Page 16 of The Cubby Hole

That hum might as well have been a starting gun going off.

His mouth crashed into mine, hungry and demanding, swallowing my whimpers of need.

Fuck.

A small part of me was still watching outside myself.

For all the time it had taken us to get here again, our bodies remembered how we worked best together—urgently.

I’d find my way inside him as quickly as possible and then he’d take my orgasm from me.

We liked to skip to the penetration and fuck fast. We didn’t need to make out, or caress one another, or spend a lot of time trading blow jobs… Those acts could come later—in the middle of the night when we were half-asleep, in the morning when we lingered in bed in a drowsy tangle.

Ben broke the kiss and sat up straighter, swiping a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead. He flashed me a devilish smile. Pinning me with his pretty blues, he brought a hand to his mouth and pushed spit onto his fingertips. He lifted his hips and reached around to wet his hole.

His saliva mixed with my precum to form the most obscenely perfect glide. The best lube in the universe: spit, precum, and sheer urgent need.

I rutted against him, groaning in the tortured blend of bliss and frustration, almost finding my way in but then slipping past.

A thin line appeared between his brows, his expression shifting to concentration. He reached behind him again to grab me by the base. He adjusted the angle and finally guided the head of my cock into his hole.

The relief of being inside his body came in stages.

Shock. Recognition. Wonder.

I cursed a filthy promise.

He smirked in silent triumph.

Looking like an incubus in the porniest dream I could ever have, Ben sat on me hard, slowly and steadily driving me deeper. His hole wasn’t quite lubed enough—with anyone else I would’ve been concerned—but we both fucking loved it like this. I couldn’t feel enough if it was too slick, and he liked for it to hurt a little.

Nobody else fucked like we did.

His face grew determined, jaw set, eyes glassy.

I loved this position, on my back, legs straight, straining up into him as he rode me. I braced my hands against his pecs, lifting him, holding him off me enough that I could find a longer drive for my strokes.

Ben had never been more gorgeous, leering down at me through his lowered lids, so fucking devilishly slutty.

Leveraging the back of the sofa with one arm, he bore down on me, changing the angle so the sensitive underside of his cock plowed my belly hair. I wouldn’t need to touch him, he would teeter on this edge, waiting for me, until I tumbled over.

I hissed through clenched teeth. “I fucking love fucking you.” My leg muscles contracted, my thighs on the verge of cramping from the cycle of effort and restraint.

He managed to bite out my name, a cue for my release.

I didn’t hold back any longer. I shoved deep, blasted into him, and continued thrusting until he roared and spilled, flooding the hollow of my sternum.

For several moments, he shook with convulsions and tremors, humming and keening. Ben experienced these all-over body orgasms I’d never witnessed with another man. It had scared the shit out of me the first time.

As if reading my mind, he gasped, “Only ever happens with you.”

7

11:22 P.M.

Ben continued to lean on one elbow against the back of the sofa as his breathing slowed. He kept me inside him. He dragged his fingertips through the release on my chest like he was drawing a symbol there.

A mark of some kind.