“Bloody hell,” he croaked, body arching enough that the movement pressed his groin against my thigh.
I grinned, too pleased with myself to hide it. “That’s the prostate, Professor.”
He flashed me a look that was equal parts scandalized and delighted. “Consider me educated.”
I took my time, going slow, letting him acclimate to the stretch. He was so open, so vulnerable, and so goddamn beautiful like this, it almost hurt. There was a sort of awe in watching him let go. Eddie, who overthought everything, who couldn’t let an idea pass without chewing it to shreds, surrendered, panting, grasping at my shoulders, doing his best to keep his eyes open and on me.
“I think I’m ready,” Eddie said, echoing my own assessment.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I want you, Bash. Please.”
Christ, the way he said please, like he was asking for something precious, nearly undid me completely. I fumbled with the condom, my hands not quite as steady as they had been moments before, and Eddie reached out to help, his fingers brushing mine as we got me ready together.
“Team effort,” Eddie said softly, and that calm reassurance eased the worst of my nerves.
I nodded, once, and guided him to lie back, propping his head on the pillows so I could see his face. I knelt between his thighs, and for a second, I took him in—his pale skin flushed with excitement, his chest rising and falling, pupils blown wide with anticipation. He was stretched out so trustingly I felt a strange ache in my ribcage, like every moment prior in my life had just been prelude for this one. All at once, I was terrified and honored and so fucking ready, I nearly forgot to breathe.
Then I lined myself up, heartbeat pounding so loud, I thought the sound might shake him apart. I pressed forward, slow as the tide coming in, jaw clenched not to thrust all at once. He was tight—fuck, he was so tight—and it took everything I had not to come right then and there.
Eddie’s breath shuddered in the space between us, but he kept his eyes locked on mine, fingers digging into my shoulders like he could anchor himself there. His face was a study in sensation, every pleasure and discomfort painting itself in real time across his features. I felt the catch in his breath, the little tremor as he adjusted, and I stopped, holding perfectly still.
“It’s okay,” he gasped, blinking hard. “Just give me a second…”
I waited, using every ounce of control not to rock my hips or lose myself in how fucking good it felt being buried in him. When he nodded, just a small motion, I started to move, barely an inch. “Okay?”
He nodded, exhaled. “It burns, but… please, don’t stop.”
I eased in a fraction more, then stilled to let him get used to it. “You’re so tight,” I muttered, not even meaning to say it aloud. It was true—he gripped me like a vice, heat and pressure so intense, I had to grit my teeth not to lose it. “So goddamn tight. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
Maybe I should’ve eased up on the dirty talk, but from the look on Eddie’s face, he liked it—a flush high on his cheekbones, lips parted, making urgent little noises every time I inched forward. I let my hand find his, laced our fingers tight, and kept my gaze on him, letting him know I was there with him for every flutter, every shiver.
Eddie whimpered with an almost animal sound, but more desperate than pained. He stared up at the ceiling, then at me, and the vulnerability in his eyes near took me out at the knees. I leaned in to brush my lips against his forehead, reflexively gentle, not sure if the comfort was more for him or for me. Maybe it didn’t matter.
“You’re doing so well,” I whispered, and he actually laughed, a sweaty, gasping huff.
“You say that like I’m running a marathon.”
“In a way, you are.” I grinned, and with the tiniest withdrawal, pressed in deeper, letting my body tell me how much he could take. He was trembling all over, but not retreating, not flinching away. Every little bit I gave him, he met with a stubborn sort of courage I’d never seen outside a battlefield.
After a minute, the tightness eased, replaced with a slow, rolling heat that seemed to radiate through both of us. The burn in my thighs was nothing compared to the coiling tension everywhere else. I wanted to lose myself, to pound into him until the edges of reality blurred away, but I held back, making myself go careful, deliberate.
The pinched look of discomfort on his face ebbed, replaced by something softer, eyes shining and lips curled up at the corners. “You can move.”
So I moved, gentle at first, still half-afraid of hurting him. But the resistance was gone, and it was easier than I expected, more natural, and suddenly, his legs were wrapped around me, heels pressed to my ass, pulling me deeper.
I nearly groaned at the sensation. He was unbelievably tight, and the heat of him, the slide and squeeze, made it hard to focus on anything but how good it felt. He clung to me, breathing ragged, and I realized he’d buried his face in my neck.
Stroking his hair, I still moved slowly, and he made a sound that was half-whimper, half-plea for more. I didn’t need him to use words. All I needed to do was listen to his body, the way his hips rolled up, the frantic pulse beating at his throat. I set a rhythm for us, and it was nothing like what I’d learned from women, nothing like the memories I had of clumsy, too-fast drunken hookups with girls. This was new, and holy hell, was it hotter than anything I’d ever imagined.
I found the spot again—his prostate, the goddamn magic button—and this time, I hit it on purpose. His whole body jerked like I’d set off an electrical current, and he was clutching my biceps, nails digging in, shaking with need.
“There?”
“Yes. Oh bloody hell…”
He started rocking with me, searching blindly for more. I’d never seen anything like it, the way he responded, like he’d been wired for this his whole life and now someone had finally flipped the switch. His cock was trapped between us, leaking and flushed, forgotten for the time being in favor of being filled. The thought made my vision blur for a second.
