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“I might have to gag you.”
He pulls me by the forearm when no one is paying any attention to us and shoves me into Mallory’s bathroom, closing and locking the door behind us. He’s wearing wool slacks which hit the floor within two seconds of being locked inside.
“Take off that sweater,” he says, and those are the last words he gets out before I stuff a monogrammed hand towel into his mouth.
I point at the vanity. “Ass on the counter.”
He does what I say while I strip off my only slightly ugly Christmas sweater and open my pants to reveal my rapidly filling erection. Olivier’s sweater isn’t ugly at all. It’s just argyle and dated. It fits him like a second skin, and with the rest of him completely bare, he looks like a filthy porn fantasy. His leaking cock only adds to my mental meltdown.
We both carry lube in our wallets now. There were too many occasions in our first year together where we were nowhere near home and got overwhelmed with this driving urge to fuck. There is no one I know in Manhattan who doesn’t have some traces of our DNA in some room in their house, but I admit—it’s usually the bathroom.
We’ve also debauched dressing rooms and fashion closets, elevators, and too many places in Prospect Park to count.
I tear open two packets and fill him up with one while he bites down on the towel and thrusts against my fingers. I use the other packet to get my cock ready to slide in deep.
While I could watch him fuck my fingers all day, I realize our time here is limited.
I part his thighs, step between them, and pull my gorgeous power bottom onto my cock. As a couple, we officially identify as vers. This is especially true in the mornings when I’m just waking up and he’s more ready to go than I am. We’ve also mastered the art of the flip-fuck.
But taking my cock is truly Olivier’s special talent. He doesn’t even need to brace himself on the counter to properly fuck me, but tonight he does with one hand on my shoulder and the other on the counter’s edge.
He works my cock in clenching rolls while I grip his hips and pound into him, but that’s more for him than it is for me. What he’s doing to my cock is beyond enough to get me off in a hurry, especially with that hungrily determined look in his eyes.
With his mouth stuffed, I cover his nose, controlling his oxygen supply in a way that doesn’t leave marks. If he didn’t have any jobs booked, believe me, we’d both prefer I left bruises, but he’s walking at a Christmas gala in two days, so I have to be careful with my pretty peach.
Sort of.
I spit on his dick and jerk him off while we screw each other hard and fast. I don’t bother trying to hold off my orgasm—I let the deep shockwaves of pleasure take me along on their ride. His hole is as good as his fist, but with the important distinction of being able to hold my entire cock and work it like a pro. He’s so fucking good at fucking me.
His face is red with both exertion and mild suffocation. His cock is pouring precum over my hand and my balls are pounding with an impending release.
“You close, pretty baby?”
He nods jerkily, but his lower body is nothing but smooth, fluid motion, milking my dick and making it extremely hard to keep quiet.
“I’m about to blow a huge load deep in your tight little hole. You ready for that?”
Another nod, an agonized draw of his brow.
His suffering still gets me off. Not that I’m mad at him anymore. I love this man more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything. And the way he’s able to hold space for all of me—the dark, the light, the brutal and the broken—is one of the thousands of reasons why.
“Are you gonna come for me?”
He moves the hand he’s got on my shoulder to my face, sticking two fingers into my mouth.
I suck them automatically, somehow understanding he doesn’t want to fuck up his argyle sweater by jizzing all over it. I take my fist off his dick.
His attempts to draw breath create suction on my hand covering his nose, and with a few more strokes, I slam our hips together and spill.
Keeping quiet means the orgasm rattles my insides as I pulse out what feels like a gallon of cum. It’s extremely intense, and the way he milks me has me near collapse. He’s a sexy little fucker.
He holds my gaze while I do all I have left in my power not to make a sound loud enough to be overheard. The mirror behind him reflects the agony of my inner struggle.
I give him one quick breath before I cover his nose again, trying to buy myself some time to get through the mind-numbing high so I can properly suck him off.
Once he can breathe again, he’ll come nearly instantly.
And so it goes as I bend over to wrap my mouth around his stiff, leaking cock. When I take my hand off his face, his first gasp brings a back arching release that shoots straight down my throat almost powerful enough to make me choke. But I switch gears quickly from sucking to swallowing, and he takes the opportunity to completely ruin my good hair day while he greedily rides my mouth.
