I look at Salt’s face as I do it. His cheeks are deeply red.
"I really like your initiative of wearing a dildo," I murmur in a low voice. "But you know my cock is thicker?"
Salt makes a particular face. "Oh, you alphas and your thick cocks. Do they always have to be such a problem?" He purses his lips in mock disapproval.
"I am so sorry I have such a monster cock," I mutter with a half smile.
Salt rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure. I know you are not sorry. Honestly, neither am I. I am up for a challenge."
"I am glad to hear that," I whisper, and make a small move, grabbing the end of the dildo and moving it a bit inside him.
Salt lets out a short gasp.
"Is it not supposed to work so that alpha hormones stimulate the tissue there and make it easier to stretch?" he murmurs, and once again I realize how badly he wants this. A jolt of arousal shoots through my lower back. This is kinda… wonderful.
"So I have heard. Thanks to that, even such pretty, tight holes like yours can take us…"
Salt snorts, clearly amused despite himself, a mix of embarrassment, irritation, and arousal on his face, while my finger keeps circling the stretched ring around the dildo.
"Would you agree to do it missionary style?" I ask, suddenly serious, nerves and excitement flooding my system.
"Yes," Salt whispers, barely audible.
"The condoms are in my suitcase," he adds quietly. "In the side pocket. I never took them out. In prison, they gave us those packs just in case."
Reluctantly, I get off the bed and open the suitcase. At first, I pick the wrong pocket. Inside, there is a laminated photo showing two people. One is Salt, smiling, and next to him a young man, shorter, wearing a yellow hoodie, probably an omega, with a soft, sweet face, shoulder-length light hair, and big hazel eyes.
He is pointing at a tattoo on the inside of his left forearm, while Salt has his right arm raised, showing a matching tattoo. Together, they form the word FOREVER, with the top half on Salt’s arm and the bottom half on the other man’s arm, the letters only complete when their arms are pressed together. I realize this must be Senu. I quickly slide the photo back where it was, not wanting Salt to notice that I saw it.
Tonight belongs to Salt and me, so I force the thought of Senu aside.
I open the other pocket and pull out a pack of standard prison condoms. Luckily, they are a large size and relatively thick.
While holding them in my hand, I pause for a second, but quickly gather myself. I have to push all shadows of the past to the back of my mind and let the future begin to take shape, no matter how illusory it feels, however fragile it is, like sand slipping through my fingers, and even if it might not last long.
Maybe life is made only of moments like this, anyway? But I have no intention of letting this one be taken from me.
I return to the bed and sit beside him. My hand slides back over his ass. Salt rolls onto his stomach, and with a gentle, careful motion, I close my fingers around the tip of the dildo and slowly pull it out of him.
I look at his deeply pink pucker now, darkened like a ripe raspberry. It is relaxed, slightly open. Salt’s skin is still a little damp from the water we were in.
I place my hand on his hip and tug gently, signaling that I want him to turn onto his back.
Salt does it slowly. His eyes hold a rare expression, vulnerable, with just a trace of that strange defiance that always lives in him. I can hear his heart beating faster, his breathing deep and uneven.
His lips are parted, long blue strands spilled around him across the pillow, and he looks at me, waiting for what I will do next.
I hesitate, for a second unsure where to start. Then I catch this cautious expectation in his eyes, as if he already assumes I’ll be the one to make the first move. I feel it more than I see it. The subtle tension running through his body, nudging me to say something reassuring, but at the same time there’s a spark of determination and defiance, and I don’t want him to feel as though I’m treating him like a fragile little omega.
Finally, I lean in. I take his lips in a slow, almost lazy kiss, my hand moving gently along his jaw. Salt responds cautiously at first, then with growing hunger. His piercing clicks softly against my teeth, and I like the metallic touch, the small thrill it sends through me. When his tongue meets mine, the kiss turns unexpectedly addictive, more physical, more carnal, making the whole experience strangely real.
I pull back just enough to murmur against his mouth, "Let me take care of you, Salt."
He nods, his breath catching slightly, and rests his head on the pillow, his legs easing apart in a wordless invitation. His cock stands hard against his stomach, already slick with precum, dripping small translucent droplets. It’s seven inches of rigid need that from time to time gives a faint, impatient throb as anticipation rolls through his shaft.
My journey is slow. I move down and take his foot in my hand. It’s surprisingly small and narrow, his nails painted a dark blue, the same shade as his fingernails. Meeting his eyes, I lean in and kiss the arch of one slim foot, then the other, my lips trailing up over his ankle and along the curve of his calf. Salt lets out a soft sigh, his body relaxing just a little under my touch.
There’s no hurry. I move higher, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his inner thighs, feeling the muscles quiver slightly beneath my lips. His skin is warm and faintly salty; he must have added real bath salts to the water earlier.
