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There’s a moment of hesitation, and I wonder if I’ve pushed him out of his comfort zone, but then he stammers, “N-no.”
I reward his honesty with another light press. “When else?”
Dropping his head lower, he pants. “In my c-car. At dinner.”
Grabbing hold of the base, I draw it slowly out, mesmerized by the way his pucker resists at first, like it doesn’t want to part with it. He lets out a breath, though, and it relaxes, expanding. I stop and tuck it back in, producing a beautiful moan from his throat.
“I’m listening.”
“B-basically whenever I sat down.”
Pressing on the base, I direct the force to reach a different angle, remembering what I read about the prostate. His legs start quivering, and he groans.
“And when you took it out?”
“Yeah! Even then.”
His desperation has me so carnal, I want to eat him alive. Tugging again, I draw the plug free and watch his hole twitch at the loss of it. Drawing my finger over that pulsing circle, it kisses my skin in response to my touch.
“What about now? What are you thinking about?”
I catch his reflection in the mirrored closet doors. Sighing, his eyes slip closed. “You. Still you,” he murmurs hopelessly, but as though he’s perfectly content resigning himself to that hopelessness.
“Sounds like you’ve got a problem.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe this will help.”
Pushing through the confines of his ring, my fingertip is greeted by blazing heat and a dampness from the lube left behind by the plug. I channel all my focus to his every reaction. I need to make this good for him. Slipping deeper, my fingertip brushes over a soft nub, causing his back to arch.
He whimpers and lifts a hand from the mattress. His arm bends at the elbow, the rest disappearing from my sight underneath his torso. A quick glance in the mirror steals my breath.
“Stop,” I warn, withdrawing my finger. “Don’t you dare.”
His grip on his cock releases and he glances back at me. “Sorry, I–”
“You’re ready.” I inform him, drawing my knee off the bed. “Go over to the mirror.”
I don’t know if he was about to stroke himself for relief or if he planned to squeeze his cock to fight the urge to do so, but I’m not going to miss a moment of it.
He takes a moment to process my request, but then staggers off the bed. Facing me in all his naked glory, he stops in front of the mirrored closet door.
“Hands on the glass.”
More confusion. More sparks of curiosity. He turns around and places his palms against their reflection.
Hurrying to the restroom, I toss the plug in the sink and quickly rinse my hands, for once in my life not giving a fuck about anyone’s birthday. I dampen a rag and find the necessities I need in my toiletry bag. He watches my every step as I return to the bedroom with them.
Setting the bottle of lube down on the nightstand, I catch his gaze and slowly pull my boxers down. My instincts remind me I should fold them, but my need for him drowns out the demand of the thought in a way that is so damn freeing, I could cry. The sight of him staring at the reflection of my thickened cock, however, has me performing the ritual to prolong the feel of his eyes on me. I’m folding something because I want to, not because I have to.
Setting them on the nightstand, I tear open the foil condom packet, sure to meet his gaze as I do. I want to see any flicker of hesitation so I can stop just as much as I want to soak in his interest. Sliding the latex on, I grab the bottle of liquid and apply it generously, knowing the more I that I do, the better it will be for him. Coating myself, I find nothing but fire in his eyes as he stares at my handiwork.
Fucking hell. Now I need to squeeze myself to hold back.
“This is what you really want, Cam. Isn’t it? Not the plug.”
“Yes,” he says, letting out a soft chuckle as I casually try to wipe the mess off my hand.
