“I thought you did research?” he says, looking over and arching his back again. Damn, that’s a dangerous fucking move.
“Not gonna lie, on all the research videos I’ve watched, they just sort of . . . smashed it straight in there. Raw. You can see there’s lube, but you never see them apply it.” I thumb over his hole once more. I need it. “I’m gonna . . .”
I push my middle finger it up to the second knuckle.
Pi whines, but stops himself. I won’t force him to do something he’s uncomfortable with, and I don’t want him to feel like he needs to put on a show for me, but damn, I wish he would let himself loose. I should have played some music or whacked the telly on to provide some background noise.
The only thing I can reach from where I’m standing without extracting myself from Pi’s butt is the small space heater slash fan on the floor. I kick the “on” switch with an extended toe and narrowly avoid foot cramp. For some utterly bizarre reason, the bastard contraption is set to “cold” even though it’s minus one million degrees outside. The room, however, is instantly filled by the overloud static of air getting pulled inside and swished up.
“What are you doing?” he says, deliberately rocking himself on my finger then swallowing his whimper.
I sink it in further. I don’t tell him my only motive was to provide white noise so he feels less exposed. “It’s boiling in here,” I say instead, but I’m grateful he can’t see the goosebumps erupting over my skin.
Jesus, he’s tight. I pull my finger out and push it back in. All the way out again, add a little more lube to my hand, and push it in. And I keep doing that until it glides in with much less resistance.
I’ve got big fingers, but I slip another in—my ring finger—and work him again until we’re both gasping for the real thing.
“Can I fuck you now?” I ask. I’m sweating, no longer feeling the chill from the fan, and congratulating myself on having such excellent foresight.
“Just the one time, yeah?”
“Of course, princess. Just the once.”
“Then fuck me,” he moans. I line myself up with his hole, drag the other hand down the small of his back, and then hook it over his hip. “Please.”
And then I’m pushing inside him, watching his ass as it swallows my cock. I’m not sure either of us is breathing right now. I may have forgotten how to. He’s so fucking tight. I order myself to take it slow, he likes it slow, but this might just be the most exquisitely torturous shag of my life.
Fuck, Eggs, don’t fuck this up. You’ve got one shot.
I slide all the way inside him.
“Fuuuuccckk!” This is going to be a test of endurance.
I pull out, push back in, like I did with my fingers, only this time it feels as though I’m on a countdown to death. With every agonisingly slow thrust, the pressure builds, and when I increase my pace just the slightest bit, Pi drops from his elbows to his chest.
“Is that okay?” I ask.
“Unghh!” he replies, through a mouth full of duvet. He stretches his arms above his head and gives me a thumbs-up.
I almost laugh. It’s fucking cute. “I can’t hear you with your face shoved into the mattress, by the way. So feel free to make as much noise as you want. Or not, whatever. I won’t hear it anyway.”
And I let my pace build. My words pay off as Pi begins to whine, and whimper, and moan straight into the bedsheets. Occasionally he turns his head to the side to suck in a lungful of air.
I fuck him faster.
He rewards me with a beautiful, “Oh, fuck, Eggo. That feels so fucking good.” He sounds so Australian right now, like he’s forgotten he’s lived in England for four years.
I fuck him harder.
He grips the other end of the bed and whines. Flesh slaps against flesh. Sweat runs down my neck, gathers between my palms and his hips, between the back of his thighs and the front of mine.
I’m not even aware of the sounds I’m making, but I know I’m getting dangerously close. My knees press into the mattress, and I crowd him from behind. Pi obligingly pushes himself onto his hands, elbows extended, and I reach a hand round, grip his cock, and start pumping.
“Oh, fuck. Oh my god,” he cries.
My rhythm is too erratic. It’s jerkier than how he likes to be touched, but I’m dancing on a knife’s edge, and any second I’m going to tumble headfirst into that delicious ravine. I need him there with me. Need him to fall with me.
“Pi, princess, baby . . . are you?” Fuck, I can’t even form words.
