He groans, his hands flexing against my shoulders. “And you take me over my desk again.”
“Mm,” I hum and then kiss him again. “We can do that, but first, I want you right here. I’ve been waiting too fucking long.”
Arbor groans as I slide my hand down the back of his pants and touch his wet hole.
“How about right here?” I murmur into his ear, pushing a finger into him, making him gasp.
His moan slips from his mouth, and I cover it with my own, pushing my tongue inside of him and tasting him. Fuck, it’s exactly like vanilla ice cream. Sweet, delicious.
As I suck on his tongue, my finger swirling inside of him, his hands fumble with his zipper, wrenching his pants down.
“More,” he moans as I push a second finger into him.
His pants are now pooled around his ankles, his bare cock pressed up against me.
My fingers find his prostate, and he gasps, his cock spurting slightly.
“I need you inside me. Please,” Arbor begs.
So I give him what he wants. I spin him around, his hands falling against the porch rail, his ass arched out.
With a flick of my wrist, I yank my pants down and guide my cock into his hole. He takes me easily, and I slide home in mere seconds. Arbor’s head falls back, his mouth open in shallow pants.
“Yes. Yes. Please.”
I can feel his need buzzing inside of me, welling up, begging for more. To make him mine. We ignored it on the ride home, but I felt it. That hum of desperation, of possession.
I lick up his neck and then bite down on his shoulder, rougher than normal, leaving a mark.
“Mine,” I whisper.
“Yes! Yours!” Arbor screams as I slam into him, dragging my teeth up to his neck. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t, but fuck, I want to.
“Please,” Arbor begs, meeting my slamming hips with his ass. He’s so warm, tight. Slick.
That low buzz grows to a sharp ache, and I leave my lips against his neck, feeling the throb of his vein against me.
“Mark me. Fucking. Mark. Me!”
I want to. Fuck I do. But I want him to really think about it, to not be in the heat of the moment. I want him to be sure.
I lick my way up his candy-coated skin, dragging my teeth against him as I fist his cock.
He arches into it, his hips giving needy little pumps as he works himself closer to the edge.
“Glenn, please,” he begs, but I don’t give him that.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” I murmur into his ear.
Instead, I take him harder, tightening my fist, feeling his orgasm crest. My lips suck on his skin, tempting me, that magic winding so tightly inside of me I want to disregard it all and mark him now, but I don’t. I resist. We have time.
He said until after the next full moon.
There’s no rush. I want it to be perfect for him.
My release empties inside of him, and I feel his cum dripping down my fingers and onto the porch as we attempt to find our breath.
“Fuck, you didn’t mark me,” Arbor whines, and I pull out of him, turning his head slightly so I can kiss his mouth.
