Page 38 of Wintering with George

He was so perfect for me. He didn’t take any of my crap, but he did it in a way that never made me defensive or angry. He was wired for my ups and downs. “Yeah. C’mere.”

“This is what I wanted last night,” he barely got out, leaning over, his lips hovering over mine. “I wanted you so badly.”

“I know,” I growled before he kissed me.

His tongue was in my mouth as the head of my cock nudged against his opening. I took hold of his hips so he couldn’t drive down, needing him to go slow even with his need riding him. Too fast would hurt him, and I would never allow that.

“I need all of you,” he rasped against my mouth.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” I told him, taking hold of his cock, stroking him as I had earlier, but it was better now with the lube from my hand easing the slide. “But I want you all hot and aching, not hurting even one little bit.”

“It never hurts with you,” he promised, and that had ceased to make me angry as it once had. Kurt had been with some guys who hadn’t cared about making it good for him, and some of it was because he liked it hard and fast, and they had listened to him and nothing else. And though I too did as he asked, not second-guessing his desire, I still took the time to make certain he wasn’t just willing, but ready as well.

Normally I took my time and opened him up, but we’d been apart too long, and the yearning had become desperation. That, coupled with my words, those he’d needed and wanted, those I’d been a fool not to have given him from the beginning, made the joining urgent and necessary. I was as lost in the undertow as he was.

“Take me in,” I begged him, my hand working over his length, tugging and caressing as he pressed forward into my fist and then pulled back, pushing down on my cock, taking me in, back and forth, slipping farther each time until the rocking motion became a frantic grinding rhythm.

His hands were like claws on my chest, gripping my pectorals tight as he rode my length, driving me to his core, bottoming out, trying to shove deeper, needing more.

“It’s time for your words,” I told him, lifting my hands to his face, slipping my thumb in his mouth so he could suck and bite. “Tell me.”

“I want you to fuck me,” he cried out.

This was the part that other guys hadn’t understood. Because Kurt got lost sometimes during sex. He couldn’t switch gears; his partner had to do that for him.

Other men, he’d told me, had hurt him when they did something simple like change positions. They had pushed him, manhandled him, and it had been jolting for him to come out of his floaty head space to be held down and fucked.

I had never, would never, do anything to hurt him physically or mentally. He was my entire focus, my sole concern.

I took hold of his face and gently but firmly brought his mouth to mine.

“Oh,” he said as he exhaled, his breath warm on my face.

I kissed him deeply, slowly, sucking on his tongue, taking him in my arms, his body becoming liquid, boneless, and only then did I roll him to his back in a smooth, seamless motion.

Not wanting me to slip free, he bent his knees so I was cradled between his thighs. When I broke the kiss, he lifted to reach me, and I slid free, his soft mewling the only sound as I eased him to his stomach and then to his hands and knees.

“Yes?” I asked, taking hold of his cock that felt like velvet steel in my hand.

My name in answer, over and over, like a prayer.

Releasing his length, I slid in fast and hard, thrusting to his core, the slide easy, without resistance. Shoving deeper, I pulled back and then again, knowing what he craved, the moans and pleading simply icing on the cake.

I loved being in bed with him. Sometimes it was like this, the rutting that made him scream, and other times it was slow and tender, the joining that was more about our communion. Whatever he wanted, needed, I gave him, and he did the same. It had been that way from the start. I’d never been able to tell another lover what I wanted, what I had to have in bed. How necessary it was for them to submit body and soul. Kurt had demanded my honesty and given me all I asked for. And I gave in return.

“You have to come for me,” I said into his ear, my chest pressed to his back.

“Tell me again,” he demanded.

“I love you,” I said, thrusting deep, pounding inside him, watching as his arms gave out and he went face-first onto the sheet.

His muscles clamped down, and I felt him shudder under me as I came hard, holding myself over him, my mouth open on his back.

He was taking deep breaths, and I worried for a moment that I’d hurt him. I tried to ease from his clenching hole, though it was the last thing I wanted to do.

“No,” he whispered. “Stay.”

I kissed his sweat-slicked skin and felt the tremble run through him. “You taste good.”