers, stretching him open.
I worked him slow, scissoring until he started pushing back, greedy for more. When I crooked my fingers, brushing over the sweet spot, his whole body jolted and he let out a sharp, desperate sound.
“Fuck, Jo, just do it,” he pleaded.
“Not until you’re ready,” I said, even though my self-control was about to snap.
He twisted his head, met my eyes, and there was nothing but raw, brutal trust in the way he looked at me. “I’m ready. I want it.”
I slicked myself up, the lube cold at first, then burning as my fist closed around the shaft. I stroked a few times, just to feel the heat and the pulse, then lined up behind him.
My hands fit perfectly on his hips—solid, a little too tight, the way he liked. I leaned forward, brought my mouth to his ear, and whispered, “Tell me to do it, beg me.”
He swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “Fuck me, Josiah. Please.”
I pressed in, just the head at first, and his body resisted, then yielded. I went slow, feeding him inch by inch, letting him get used to the stretch. He groaned, low and broken, but didn’t tell me to stop. When I bottomed out, buried to the hilt, I paused and gripped his hips so hard I left fingerprints.
“You good?” I asked, even though I could feel him trembling.
He nodded, words gone.
I started to move, slow and deep, pulling out halfway before slamming back in. The slap of skin was loud in the small room, but not as loud as the noises he made—soft at first, then louder as I picked up the pace. He clawed at the mattress, arms shaking, but every time I slammed in, he pushed back, wanting it harder, faster.
I fucked him like I wanted to leave a mark on his soul.
There was nothing delicate about it. I pounded him, driving into him with a rhythm that matched the thump of my own heart. Sweat ran down my neck, stinging my eyes, but I didn’t stop, not even when I felt his body clench around me, close and desperate.
“Fuck, Jo, I’m gonna—” he started, but I wrapped a hand around his throat, not tight enough to choke, just enough to remind him who was in charge.
“You don’t come until I say.”
