Page 67 of My Forbidden Commander

My hand closes around the back of his neck, and I haul him in, kissing him savagely, my teeth catching his lower lip, my mouth swallowing the noise he makes. He grabs at my shirt, and I don’t give him time to get a grip. I spin him by the shoulders and splay him over the desk, one hand flat between his shoulder blades, his cheek pressed against the patrol logs. The proof-of-life memo. All of it. Exactly like I imagined it before I ever knew his mother’s name or the taste of his skin.

He arches back against me, grinding his ass into my erection, and I press him down harder.

Then reality taps me on the shoulder.

“Fuck.” I go still. “I don’t have lube.”

Noah chuckles into the paperwork, smug. “Check my right pocket, sir.”

I reach into his pocket and my fingers close around the small tube. I pull it out and hold it in front of his face.

“You carry this around now?”

“You summoned me to your office after dark and dismissed the radio watch.” He turns his head enough to grin up at me sideways. “I’m not the one being obvious.”

I answer that by opening his belt one-handed and dragging his pants and shorts down to his thighs in one pull. He hisses as his cock springs free into the cool air, hanging hard and heavy over the front edge of my desk. I slick two fingers and press them into him, and he opens for me easy, pliant, still soft-muscled from this morning in my bunk. It takes a minute, barely that, before he’s pushing back onto my knuckles and cursing quietly into a supply requisition.

“Ready, sir.” Breathless. Demanding. “Come on.”

I free myself, lube my cock with two rough strokes, and line up. Then I press in, one long, unbroken push, and we groan simultaneously, the same sound coming from two very different men.

And my shoulder is healed now. For over a month I fucked him carefully, one-armed, letting him do the work while I held still like a man under doctor’s orders. Which is what I was. But not anymore. I close both hands over his hips, fingers digging into the bone, and I slam into him the way I’ve wanted to since the first briefing.

The desk screeches an inch across the plywood.

“Fuck—” Noah’s hands scrabble for the far edge and hold on.

I don’t slow down. I set a pace that has the desk barking against the floor with every thrust, screech, screech, screech, a rhythm anyone within fifty meters could interpret with total accuracy, and I cannot make myself care. I watch him instead. His head rests on the desk, cheek crushed against the paperwork, mouth open, breath fogging a laminated document. His eyes roll back when I bottom out, lashes fluttering, and there has never been anything on any map board in my career worth looking at more than this.

“Look at you.” My voice comes out low, rough, the voice I use out there. “This is what happens to soldiers who alter my patrol orders, Specialist. Bent over my desk with my cock in them.”

He whimpers. Actually whimpers, the mouthy little menace, his fingers going white on the desk edge.

“You’ve been insubordinate since the day you got off that truck.” I punctuate it with a thrust that jolts a stack of folders off the desk and toward the floor. “Slouching in my briefings. Talking back at my range. Touching yourself on my perimeter run where anyone could’ve caught you.” Another thrust. “Did you know I was already ruined by then? That I’d already fucked you a dozen times right here, in my head, on this desk?”

“God—” He pushes back to meet me, sloppy and desperate. “Left, sir—angle left, right there, right there⁠—”

I adjust my grip and drive into the spot he’s begging for, and his whole body seizes, a strangled sound punching out of him into the paperwork. So I hammer it. Every stroke, no mercy, holding his hips exactly where I want them while the desk screeches its complaints and Noah Reyes comes apart under my hands one thrust at a time.

“Gabriel—” His voice cracks. “Gonna come. Don’t—don’t touch it, I’m gonna come just like this, gonna paint your desk, sir⁠—”

“Then do it,” I growl. “That’s an order.”

Three more strokes and he obeys. His back bows, his mouth opens on a sound he barely strangles, and his cock jerks untouched where it hangs over the desk’s edge, striping the front panel in ropes of cum while his whole body clenches around me like a fist.

That clench takes the choice away from me. The pressure that’s been building at the base of my spine detonates, and I come with a roar I muffle with clenched teeth, grinding deep, filling him in pulses that seem to go on longer than physics should allow. Filling my boy to the brim. My vision whites at the edges. My knees consider mutiny.

When I finally, carefully pull back, I look down and groan at the sight—my cum welling out of his stretched hole, sliding down toward his thigh, obscene and mine and the single most possessive thing I’ve ever done to another human being.

“Christ,” I mutter, dragging my thumb through the mess just to watch him shudder. “If I weren’t forty-five, I’d bend you right back over and give you a second one.”

Noah laughs, wrecked and breathless, still spread across my ruined paperwork. Then he reaches back with two fingers, scoops up a slick trail of what’s leaking out of him, and brings it to his mouth. The moan he makes around his own fingers is filthy and entirely sincere.

I stare at him, stunned and—impossibly, thirty seconds after coming—stirred.

“I maintain,” I say, shaking my head slowly, “that there is something seriously wrong with you.”

He rolls onto his side on my desk, pants around his thighs, hair destroyed, grinning at me with cum on his lips and half the base’s patrol logs stuck to his cheek.