George: *maybe grunt
Great. A text like this from George should not be able to destabilize me this badly.
And yet, here we fucking are.
I lean back against the seat and watch the city slide by outside the window, thinking about what any of this actually means, what I still haven’t told him, and how much longer I can keep those things separated before one of them finally spills into the open.
29
Lance
I catch a glimpse of the phone on the tripod beside the bed—the little red light blinking steadily, screen showing exactly what it’s capturing. Me folded in half, legs shoved up toward my chest, George’s thick cock disappearing into my ass with every thrust. The sight of us on hits me like a second cock.
“Oh my god,” I gasp loudly, the words punching out of me with each slam. “That’s so fucking good, George, fuck—we look so filthy on screen.”
George glances over at the screen too and groans, hips snapping hard. “Yeah? Like watching yourself get fucked?”
“More,” I moan, even as my eyes keep flicking back to the live feed. “Yes, so fucking hot.”
George slams back into me so hard the headboard cracks against the wall. My scrub top is rucked up past my nipples, the thin navy blue fabric bunched under my armpits. He has one fist tangled in it like a leash while his other hand grips my hip with bruising force. His thick, relentless cock is buried to the hilt, pounding my prostate on every deep, punishing thrust.
He growls low in his throat, hips snapping forward again, driving with so much force I feel it in my teeth. “You look so good,” he rasps, voice filthy and face feral. “Wearing my favoritefucking thing. Those scrubs hug your ass like they’re trying to kill me. You put them on slow on purpose, didn’t you? Teasing me while I was still half asleep.”
I try to laugh but it comes out a broken moan because he chooses that very moment to grind in a slow circle. “You’re the one who woke up hard and decided to rail me before coffee,” I manage. “Just getting dressed for work.”
“Bullshit.” He leans down, chest pressing to my back, mouth hot against my ear. “You bent over to grab your pants and gave me that perfect view of your hole still slick from last night. You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew I’d lose my fucking mind seeing you in these scrubs again.”
He punctuates the words with a brutal thrust that makes my eyes roll back. My cock is smearing precum across my stomach every time he bottoms out. George’s free hand roams greedily over my body, his palms dragging across my ribs, thumbs brushing my nipples.
“These nipples,” he mutters, pinching one hard enough to make me yelp. “Poking through the fabric like they’re begging for my mouth. And this ass, fuck, the way these pants sit low on your hips when you’re walking around the hospital? I’ve jerked off thinking about bending you over an empty gurney more times than I can count.”
“George,” I groan, laughing and pleading. “Don’t…don’t mark up the scrubs. This is my last clean pair.”
He breathes against my neck, teeth grazing the skin there. “I got you a nice red one right here.” He sucks hard just below my collarbone, adding another hickey to the collection he started last night. “I’m gonna cover you in them. Everyone’s gonna know you got fucked stupid before breakfast.”
I tighten around him involuntarily at the thought, and he curses under his breath, rhythm faltering for a second. “Shit, do that again. Squeeze my cock like that.”
He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in, setting a punishing pace that has the bedframe creaking dangerously. My scrub top is soaked with sweat now, clinging to my chest, and George yanks it higher, exposing me completely from the waist up. His mouth descends immediately, open-mouthed kisses and bites across my pecs, tongue flicking over one nipple while his fingers roll the other.
“George, seriously, my top—”
He growls, frustrated from all my whining, then sits back on his heels without pulling out. In one swift motion, he yanks the scrub top over my head, tossing it toward the foot of the bed. Now I’m completely naked except for the socks, and George’s eyes go dark and feral all over again.
“There,” he says, voice gravel. “Are you fucking happy now?”
He rolls me onto my side facing him, then hooks one of my legs up and over his hip, opening me wide. The new angle lets him sink impossibly deeper. I cry out shameless and loud, nails digging hard into his forearms.
“That’s it,” he praises, hips snapping. “Take my cock, just like that. I’m gonna come all over that pretty face and chest so you have to shower again.”
I moan at the image, body tightening around him, my own orgasm coiling tight in my gut.
His hand wraps around my cock, stroking fast and firm. “Come for me, Lance. Let me feel this tight hole milking me while I wreck you.”
It hits me with my back arching, vision whiting out, shouting his name as I spill over his fist and across my own stomach. George keeps fucking me through it, drawing out every shudder until I’m oversensitive and whimpering.
Then he pulls out, rips the condom off, and strokes himself furiously over me. “Open your mouth,” he orders.
I do, dazed and pliant. He comes with a guttural groan while hot, thick ropes land across my lips, cheeks, and neck, then drips down to my chest. Some hit my tongue and I swallow reflexively, licking the drip off my lips and chin.
