His nails drag down my spine the first time I hit his prostate head-on, making me shudder. “Faster,” he moans. I pick up the pace only a little and he shakes his head. “No, faster than that.” His legs wrap around my waist, pulling me even deeper, and I can’t do anything but listen to every word he says.
I thrust into him, harder this time.
He gasps, but I do it again before I can think too hard about it. And again, different than before, harder and faster, the way he asked for. “Yes,” he breathes out. “That, more.”
He feels so fucking good around my cock. My nerves are the only thing keeping me together right now, trying to make sure he’s okay.
I remember what Nate said,don’t be selfish,and reach between us, wrapping a hand around his cock, and he cries out.
“Alex!”
I stroke him in time with my thrusts, watching his face, the sweat sliding down his temple, his stomach rising and falling. And the moment his body goes tense. “Close,” he gasps. “I’m so close—”
I fuck him even faster.
He comes apart with my name on his lips, nails cutting into my arms, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s beautiful, he’s always been, but right now with his face open and undone ina way I haven’t seen, I know in that moment that I will never see anything better than this.
My orgasm rolls through me before I can process that thought.
The playlist I made is still going, a song I picked because the lyrics reminded me of Mike. His hands are still on my back, moving in lazy circles, almost lulling me to sleep.
I lift my head eventually to check on him.
His eyes are closed, but there’s a small smile on his lips that I haven’t seen before. His eyes flutter open like he can sense that I’m watching him. “The playlist was good,” he says with a giggle bordering on hysterical.
I laugh along with him. “I’m glad you think so.”
When I finally drag myself out of bed long enough to go to the bathroom and grab a towel to clean us up the way I always do, Mike reaches for it.
“I’ll do it.”
I sit on the edge of the bed beside him. “Let me.”
He does, lying still while I clean him up, watching me. That’s new. He’s not usually this still. And that makes anxiety spike in my chest. “Does anything hurt?”
He shakes his head, still looking at me in a way that I haven’t seen before, so I push. “Are you sure? Because if I hurt you, you have to tell me—”
“Hey.” He catches my wrist where I’ve been wiping the come off of his stomach for longer than necessary. “I’m okay. Great. Are you okay?”
“I’m… yeah. I’m okay.” I think I really am.
He tugs my wrist until I lie down beside him where he curls into me, his head on my chest, his arm around my waist. I wrap my arm around him and try to relax.
But when I look down at him, his eyes are wet.
I’ve noticed it before. The glassy look he gets sometimes when we fuck. I’ve let it go every time because he always says he’s fine, and it seems like he is, and I didn’t want to push. But after tonight, I can’t let it go anymore.
“Mike.”
“Hm?”
“What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head against my chest, not looking up at me when he responds. “Nothing’swrong.It’s stupid.”
I run my fingers through his hair, down to his bare shoulder. “Tell me anyway.”
He’s quiet for long enough that I think he’s not going to tell me. But then he exhales, and I can feel some of the tension leaving his body.
