“Fuck, yes,” Carter hissed.
I turned my attention to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, but rougher. I bit, just enough to leave a mark, and he went loose under me, arms falling back onto the bed, hands fisting the sheets.
His cock stood proud and leaking, curved up against his belly, and I stroked a finger down the length, collecting the precome and spreading it around the head. He whined, desperate, hips canting up for more.
“You’re beautiful,” I told him, and meant every syllable.
He shook his head, but I saw the way the words landed, saw the way his body arched into my touch, greedy for every bit of praise I’d give him.
I stripped my own briefs off, cock springing free. Carter’s eyes went wide, and he licked his lips again, like he couldn’t help himself.
“Turn over,” I said.
He hesitated, then rolled onto his hands and knees, ass up, face pressed into the pillow. The line of his back was perfect, every muscle tensed and ready. I slid my palms down from his shoulders to his hips, spreading him open. His hole was tight and pink, clenching with every breath, and the sight of it made my vision swim.
I leaned down and licked a stripe from his balls to his hole, letting my tongue press in just a little. Carter groaned, muffled by the pillow, and pushed back against me.
“Patience,” I said, and grabbed the lube from the drawer.
I slicked my fingers and circled his rim, teasing, letting him feel the pressure before I slipped inside. He was so fucking tight, even after all this time, and it took effort not to just shove in and lose myself. I worked one finger, then two, scissoring them until he was soft and open.
He rocked back, fucking himself on my hand, every breath a gasp.
“God, Macon,” he moaned. “More. Please.”
I added a third finger, twisting, stretching him. His body trembled, sweat slick on his lower back, and I bent down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades.
“You ready?” I asked.
He nodded, wild, hair stuck to his forehead. “Fuck me. Please. I need it.”
I lined my cock up to his hole and pushed, slow at first, letting him feel the stretch. He gripped the sheets, knuckleswhite, but he didn’t try to escape. He took it, inch by inch, until my hips were flush with his ass.
I paused, giving him time to adjust.
He made a frustrated sound, looking over his shoulder at me, lips parted and wet. “Don’t make me beg.”
I grinned, then started to move, slow and deep. Each thrust pressed my cock against his prostate, and he jerked, breath hitching.
“You’re perfect,” I growled. “So fucking tight. So good for me.”
He whimpered, back arching, pushing for more. I increased the pace, fucking him harder, letting my hands roam—gripping his hips, palming his ass, one hand splayed over his belly, feeling the heat and weight of our child.
Carter’s noises went higher, sharper. He was close. I reached around and grabbed his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts.
“Come for me,” I commanded.
He cried out, whole body shaking, and spilled across the sheets in long, hot pulses. His hole clamped down, milking my cock, and I lost it—came hard, deep inside him, every muscle locked up.
I collapsed over him, breath ragged, hands shaking.
We stayed like that for a minute, maybe more, hearts beating out of sync. I rolled off to the side, pulling him with me so he was curled against my chest, safe and claimed.
I kissed the top of his head, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back.
“I’m never letting you go,” I said, voice quiet.
He smiled, eyes half-shut. “You’re stuck with me, Macon O’Reilly.”
