Finn stood still, letting him. Letting the quiet settle between them. Letting Maurice’s warm hands replace the leftover tension in his body.
When Maurice finally finished, he draped the towel around Finn’s waist and gave him a soft, steady look—one that made Finn’s chest tighten in a way the shower never could.
It was simple.
It was quiet.
And it meant everything.
Maurice was the kind of man who could take charge of Finn, something he’d been craving and looking for, for a long time. Maurice’s domineering presence walled Finn with the caring he desired. If only they didn’t live so far away from each other. Finn’s thoughts ran wild. Finn didn’t know Maurice well enough and worried Maurice would abandon him at the end of the trip in San Francisco.
Once he was dry, Maurice glanced over his body, carried him to bed, and placed him on the bedspread, facedown. Then Maurice climbed onto it as well.
“Put the pillow under your stomach so your butt sticks up for me.”
Finn quickly did as he was told, eager to please the fully dressed man between his legs. Maurice kissed the back of Finn’s neck, his tongue playing and tickling, sending chills down Finn’s body. Peppering kisses down his spine, he traveled to his ass and spread Finn’s cheeks ever so tenderly.
“I want you,” he said in a low growl, the sound making Finn’s balls tingle.
He licked along the entrance to the back of his sack and played with Finn’s scrotum, licking and sucking. He returned to his entrance and dipped his tongue inside. It felt so good. No one had ever rimmed Finn before. He’d read about it on the online porn sites, but he’d never experienced it himself.
Maurice’s tongue worked him over like it already knew every weak point, slow at first—almost teasing—then faster, deeper, until Finn couldn’t tell where the heat ended and the rest of him began. It was wet, relentless, and overwhelming in a way that made his thoughts scatter. Saliva, warmth, pressure. Too much. Not enough. Never enough.
Finn’s back arched off the bed, a sharp, helpless curve as his body chased the sensation, desperate to meet it, to keep it, to drown in it. He wanted more of Maurice—God, all of him—right now, later, forever if that was even a thing. Nothing had ever hit like this. Nothing had ever made him feel like he might actually come undone.
“You taste like sugar, my sweet boy,” Maurice murmured.
The words slid through him just as easily as everything else. Finn moaned, low and rough, his body already ahead of him, his cock hard and jumping against his stomach. Needy. Impatient.
Then Maurice’s fingers—slick, deliberate.
One.
Finn gasped.
Two.
A shudder ripped through him, sharp and electric.
Three.
And there it was—that spot—as if Maurice had a damn map of him, as if he’d studied him for years instead of minutes. No hesitation. No guessing. Just precision.
Finn pushed back against him, chasing it, hungry for it. His breath came out in broken gasps, his hands gripping at nothing, everything, sheets, skin—whatever he could reach.
More.
He needed more.
The word sat right there on his tongue.Fuck me.It burned to be said. But he held it back, biting down hard, letting the tension build instead, tight and coiled in his chest.
Maurice pulled away.
Too soon.
Clothes gone in quick, efficient movements. A condom rolled on. Lube slicked over his length, slow enough this time to make Finn watch—really watch.
God.
