“Porra, Rafael.” He choked, shuddered, licked the last drops from my lips like Communion wine. “You’re obsessed.”
He had no idea.
I spun him around and pressed his chest against the wall, pinning him there with my weight. His hands came up automatically, palms flat against weathered wood, bracing himself.
"Don't move," I said against the back of his neck. It wasn't a command but a plea. "Please don't move. Just let me fuck you like this."
"I won't." His voice shook. "I won't, I promise."
My fingers found his ass and went straight for his hole, expecting at least a little resistance. Maybe he’d wince or try to tense up for show. But there was none of that. He was already loose and slick, like someone had stretched him out good and proper before I’d even touched him.
He must’ve fucked himself.
God. The thought hit me like a surge of static. I shoved two fingers in up to the knuckle, and he just groaned, pushing back on them like he was starving for more. I curled them inside him, slow and punishing, then reached around to fist his hair and yank his head back hard.
"Did you open yourself up for me?" I hissed in his ear.
He shuddered. "After breakfast. I couldn't wait. You were arguing with Jasper. I went to the bathroom, sat on the sink, and fucked myself with my fingers until I came thinking about you."
I growled, bit the edge of his jaw, and drove my fingers in deeper before I forced a third with no effort at all. He choked on a gasp, hands scrambling for purchase on rain-slick wood.
"How many fingers does it take to feel like I’m inside you?" My cock shoved hard against the fly of my jeans.
He didn't answer. Just pressed his forehead to the siding and moaned while I fucked my fingers inside him, pulse racing in my ears. I twisted my wrist and felt him twitch around them. Still loose. Still desperate and open. Nothing would satisfy him except me.
"You like that?" I leaned into the curve of his ear, cold rain dripping off my jaw onto his collarbone. "Does that feel as good as my cock?"
He shook his head.
I twisted my fingers hard, angled deep. He made a wrecked sound. "Answer me."
"No," he gasped. "It's not the same. Fuck, nothing is as good as you. Please, I need you inside me. Please, Rafael, I'll do anything, just fuck me, I'm begging you, por favor."
That was all I needed.
I wrenched my jeans open and lined myself up before shoving in roughly. The heat of him, the shock of slick pressure, nearly took me out. I had to brace myself against the back of his neck. His body sucked me in like he was starving for it.
"Beg for it," I hissed.
Lorenzo's whole body shuddered against the wall. "Please." The word came out broken, desperate. "Please, Rafael, I need it. I need you to fuck me. I've been thinking about it all morning, all week, since New Orleans—" His voice cracked. "Please, I'll do anything, just move, please—"
I pulled out almost completely, then slammed back in. The force of it drove him up onto his toes, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. I set a brutal pace; no finesse, no technique, just raw need driving me forward. Each thrust punched gasps and moans and broken Portuguese out of him that got lost in the storm.
"Is this what you wanted?" I growled in his ear. "Me losing control? Me fucking you like an animal?"
"Yes—" The word dissolved into a whine as I changed the angle and found that spot inside him that made his whole body jerk. "Oh God, there, right there—"
His cock hung between his legs, still soft from his recent orgasm, but every time I hit his prostate, a bead of cum leaked from the tip. The sight made something primal roar to life in my chest. I wanted to milk him dry, wring every last drop from his oversensitive body until he was sobbing from it.
I reached around and wrapped my hand around his soft cock, squeezing just hard enough to make him whimper. The oversensitivity had to be torture, but he pushed into my grip anyway, desperate even through the pain.
The storm beat down on us, cold and relentless, but all I felt was his body clenching around me, my blood pounding in my ears, the friction building to something inevitable. My rhythm faltered, became erratic. Close. So close.
"Lorenzo—" His name came out strangled. My hips snapped forward one last time, and I came so hard my vision whited out, pulse after pulse emptying deep inside him.
When it was over, I leaned against his back, barely keeping us upright. Cold rain hammered my shoulders, but I was burning up. I couldn't move. Didn't want to. His chest rose and fell, and mine followed. Our breathing synced, found the same ragged rhythm.
When the aftershocks finally faded, I gripped myself at the base and pulled out, slow, and the drag of it punched a hiss from both our throats.
