“Please.”
Condom. Lube. I grab both from his bag at the foot of the bed, add more where my fingers already loosened him, roll the condom on, slick myself.
By the time I line up, I’m so hard it hurts.
“Ready?” I ask.
“God, yes. Just?—”
I push in slow. Watch his face in profile for any sign of pain. He just gasps, his eyes fluttering closed, and rocks back onto me, taking me deeper.
The first few thrusts are careful. Controlled. I’m watching myself from a distance, cataloging every sensation, making sure I stay present. Making sure I stay me.
Wyatt feels incredible—tight heat gripping me, his body opening for my cock. We’re sideways across the mattress, facing the windows—the dark glass holds the shape of us like a mirror. His back arched, my hands on his hips, the city lights scattered behind our reflections like jewels on velvet.
He fists the sheets, bracing himself, and rocks back to meet my thrusts. His head hangs between his shoulders, soft curses falling from his lips.
“So good,” he manages. “Chris—fuck?—”
He clenches around me and I groan, my hands tightening on his hips. I’m here. I’m present. This is Wyatt beneath me, not?—
“Harder.” His voice is ragged, insistent. Demanding. “Fuck me like you mean it. I need—harder.”
The words hit like a switch.
Something in my brain shifts. Tilts. The room goes slightly distant, and my body keeps moving without me—snapping my hips forward, driving deeper, finding a rhythm that’s punishing, relentless?—
That’s it. Just like that.
I’m watching from somewhere outside myself. In the window’s reflection, I can see my own face—blank, empty, not mine. My hands grip his hips hard enough to bruise. I pull out almost all the way and slam back in, making him cry out.
He can take it. He wants it. Give him what he’s asking for.
“Chris—” Wyatt’s voice sounds far away. “Slow down, I?—”
But slowing down isn’t part of this. This is what he asked for. What he always asks for.
My hand slides up his spine, over his shoulder, around his throat. I pull him back against my chest, fingers tightening, and keep fucking into him.
Better. Now you can feel when he stops breathing.
The city lights glitter through the plate glass windows. I watch them blur as I drive into him, harder, faster, chasing something I can’t name.
42
Wyatt
The change happens so fast I almost miss it.
One second Chris is behind me, inside me, his hands steady on my hips and his rhythm careful, controlled. The next his hand is around my throat and he’s hauling me upright, my back against his chest, both of us on our knees facing the windows. His other arm wraps tight around my torso, locking me against him.
Oh. Oh.
The angle is devastating. I haven’t been taken like this in years, and my body lights up before my brain catches up. Every thrust drives up into me, hitting that spot that makes my thighs shake. His fingers press into my windpipe. Not enough to cut off air completely. Just enough to make me feel it.
Fuck, that’s good. I didn’t know I wanted this until right now.
The plate glass reflects us back in the dim light: his shoulders broader than mine, the flex of his arm across my chest, the way my cock juts hard against my stomach with every thrust. We look incredible. Filthy and desperate and exactly what I needed after the tension of today.
