I shook my head, breathless. “No. Never.”
He licked the line of my jaw, following it to my ear. “You’re killing me, Carter.”
I shivered at the sound of my name. He could have said anything; I’d have believed it.
He slid a palm under my ass, lifting me off the mat, grinding our hips together. His cock was hard—no, huge—straining against his fly. I moaned, the noise ridiculous and too loud in the barn, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he pressed harder, grinding the head of his cock against my inner thigh.
“You want this?” he asked.
I couldn’t even lie. “Yes. Please.”
He yanked my pants down—no pretense, no patience—and left them bunched at my knees. My own cock snapped free, already leaking, so hard it hurt. He ran a callused hand over it, thumb swiping the head. “Beautiful,” he said, almost reverent. “Goddamn.”
He was out of his shirt in a second, baring his chest and the tattoos that ran like rivers over his skin. His arms were corded with muscle, chest dusted with dark hair. I wanted to trace every inch of him, to memorize it, but he was already working my underwear down, his teeth at my hipbone.
He spat in his palm and stroked me, slow at first, then faster. The friction was perfect, the calluses on his hand catching at the head of my cock with every stroke. I bit my wrist to keep from screaming.
He pushed my legs apart with his forearm, exposing my ass to the barn air. Then he dipped down, mouth hot against my hole. He ate me out with an intensity that bordered on religious,tongue pushing inside, beard rasping my thighs. I clamped both hands in his hair and held on for dear life.
“Fuck, Macon—” I gasped, voice breaking.
He grinned against me, tongue fucking me harder. The sensations blurred together: the scratch of straw, the cold of the air, the heat of his mouth, the tremor in my thighs. Every nerve ending was awake and hungry.
He came up for air, eyes glazed, mouth shining. “You taste sweet, Omega.” The word hit me like a gut punch. I’d never liked being called that, not until now. In his voice, it was a crown.
He rummaged around the tack box, came up with a tube of lube. I could have laughed—of course he was prepared, of course he had every contingency covered. He squeezed a fat dollop on his fingers, worked them together, then slicked my hole in slow, careful circles.
He slid in one finger, then two, opening me up with military efficiency. But he never lost the gentleness—he waited for me to relax, stretching me until I was gasping and grinding against his hand. He curled his fingers inside, found the spot, and I saw white.
He lined up the head of his cock, slick and thick and so fucking hot. “You ready?”
“Please,” I said again, because nothing else was possible.
He pushed inside, slow at first. The burn was sharp, but it was the kind that promised something better. He held himself there, letting me get used to the stretch, his hands clamped around my thighs. His cock filled me in a way I’d never felt before, a pressure that bordered on pain but never quite tipped over.
“Relax,” he said, voice husky. “Let me in.”
I exhaled, shoulders dropping, and he bottomed out, balls tight against my ass. The feeling was overwhelming. I’d never been this full, never been this open for someone.
He started to fuck me, long, deliberate strokes. At first, I couldn’t process the pleasure, too lost in the sensation. But then my body took over, hips tilting to meet every thrust, my cock leaking all over my stomach.
He bent down, lips at my ear. “Good boy,” he whispered, and I almost came right then.
He set a brutal rhythm, pounding me into the mats. The barn filled with the wet slap of skin, my moans, his grunts. Every time he slammed into me, he angled his cock to hit that spot, making me see stars.
I reached up, grabbed at his back, dug my nails into the muscle there. He growled and fucked me harder, rutting into me like he needed it to breathe.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” he said, breath hot against my cheek.
“You’re not,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”
He kissed me, messy and rough, teeth knocking together. Then he went back to my neck, biting at the skin until he’d leave marks.
The orgasm built slow and mean, like a thunderhead gathering on the horizon. When it hit, I saw nothing, heard nothing, except the sound of my own name in his voice. My hole clenched around his cock, milking him, and he shuddered, pumping his cum deep inside.
He didn’t pull out right away. Just collapsed over me, all that muscle and weight pinning me down in the best possible way.
We stayed like that, tangled and panting, for what felt like hours. The barn was quiet now, storm faded to memory, only the soft bleating of the goats and the sound of our hearts slowing to a normal beat.
