Beck’s phone clatters to the ground, and I end up pressed into the mattress as he climbs over me and settles his weight over my hips. My hand dips into the back of his pants, and I circle a finger around his rim.
“Are you sore?” I ask, because I fucked him in the shower less than an hour ago, but I desperately want to be inside him again.
He shakes his head and kisses me, grinding down on my cock. All that separates us are two thin layers of cotton—the pajama pants he’s wearing, and the insanely soft fabric of the briefs he bought me in Charlotte. They might be my favorite underwear, and I’m not ashamed to say that I would let him buy me more to be this comfortable. Plus, the way he looks at my bulge makes me feel like fucking Superman.
I help Beck slip his tank top and his pants off. He stays above me, stripping me of my shirt, but only pushing my briefs down enough to free my cock before he’s slicking me up and sinking down on me.
“Oh,Fuck. Goddamn, Becky.”
Beck likes me to take control most of the time, and I love it. It’s definitely not a hardship. But I have to say, laying back and watching him ride my dick is probably going on my list of demands to be bossy about. Becausedamn.
“Jesus, you’re big,” he rasps, but doesn’t stop working himself up and down my shaft, using his big, powerful thighs to control the depth and pace, until he’s comfortable.
“You feel so good,” he moans, rolling his hips and writhing on me like some kind of porn star. His head tips back, hands braced on my chest, and leisurely fucks himself on my cock. I have to flex my abs to keep from coming, to keep this going for as long as possible. It’s not just the way it feels, but the way he looks as he loses himself to his own pleasure, taking what he wants from me.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper. His eyes open to blink down at me, and our gazes lock in the most intense eye contact of my life. Beck moves his hips faster, lifting and dropping down on my cock, finding a rhythm that makes his mouth drop open. I raise my hips to meet him, and he cries out.
“Hold on, Becky.”
Gripping his hips, I thrust up with purpose. Beck falls forward, bracing himself on the headboard. Once he steadies himself, he pushes back with as much as I give. The springs on the little bed protest, the headboard slams into the wall over and over again, and our bodies clap with just as much force.
Beck bounces on my lap and starts to chant, “Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Brody, I’m going to?—”
“Can you come like this?” I pant, nearing the point of no return. “Can you come hands free?”
He nods frantically and lets out a little whine. “I’m going to?—"
Wrapping the chain around my fist, I pull Beck down to meet my mouth. “Come on my cock like the good girl you are, baby. Just like that.”
Beck sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out in a staccato blend of a wail and a moan, broken by the air my cock drives out of his lungs as he comes apart on top of me. I keep my momentum going for as long as I can, fucking up into him until the last spurt of his cum has splashed across my chest. I thrust up into him once, twice, then a third time before wrapping my arms around his waist and holding him down, shuddering through my orgasm as I empty inside him.
We collapse in a tangled heap of sweaty limbs, damp sheets, and cum, struggling to catch our breaths.
“Fuck, I thought I was an athlete,” Beck says, heaving.
“That was… Goddamn, that was something else,” I say. I did maybe half the work, and I’m dizzy with it. Beck must feel like he ran a marathon.
I roll onto my side and rub his thighs that I know must be sore. “So what’s our story for when your thighs start beefing out?”
“Mmm, new exercise regimen. Not for the weak, that’s for sure,” he says, chuckling.
I get distracted by a smear of cum on the inside of his thighs and trace it up to his swollen hole. I massage it, too, pushing my cum back inside where it belongs, loving that he’s full of me. He’s been full of me every day since the hotel, when he asked me to come inside him the first time.
“It’s a good thing I can’t get pregnant,” Beck says with a snort.
“You sure about that?” I say, pulling my fingers out and looking at them glistening in the light.
“Pretty sure,” he laughs.
“Hmm, we’ll see about that,” I growl, pulling him in for a deep, filthy kiss.
“Happy New Year,” he whispers. “I love you.”
Two days later, we’re working out, doing squats and being honestly kind of gross about it, but there’s no one here to complain about us playing around while we get some conditioning in.
Or at least there isn’t at first. We’re doing a bastardized version of pull-ups, facing each other with Beck’s legs wrapped around my waist, kissing, licking, or nipping at each other's mouths whenever our faces meet above the bars.
I’m fucking giddy, completely at ease in our little bubble.
