For a second, panic flares, and Finn’s hands are on Grayson’s hips, stopping his descent. He can’t take his mate with only pre-come to ease the way, no matter that he wants to pull him down and fuck up into his heat.
But then he feels it—slick. Lube. A lot of it. Warm andslippery coating the head of his aching cock.
His breath leaves him in a rush.
Grayson’s been holding this inside. Plugged and full of slick. He planned for this.
Finn’s mind reels.
All through the chaos of the morning, the packing, the group hug, the flight—he’d been sitting next to Finn in the SUV, giving architectural critiques, pointing out skyline features, sounding calm and clever and composed—all while stuffed full and dripping for him. Holding himself open. Stretching in secret. Waiting to give Finn—and himself—pleasure.
Finn’s cock jerks. The realization nearly undoes him.
“Holy fuck,” he mutters, voice shredded. “You’ve been wet this whole time?”
Grayson grinds once, slow and cruel. His cock drags against his slick stomach. “Since before we left. Been wanting to be full of you all day, Finnie. You think I’d let you knot me dry?”
One grind of their hips sends a jolt through them both.
“Let me,” Grayson pants. “Wanna feel you inside. Wanna ride you ‘til you cry.”
Finn can’t speak—can only nod.
Grayson lifts up, hand reaching behind to guide Finn’s cock through the mess between his cheeks. The head catches at his rim, and Finn nearly comes right there—the way Grayson moans, the way he opens.
“Fucking perfect,” Finn growls, claws digging into the seat again as Grayson lowers—slow, so slow—until the tip pushes inside.
It’s hot. Velvet slick and tight, pulling him in like Grayson’s body wants it. A wet, gasping slide as Finn stretches him open, inch by inch.
“Goddess, so good,” Grayson chokes, sweat dripping from his temples. He shudders and sinks lower, thighs quivering as he takes more.
The chain between his thighs pulls taut as he leans back, changing the angle of entry so Finn’s cock hits his prostate.
Finn’s scent spikes—black currant gone syrupy-sweet, tartness long since replaced by arousal. The room is heavy with it. Basil and sweat and sexand Pack.
Grayson takes him to the base with a cry, hole fluttering as he bottoms out.
The bass rolls through his spine, syncing with every clench around his cock. Fuck, even the music wants him deeper.
“Fuck, fuck, you’re deep—stay just like that, don’t move,” Grayson gasps, head thrown back.
Finn does as he’s told, panting, thighs burning, barely hanging on.
Grayson starts to move. Small rolls of his hips at first. Rocking back and up, slow grind down, letting Finn feel every inch of that tight heat sliding over his cock.
“Fuck, Gray,” Finn groans. “So tight. So wet for me. You gonna ride my knot, too?”
Grayson laughs—hoarse and filthy.
“I’m not leaving until I’m full. Better hold on.” And then he starts to ride.
Full tilt, thighs slapping, ass bouncing, that cock ring glinting as his cock bobs between them, leaking with every bounce.
Finn can’t breathe. Every motion is slick, hot friction, pressure building low in his spine. His knot is swelling, heavy, and Grayson is working it, chasing it like he wants to get caught.
Sweat drips from both of them. The room is a blur of groans and scent and the hard sound of skin on skin.
“Touch yourself,” Finn orders, voice wrecked.
