You shake your head. Maybe it’s to clear your hair from your face. Maybe it’s to find a cooler spot on the duvet. To refute what he said? “C’mon. I can take it.”
“No.” When Kai says it, it’s not a sexyno.It’s him there, your everyday, real-life boyfriend. “No,” he repeats. “This has gone far enough.”
He’s probably right, of course. He could hurt you—reallyhurt you—and where would that leave either one of you two? Slowly, carefully, he eases his fingers out. The absence of him is tremendous. Your hole gapes around nothing. Your heart is slamming like a jackhammer. Kai gets up off the bed.
“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Don’t move.”
Like that’s a choice you could willingly make right now; ha. You hear him in the bathroom washing his hands. Who knows; maybe he’s giving himself one of his pre-game pep talks. Only, instead of plowing quarterbacks, he’s telling himself that hecandeal with his fucked-up boyfriend. Hedoesn’twant to run out into the storm and get the fuck out of Los Angeles and never come back. Hewillfollow the playbook and see the game through ‘till the end.
You take the opportunity to fully gather your hair away from your face. You are so, so hot. The sweat—your face is soaked in it. You’re breathing deeper than usual. You’re a starfish on the bed, unable to move. This whole time, your cock has been hard as a rock.
Kai comes back into the room. Looks briefly out the door at the raging weather; his immense body limned by the lamplight and the jagged, irregular lightning. Kneels down by the bed.
“You good?” he says. And then, with concern, “You’re crying.”
“I’m good,” you say. “I swear.”
You can feel it now, the water streaming from your eyes like they are broken. Not sweat. Tears.
“Ster…” Kai says warningly.
“Jesus Christ.” You slam your eyes shut, like you could forcibly cut off the font of tears. “If you stop now, I’m going to kill you. I w-won’t ask for anything else weird. Just what we talked about. Please.”
You’re half expecting him to put his foot down. Instead, he leans in tenderly. Pokes his tongue out, and carefully (so carefully), licks each one of the two streams of tears coursing down your cheeks.
“You wanna get fucked?” he asks.
It almost hurts to draw a deep breath. You nod frantically.
“Yeah,” you say.
His face is a closed shutter. Getting back on the bed, he slaps your outer thigh so hard that it almost makes you jump up like a singed cat.
“Sixteen,” he announces. “Face down, ass up. Now.”
Your limbs are unsteady enough that he has to manipulate you into position like a sex doll. He gets a pillow under your cheek and hauls your hips up, bracing your knees apart.
“Wide open for me,” he says. “Gonna take it so well, aren’t you? You just need it so bad.”
The little moan that escapes you clearly isn’t good enough, because he pulls his arm back and backhands the meat of your ass. The cry that splits your mouth somehow coincides with another roll of thunder, almost drowning it out.
“Seventeen,” you manage.
As if that’s some kind of cue he was waiting on, Kai takes himself in hand and lines up with your hole. You’re so stretched from his fingers that he slides in easily, impaling himself to the root in perhaps two-and-a-half thrusts.
His fingers were wider, but his cock is longer. It’s always a little overwhelming getting fucked by him, and, now, you feel flayed open. Raw. Kai’s holding you down, pinning you in place with his massive size. His thrusts are long and generous, his balls slapping your ass on every in-stroke. It feels amazing, but there is also a certain numbness in your body. He’s moving along, fucking you harder as he gets into it, but you are already not sure if you are going to come. You feel overstimulated and overly hot. You think that you might be broken. Clearly, your survival instinct isn’t working correctly. Your body has it all backwards. Wanting to get hit. Not able to finish.
You barely register blows 18, 19, and 20 as they land on your thighs, although you count them out obediently with a thick tongue that feels too heavy for your jaw.
“Touch yourself,” Kai grunts.
Your hands feel oversized and tingly, like you’re going to have trouble holding onto your dick. You take yourself in hand and start stroking your foreskin over your shaft. There’s a lot ofpre, and the going is easy, but you’re nowhere near where you should be, mentally. Your climax feels like a finish line on another continent. Your legs, strong and toned from near-daily workouts, are shaking. Against the pillow, your eyes leak and leak. There is a steady stream of punched-out noises escaping your throat, gurgling sighs forced out by Kai’s cock.
He slows down. You know the rhythm of his body well enough to tell that he’s trying to wait for you, changing positions to stem off his own climax for a while.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, with surprising evenness.
“I can’t,” you gasp, a thin and wobbly whine. Somehow, it’s all you can manage.
