“Do you like my ass?” I pant, grinding down. “Do you like seeing yourself slide in and out of me?”
“Mmm.” His jaw tightens, the tempo of his thrusting increasing. “You’re taking it so good. So fucking good.”
He’s close. His breath stutters, hands shifting from guiding to gripping, bracing for impact with every thrust.
His voice breaks on my name.
“Levi—” It’s a warning. A plea.
I slow, my hole teasing the most sensitive head of his cock.
“Let go,” I whisper, chest heaving. “I’ve got you.”
He grips my hips hard, thrusting upward once, twice, and then I know he’s about to finish. “Oh my…” he pants, his lips feverish against mine. “I’m going to cum. Levi, fucking hell, I’m going to…” Hayden’s body tenses, shadows writhing wildly around us, then softening as he exhales as if he’s never needed anything so badly in his life. His forehead presses to my shoulder, his body shuddering as he pours into me. I moan as his cock throbs deep, rope after rope of his nut filling me whole; the shudder goes through me like a bell.
I hold him through it. Every second.
And then his hands slide down my spine, slipping between us, taking my aching cock in his sure hand, and suddenly, I’m the one unraveling.
He’s still hard. Hard enough to get me over the edge, as his shadows push me down onto him, phantom limbs coaxing the orgasm out of me.
“Fuck,” I groan, trying to hold back, but he knows exactly what my body craves.
“Cum for me,” he commands, pumping me with ruthlessprecision. “Be a good boy and show me how beautiful you are when you fall apart.”
Fucking kill me.
It doesn’t take long. I’m already shaking, already too far gone from the sensation of him breeding me, using me. And with one more brush of his hand and the shadows pushing me down on his cock, I snap. Spilling over the edge with a hoarseoh my fucking god, my hands clenched in the sheets, anchoring me to this moment.
Hayden watches in awe as I paint the lines of his stomach with thick cum. He trails a finger through the mess I just made and brings it to my lips, a sweet offering, and I nearly finish again.
He pulls me down into his arms as my orgasm reverberates through me. For a long minute, neither of us speaks.
Finally, he exhales into my hair.
“Holy fu…” is all I manage, turning in to his chest, and I feel him laugh, low and delighted.
“Accurate,” he murmurs, voice gravel soft.
The shadows recede, slow and languid, slinking into corners like voyeurs. Satisfied and sated, they’ve had their fill of pleasure and intimacy for the night.
But I don’t move.
I curl into Hayden, still pulsing with the echo of every thrust, our legs tangled and hearts racing.
15
Hayden
The sunlight filtersthrough the windshield as I pull into the funeral home lot, pale streaks catching on the dashboard. I squint behind my sunglasses, mouth dry, dignity questionable. My mortality is showing. Enthusiastically. My body aches in ways I haven’t felt in decades, and none of them subtle.
Mortals do this recreationally, I think bitterly, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. Tequila. Dancing. Sex so intense it rearranges your spine. Then repeat.
I brush the thought aside and step out of the car.
I’m not exactly hungover. Just dehydrated, sore in a few specific ways. No headache. No shame. Just a residual current under the skin and I think my body’s still catching up.
Last night wasn’t penance. It was pleasure, which feels more dangerous. Want has always been the sharper blade.
