“Oh, sorry!” Hayden reaches a hand up to cushion my skull.
“Don’t you dare stop. Keep fucking me, dam,it.”
Peals of laughter escape from Hayden as he tries to keep up his rhythm and protect my head at the same time.
“Forget my head! Just fuck me!”
“I don’t want you to get hurt!”
“I don’t care about a few bruises on my head! I’m going to die if you don’t make me come!”
“Oh my god.” Hayden’s laughing so hard, it almost sounds like he’s crying. “Stop. I can’t keep going if you say stuff like that.”
“Hurry up and make me come and I’ll stop!” To be honest, I don’t even care about coming anymore. All I care about is the sound of Hayden’s laughter filling my ears. All I want is to make it last as long as I possibly can. If that means saying the dumbest things while his cock is in my ass, then that’s a small price to pay.
Hayden growls with a note of determination and he props himself up on both hands. This angle gives him more leverage and his hips start flying. His cock pounds away at my prostate so hard it wipes every thought from my mind and expels all the air from my lungs.
I don’t have any more silly, ridiculous words for him. All I can do is gasp as Hayden makes it his mission to destroy my hole. It doesn’t take long. The orgasm rushes at me like a tidal wave—fast and huge and unavoidable.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” I scream into the pillow as my dick pulses where it’s caught between my stomach and the bed. Wet heat spreads across my stomach as Hayden fucks me right through the high.
It feels like it lasts forever and Hayden’s hips don’t miss a single beat. He’s still going strong as the high eases and everything grows sensitive.
“Come on, babe, give it to me,” I say, my words slurred. “Give me your cum.”
Hayden bursts out in another round of giggles that transform into cries as he comes in my ass.
“Yeah, that’s it. Fill me up. Paint my insides.”
“Stop, oh my god, stop.” Hayden buries his face in the crook of my neck as his body shakes with the aftershocks of his orgasm combined with unrelenting laughter.
Who knew it was possible to laugh while coming? I sure as hell didn’t. But now that I know, that’s the only way I want to fuck for the rest of my life.
Hayden seems to get better over the next several days. We head back to New York, hole up at home for a bit, hang out at The Bronzed Rail with the guys one night.
Everything feels good. Everything feels right. Like if I don’t rock the boat and just keep coasting like this, nothing will ever go wrong again. That doesn’t happen, of course.
The darkness rears its ugly head again on the morning of Hayden’s appointment with the therapist. It’s not really that surprising. Hell, I’d be nervous as fuck too if I were him. We’ve been waiting for this day for a long time. There’s so much riding on this going well.
Hayden’s awake when I open my eyes in the morning. I’m barely conscious and I can already feel the tension radiating off him. He tries to put on a brave face, tries to smile as we get ready to leave, but he can’t hide how anxious he is.
I can see the darkness descending on him the closer we get to the therapist’s office. I squeeze his hand, but he doesn’t squeeze back. He doesn’t even look at me. His gaze stays kind of empty, like he’s looking at something that’s not actually there.
I guide him through the crowded sidewalks and into the gray medical building. He goes where I lead him, walks when I walk, stops when I stop. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him like this before. Like he’s catatonic or something. It’s way scarier than when he cries uncontrollably and can’t stop.
We’re sitting in the therapist’s waiting room and I’m debating whether I should say something encouraging. Like, it’s going to be okay. Or you’re going to be fine. But I don’t think it’ll make any difference, and honestly, it feels a little fake. Like nice-sounding words that don’t really mean anything.
So I just hold his hand, trying not to let on how worried I am. His hand is limp in mine. His complexion is kind of gray. He’s not even chewing on his lip, which isn’t a good sign.
I jump when the door to the therapist’s office opens. Hayden barely reacts.
A tall middle-aged woman with dark hair streaked through with gray stands in the doorway. “Harry?”
Slowly, Hayden turns to look up at her, blinking like he can’t understand her.
I look back and forth between them. Who’s Harry? Does she mean Hayden?
“Harry Smith?” she asks again.
