He stared up at me, eyes wild, pupils blown with lust. I braced one hand on the headboard, the other holding his thigh open, and bent down—nose almost brushing the tight, pink pucker of his hole. I paused, breathing him in, letting the heady, musky scent of him flood my senses.
“Fuck, you smell perfect,” I growled, voice gone guttural with hunger. I pressed my face in, inhaling deeply, letting him feel just how much I wanted this—wantedhim.
Then I let my tongue dart out, teasing at first, just a flick over the rim, watching the way his whole body arched off the bed in response. I licked again, longer this time, dragging the flat of my tongue from his balls to the top of his crack, then back down, swirling slowly around the tight ring of muscle. He shuddered, gasping, his hands flying to grip my thighs, desperate for purchase.
I didn’t let up. I dove in, tongue spearing inside him, fucking him with it, moaning into the heat and tightness, the taste of him—salt and sweat and the unique, addictive flavour that was pure Cal. I rimmed him with wild, greedy thoroughness, alternating between licking, sucking, and fucking him open, working him until he was writhing, babbling, reduced to nothing but helpless, raw need.
I felt his mouth close around the head of my cock, his tongue lapping at the sensitive underside, trying to focus, to give back even as I wrecked him. But he was losing ground fast. Every time I pulled back and blew a cool breath over his hole, his whole body jerked, his cock pulsing hard against my chest.
I pressed my mouth in, nose buried, tongue flicking, licking, tasting, then sucking hard, determined to leave him ruined for anyone else. “You’re mine,” I murmured between laps, letting the words vibrate against his skin. “Mine to eat. Mine to fuck. Mine to fill until you’re dripping with me.”
He whimpered, his legs trembling, hole clenching around my tongue. I hooked his thighs over my shoulders and went deeper, tongue-fucking him while my fingers traced teasing circles over his cock and balls, never giving him enough, always pulling him back from the edge.
I pressed a kiss to his hole, then pulled back to stare, eyes gone dark and hungry. “You ready for me to fuck you, Cal? Ready for me to fill you so deep you can’t think, can’t remember anything but the way you belong to me?”
He could barely form words—voice breaking, body trembling, cock leaking onto his belly as he nodded, utterly ruined. “Yes, Dom. Please. I need it. I need you.”
I grinned, rough and hungry, knowing I’d won—that this was surrender and victory all at once. “Good. Because I’m not stopping until you’re begging for mercy.”
I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, sitting back on my heels for a moment, just taking him in—body trembling, skin flushed, hole slick and open from my tongue, cock leaking so much he was making a mess of the sheets. He looked like a man unraveled, all edges and need, beautiful and desperate and completely, utterly mine.
I reached for the lube on the nightstand, popping the cap one-handed, not looking away as I slicked my fingers. Calwatched me through heavy-lidded eyes, still on his back, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm.
“On all fours,” I ordered, voice gone dark and guttural. “Show me.”
He rolled to his stomach with a graceless eagerness that made my cock twitch, scrambling up onto hands and knees. I took a moment to watch him—back arched, ass high, thighs spread, his pink hole shining wet in the low light.
I knelt behind him, one hand coming down hard on his hip to hold him in place. “Don’t move,” I warned, and when he stilled, I let myself go—leaning in and licking a stripe up the back of his thigh, across the curve of his ass, until I was back where I wanted to be. I mouthed at his hole again, licking, teasing, just to hear him groan, then reached under and wrapped my hand around his cock, stroking him in time with the flick of my tongue.
He gasped, shuddered, every muscle straining as he tried not to fuck my hand, tried not to lose what little control he still had. “Dom, please—fuck, I can’t?—”
I cut him off by sucking the head of his cock into my mouth from behind, taking him deep, letting the angle stretch my lips and jaw. My free hand slicked with lube, found his entrance, and pressed one finger inside, slow and deliberate, working him open again. He keened, hips rocking involuntarily, the pressure of my mouth and hand and finger threatening to undo him in seconds.
“Hold it,” I growled around the thick weight of him, letting my tongue swirl along the sensitive underside as I pressed a second finger in, scissoring, stretching, making him ready. “Don’t you fucking come until I tell you.”
He whimpered, nodded, hands clawing at the sheets as I worked him open, three fingers now, fucking him deep and slow. His cock throbbed in my mouth, leaking onto my tongue, but I kept him on the edge—edging him with merciless precision,never quite enough, always pulling back just before he could tip over.
When I finally let his cock fall from my mouth, he was panting, broken. “Please—please, Dom, I need?—”
I ignored him, because that was the game. I slicked my own cock with lube, pressing the head to his entrance, but not pushing in—just rubbing in slow circles, letting him feel the heat, the thickness, the promise of being filled. My hands gripped his hips, holding him open, teasing him with the weight of me.
“You want this?” I taunted, voice low, the head of my cock pressing just barely past the rim.
He nodded frantically, shoving back, desperate to be breached, but I held him steady, denying him what he needed. I leaned forward, bending over him, letting my chest press to his back, mouth finding his ear.
“Beg for it,” I whispered, one hand moving up to wrap around his throat, holding him still. “Tell me how much you want to be fucked. Tell me how much you need me to break you open, to breed you, to make you mine all over again.”
He shivered, the tremor running from head to toe, voice raw as he gave me what I wanted: “Please, Dom—please, I need it, I need you inside me, I want to feel you, want to be filled, want to be yours. Please, please, just—fuck me, I need it?—”
I pressed my cock more firmly against his hole, just enough to stretch him, not enough to breach, rocking my hips so the head popped in and out, teasing, threatening, promising everything but still refusing to give it.
He moaned—high and desperate—pushing back, trying to force me in. But I was relentless, holding him in place, one hand on his throat, the other wrapped tight around his cock, jerking him in short, vicious pulls, always just this side of too much.
“You’re not coming until you feel me inside you,” I whispered, biting his shoulder, tasting sweat and salt and thetang of surrender. “And when you do—when you finally break for me—I want to hear you scream my name so loud the whole fucking house knows who you belong to.”
He whimpered, desperate and trembling, pushing back against the head of my cock, muscles tight and fluttering around nothing. His entire body begged to be filled. I watched the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers clawed at the sheets, the pleading arch of his back—every line a plea, a dare, a challenge.
I couldn’t hold back any longer.
