He surrendered to Laddin’s weight. He let it crush him with need, obliterate all his thoughts. His orgasm was only part of the process. He was so blown apart that when he released, the bliss merged with the annihilation.
Suddenly he felt free.
Boneless, mindless, released, and erased into bliss.
And then Laddin rolled him over.
“On your knees,” he ordered.
Bruce obeyed.
“You think you’re done, don’t you,” he said.
He did.
“There’s more, but you have to stay exactly like this. You have to be relaxed.”
Not a problem.
He waited while Laddin got something from the truck. He didn’t move—hell, he barely breathed as Laddin returned. Then he felt hands on his asscheeks, spreading them open, and an invasion that was like everything else Laddin did—slow, steady, and completely thorough. A finger wet with lube. His mind told him that, but his body didn’t care.
He was open. He was empty. And Laddin was going to fill him up.
The finger moved in and out. There seemed to be no rush, just a push that went progressively deeper. Over and over. And then there was a wiggle somewhere deep inside. A place that had him drawing a deep breath in surprise.
“Don’t tense. Ride it.”
He wasn’t tensing. He wasfeeling. But in order to do that, he had to open up wider. He had to let Laddin press and rub whereverthatwas.
Laddin didn’t. He gently removed his finger only to replace it with two, offering stretches and pokes that weren’t getting there but were coming steadily closer.
Bruce whimpered. He’d never made that sound in his life, but he did now. He wanted, but he had no ability to demand. The words wouldn’t form; the force wouldn’t come. He was a creature of open need.
He waited.
Eventually a hard, blunt tip pressed at his opening. And like before, the thrust was steady, patient, and inescapable. A little deeper each time. A little wider with every thrust. And while the burn added to the sensations, Bruce didn’t resist. He was too open and too needy.
He simply existed while pleasure spiraled outward from the point of penetration. And while the thrill built with each invasion, Bruce didn’t move with it. He didn’t buck, and he sure as hell didn’t bear down. Not until Laddin was fully vested. Not until the heat of his body added to the burn of expansion.
Then Laddin leaned down over Bruce’s back. Bruce felt the heat of his breath across his shoulders and the weight of his body on his spine. He bore it easily. He was a big guy, and he wanted this. Then Laddin grabbed hold of his dick in a grip of iron, just like before.
“Now you move,” he ordered. “Whatever you want.”
The words didn’t compute. What he wanted? He’d been emptied of wants. And yet his body knew exactly what to do.
His hips thrust into Laddin’s fist. Sensation burst through his consciousness from two places. Every thrust had his dick weeping with pleasure. And every shift had Laddin rubbing against that place deep inside him. It was incredible. He tried to control his movements. He tried to measure the pleasure as it built inside him. But it was too much to process, too big to absorb, and he ended up squirming and thrusting in a wild ride of everything at once.
Only it wasn’t enough.
He cried out in frustration. No words, just sound and need and—
“My turn,” Laddin rasped. “My. Fucking. Turn.”
With each word, he thrust hard. And at the deepest point of penetration, he banged that spot. Bruce arched and tried to open up wider, deeper. He wanted to be split apart, and as Laddin grunted against him, he was.
Split wide. Torn open.
Exposed. Pleasured.
