“Xavier.” My name is released on a slow, hissing breath through gritted teeth. “Consent.”
If my balls weren’t so fucking tight and my dick wasn’t already leaking precum, I’d let him hover on the edge of ‘yes,’ for a while longer, make him drag it out of me. But my traitorous fucking hips rock back toward him making him chuckle. “I need the actual word, Martinez.” Somehow his voice is even lower.
“Yes.” I consent. “Do it.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice but he doesn’t ram inside me in one go. Part of me is expecting it, that solid thrust, but he doesn’t. He teases my hole as he slips the tip of the head of his cock into my ass.
Fucking hell, he’s big. My vision whites out for a second, my knees threatening to give as my body scrambles to take him. I’ve heard rumors. I mean, hockey players are nothing if not gossipy little shits, but when he finally eases his whole girthy head into me, I see stars. The rumors didn’t do him justice.
He opens another packet, squeezes more lube over both of us, and hisses again as he inches his length into me. A guttural moan fills the room, animalistic, raw, ripped from some dark depth inside… me. I’m making that noise.
Something’s different about his cock. Isn’t that what they all say? There’s a cold kiss of metal, a textured drag that lights up nerves I didn’t know I had. It’s definitely cold, bumpy, something… sweet baby J is this thick-dicked-dark-destroyer pierced?
My thighs tremble. My stomach clenches hard, a warningtremor that I’m seconds from embarrassing myself all over his damn couch.
He moves once, pulling his hips away from me, letting the length of his dick slide out of me, dragging the piercing against my insides. Another feral noise falls from my lips before he rams into me at speed.
He pistons his hips. It’s brutal, fast, hard. My breath shatters, spilling out of me in a broken, needy noise I’d deny ever making. All I can do is hold onto the arm of the couch, bracing myself against it so the force of his thrusts doesn’t shoot me over the fucking thing.
Our breathing synchronizes at some point, and I want to breathe in time with him forever. Fuck. He’s a powerful force invading my senses. His breath against me shouldn’t feel intimate, but it does. And I hate that I want more of it, more of him… more ofus.
His hips fit against me perfectly, forcing the couch to cradle me in a fucked-up kind of way. His fingers bite into my hips, they’re going to leave marks. Good. This is going to be over faster than I want it to, and I want bruises as a reminder that this really happened.
He grips harder when I moan, like he needs something firm under his hands to keep himself from unraveling. Every few beats of his cock plunging inside me grazes that special spot, sending white-hot pulses of pleasure rippling through my body. If I just… move… a little he’d hit it square on… shit. Shit. Shit. Right there. Don’t move. Don’t fucking move.
I don’t say it out loud. I don’t want him to stop, but also, I can’t fucking speak. He’s stolen my words, my breath, my control, my fucking soul. I’m a quivering bag of bones as he rams into me, grunting, slapping,breathing. I’m hanging by a thread, every nerve ending strung tight and singing his name.
The second he presses on my prostate; my body tells onme. The deeper electric pulse shimmers, detonating like a massive explosion, like someone pushed a button behind my balls.
I’m one of the rare number—ten to twenty percent of men—who can come from prostate stimulation alone, and I never take that fact for granted. It’s a guaranteed hands-free, slightly embarrassing, life-ruining orgasm when someone finds my happy button, and Artemis fucking found it with his mondo dick and his sexy piercing.
I roar through my release, bucking my hips despite being pinned over the arm of the couch. There’s no decorum in my orgasm, it’s wild, it’s reflexive, it’s messy. Cum spurts over the couch, up my stomach, and Artemis’s jerky, haphazard movements smear my release all over the fabric as he rides me into his own blissful release.
My body goes limp as I melt into the sofa. My vision blurs, my ears buzz, and the world tilts. “Holy shit,” I whisper.
Artemis’s roar swallows my words, but it’s restrained, choked somewhere in his vocal cords so it sounds strangled. And as soon as he comes, he’s pulling out from my ass, but his breath shudders, cracking like it impacted him as well.
My legs twitch with aftershocks I can’t control, pleasure still buzzing faintly under my skin like static electricity. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. My body’s shaking, forever changed from having just been decimated by Artemis’s de la Peña and his magical cock.
I suck in ragged breath after ragged breath, frantically trying to find level ground. But sweat trickles down my neck, my body’s stuck to the couch, and despite the flickering hope in my chest crackling like a wooden-wicked candle, I know that when I turn around, he’s going to run.
I can feel it, hovering in the air between us. His jaw is locked so hard I can almost hear the crunch. The snap of acondom being tied off pulls me back from the edge of a nap right here where I lie, pants around my still-spread ankles, ass sticky with lube, and the cold trickle of what feels awfully like shame rolling down my spine.
I refuse to be embarrassed about this or let regret find its way into my chest. I wanted this, I knew what I was getting, and I knew going in that he’d bolt like a horse out of a stable.
The silence between us spreads, growing colder. He leaves, presumably to find a trashcan, and when he comes back, he stands a little further from me. When I turn and meet his eyes, all I see is dissociation. His pupils shrink, going flat and cold, the warmth from minutes ago vanishing like it never existed.
There’s nothing mean in his eyes, nothing cruel, he’s just… gone. The shutters are back. If I didn’t know what his hands felt like on me, I’d swear he’d never touched me at all.
He zips up his pants like he’s covering his dick with armor. He avoids eye contact, and when he speaks, his voice is devastatingly neutral. “I shouldn’t have come.”
Neither of us says anything else. We give those words the space they need because it’s a massive statement. He flinches, barely, like my presence physically hurts. It’s hard not to feel a sting of rejection, but despite any blooming insecurity he might be feeding, rationally speaking I know this is about him, not me.
And still, I want to fight, to scream, to shake him but I know that won’t help things. Because behind the stillness, the neutrality, the calmness in his voice? Lies something else. Something unkempt and untameable. Something broke open inside my Dark Destroyer, and that look in his eyes that he doesn’t want me to see? Is fear.
Artemis de la Peña is fucking terrified.
He fucked me to scratch an itch, but what happened between us opened the door to something more. By fucking me relentlessly, something more than my prostate exploded,and from the mechanical way he’s not-staring at me right now, Iknowhe felt it too.
