The trunk opens and I step behind him, lowering my voice into that tone I know liquefies him.
“Take your pants off and climb in.”
He hesitates for a single breath and drops his pants but doesn’t kick them off or crawl into the back. I give him a moment to decide if this is really what he wants, or if he’s going to run again, but he doesn’t move.
His posture is straight and stiff again, nose slightly in the air. I see what he’s doing. He’s trying to take control of small details to assert himself. Interesting.
Well, if he wants to expose his ass to forty-degree temperatures to make himself feel stronger, more power to him. We’re blocked by trees, the SUV, and shrouded in darkness. The moon and a nearby streetlight give me just enough light to see.
I step up behind Beck and put pressure on his back, guiding him to bend for me. He does, placing his hands on the edge of the trunk. My palm caresses the spot on his ass that just days ago was pink with my handprint. I drag the tips of my fingers through his crack, a barely there tease to remind him to relax.
Shifting to the side, I bring two fingers to his face. “Suck, Becky. Get them nice and wet for me.”
He whimpers and opens his lips, letting me slide them into his mouth. I pump them between his lips, a preview of what’s to come.
“I can’t wait to hear you beg again,” I say, gripping one cheek and spreading his ass so I can look down at his perfect, tight hole. “And I can’t wait to feel this tight ass squeezing my fingers while I milk you.”
He shudders and releases a shaky breath when I spread his spit over his hole and rub circles around it, watching it pulse and wink at me.
“Just fucking get it over with,” he hisses, but his voice is weak and raw.
“You want it?” I ask him. “Want my fingers inside you, stretching you, filling you?” I tease his hole with the tip of my middle finger, putting pressure on it but not pushing.
“I guess we’re going to find out,” he chokes out. His voice is surprisingly resolute.
I step closer until his back brushes my chest. He’s bent over the lifted trunk, hands braced on the floor of the cargo space, pants pooled around his knees. His breath clouds the cold air in sharp, uneven bursts.
God, he looks perfect like this.
“Someday I’m going to fuck you like this,” I murmur against his ear. “So play close attention and do exactly what I tell you to.”
A shiver rolls through him.
I drag my fingers down the mounds of his ass, watching the way his body tenses and melts in the same second. His skin is heated, and when I pull his cheeks wider and spread him with my thumb, the sound he makes is already a half-plea.
“You ready for my fingers?” I ask.
He nods so hard he’s almost rocking the vehicle.
Words, baby. Come on.
“Use your words,” I say, letting my tone dip to that register that turns his bones to jelly. “Tell me.”
“I… I want your fingers.” He swallows. “Please.”
Oh, holy night.
NotI’m ready for your fingers. Notget on with it. Hewantsthem.
And he said please.
I bend low and spit directly onto his hole, adding to his mostly dried saliva that I used to soften and tease him. The sound is loud in the cold, quiet lot. I spit again and tease my finger just inside, slickening the tight, trembling ring of muscle.
The first finger presses in slow. He gasps, his spine arching like a cat. I pump my finger in and out, letting him get used to it whileI push more spit inside his hole. I go a little deeper with each pulse, until I’m sinking in to the second knuckle.
His thighs shake with the first light stroke over his prostate, and I know I could probably prove my point with just the one finger, but I’m desperate to see his ass gape.
Beck bites down on the inside of his arm to muffle the sound in his throat, but he can’t hide the way his back arches, pushing his ass into my hand.
