“I’m here, aren’t I?” I said, which wasn’t an answer at all.
He nodded once, as though I’d said exactly what he wanted to hear, and then his hands were on me—methodical, unhurried, working my jacket off my shoulders and down my arms while his eyes never left mine. The jacket hit the floor with a soft thud, and then his fingers were at the buttons of my shirt, opening them one by one with the same careful precision he brought to everything.
My shirt joined my jacket on the floor. His towel followed a second later, and then he was naked against me, his cock hard against my hip, his hands working my belt open and my jeans down my thighs.
“Bed,” he said, the word halfway between suggestion and command.
I kicked my boots off and stepped out of my jeans, then let him back me toward the king-sized bed that dominated the room. The backs of my knees hit the mattress, and I sat down hard, looking up at him from my new position.
He was beautiful—there was no other word for it. Six-foot-five of solid muscle, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist,legs that went on forever. His cock jutted out from a nest of dark hair, thick and already leaking at the tip.
I reached for him without thinking, my hand wrapping around his length, but he caught my wrist and moved it away.
“Not yet,” he said, and then he was pushing me back onto the bed, following me down until his weight pinned me to the mattress.
His mouth found my throat first, open-mouthed kisses that made me arch beneath him. Then lower, across my collarbone, down my chest, until his lips closed around my nipple and I gasped at the sudden heat of it. His tongue circled the sensitive nub, then his teeth grazed it lightly, and my back came off the bed, my hand flying to the back of his head to hold him there.
He switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment while his hand moved down my stomach to the waistband of my boxers. He hooked his fingers under the elastic and pulled, dragging the fabric down until my cock sprang free, already hard and straining toward him.
His mouth left my chest, trailing a line of fire down my sternum, across my stomach, and then lower, until his breath was hot against the head of my cock. He looked up at me, one eyebrow raised in silent question, and I nodded, not trusting my voice.
His mouth closed around me, hot and wet and perfect, and I groaned at the sudden sensation. His tongue swirled around the head, then traced the vein on the underside as he took me deeper, one hand wrapping around what wouldn’t fit in his mouth. He set a rhythm—down, then up, twist of the wrist, scrape of teeth—that had me gripping the sheets beneath me, my hips rising to meet each thrust.
Just when I thought I might come from the pressure of his mouth alone, he pulled off with a soft pop that made my cock twitch. His hand continued its motion, slower now, as his otherhand moved between my legs to cup my balls, then lower, one finger tracing the rim of my ass.
“You want this?” he asked, his voice rough with want.
“Yes,” I said, the word barely more than a breath. “God, yes.”
His finger pressed forward, just the tip at first, then deeper as my body gave way. The stretch was minimal—we’d done this before, enough times that my body knew what to expect—but the sensation of him inside me, even just one finger, made my cock jump in his hand.
He worked the finger in and out, gradually increasing the depth, then added a second alongside the first. The stretch burned a little, my body resisting for a moment before giving way. He crooked his fingers, searching, and then—
“Fuck,” I gasped as he found my prostate, the pleasure so intense it was almost pain. “Right there, don’t stop.”
He didn’t. His fingers kept up their relentless pressure against that spot inside me while his hand on my cock matched the rhythm, and I was lost in sensation, my world narrowed to the points where he touched me.
When he added a third finger, the stretch was enough to make me tense, my body not quite ready for the intrusion. He paused, waiting for me to adjust, his free hand stroking soothing patterns on my thigh.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, and the praise sent a different kind of heat through me. “Taking me so good.”
The third finger worked its way in, the burn slowly giving way to pleasure as my body accepted him. He scissored his fingers, stretching me further, preparing me for what was to come, and all the while his other hand worked my cock, keeping me on the edge without letting me fall.
“I need—“ I started, then broke off as his fingers hit my prostate again. “Cruz, I need—“
“I know what you need,” he said, and there was that curve of his lips again, that hint of a smile. He hooked my knee, pushing it toward my chest to open me further, and reached for the nightstand with his free hand.
The click of the cap opening, the sound of him slicking his cock, and then he was positioning himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me.
“Look at me,” he said, and I did, my eyes meeting his as he began to push forward.
The stretch was intense—Cruz was not a small man—but he went slowly, giving my body time to adjust to his size. I exhaled sharply at the feeling of fullness, my hand coming up to grip his bicep, needing something to hold onto as he worked his way inside.
When he was fully seated, his hips flush against my ass, he dropped his forehead to mine, our breath mingling in the small space between us.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and then he was moving, one hand braced on the headboard for leverage as the other gripped my hip hard enough to leave marks. His cock slid almost all the way out before driving back in, the rhythm fast and weighted, each thrust pushing me further up the bed.
