Knowing he was pleasing his husband made what already felt so good feel ten times better…and made him braver.
He rose up on his hands and knees and started pushing back harder, faster, chasing that feeling that was building deep inside.
“Shit, fuck, Gage,” Scar hissed, gripping his waist and hanging on tight.
It only took his husband a second to realize he had better give him what he wanted, or else he would take it.
The erotic slap of skin made him light up, every nerve blazing awake.
Scar reached under him, wrapped his rough hand around his cock, and started stroking at the same pace he was rocking into him.
The combined assault shattered him.
His body seized as his orgasm overtook every sense, his hole squeezing around Scar’s cock, his cum spilling hot and thick onto the sheet and over Scar’s fingers.
Scar cursed and buried himself inside, cock pulsing a second before waves of warmth spread through him.
It was a sensation he couldn’t describe with words.
He wanted to do it again already—all night.
Scar dropped onto his back, panting against his neck.
He slowly pulled out, collapsed beside him, and immediately folded him in his arms.
His heart was still full and pounding as Scar pressed lazy kisses behind his ear, mumbling words and curses he couldn’t quite make out.
He smiled against Scar’s chest.
I’m not a virgin anymore.
He lay there for almost an hour, reflecting on that, and his life going forward, knowing it’d be filled with purpose and love.
So much love.
Scar was asleep when he turned over, climbed on top of him, and started kissing his slack mouth.
Scar squeezed his ass, humming tiredly.
“Again,” Gage whispered.
Scar gave him a lazy smile. “What have I created?”
Gage ground his stiff cock on top of Scar’s, that’d already begun to harden.
They didn’t leave the apartment for four days.
He and Scar made love all day, only breaking to scarf down meals, shower—which inevitably turned into heated blowjobs—or snag a couple hours of sleep.
They lounged naked on the couch, trading lazy kisses and stories about their lives growing up.
Scar cooked once, that resulted in a disgusting mess, so they ended up eating takeout or having meals from their chefs sent up.
Sometimes they put on music and swayed together barefoot on the terrace.
Hours would slip past unnoticed.
Sometimes they curled up under a blanket and watched movies, Scar narrating the scenes while he laughed and tried to visualize what he was bumbling to describe.
