“That’s it,” Connor murmured. His voice had dropped to something barely recognizable. “Let me hear you, baby. Give me all those sweet, filthy noises.”
“Connor—god—I need—” Jules couldn’t finish. Connor had added a third finger and the stretch burned through him. He bore down on Connor’s hand, rocking his hips, fucking himself on those thick fingers. “Harder.”
Connor gave him what he asked for. His wrist snapped with each thrust and Jules ached in the best way. The sounds filling the room were obscene. He’d never forget how wet and desperate it was.
“Look at you.” Connor’s voice was wrecked. “You’re fucking beautiful like this.”
Jules’s eyes snapped open. Connor had never called him beautiful. Had never called him anything close to it. The word hit him, and he felt his eyes sting.
“Say that again,” Jules whispered.
Connor leaned down, his fingers still working, and kissed him. “Beautiful,” he said against Jules’s mouth. “You’re beautiful and I can’t stop looking at you. It’s to the point I feel insane. Your eyes. That smile. This fucking ass. I want it with me all the time. I want you.”
Jules kissed him then. It was messy, overwhelming them both instantly. Three years of wanting hadn’t prepared him for Connor Thorne calling him beautiful while three fingers deep.
“Please fuck me,” Jules said against his lips. “Connor, please. Don’t make me keep begging.”
Connor pulled his fingers out and Jules whimpered at the loss. He heard the condom wrapper tear, heard the slick sound of lube, and his body clenched in anticipation.
Connor settled over him, took Jules’s left leg and pushed it up, opening him wider. His cock pressed against Jules’s entrance, blunt and hot and thick.
“Color,” Connor said.
“Green. So fucking green. Get inside me.”
Finally, Connor pushed in. The stretch hit Jules everywhere at once. His mouth opened on a silent gasp as Connor fed him inch after inch, slow but relentless, not stopping until he bottomed out. Jules felt full. Impossibly, achingly full. His hands grabbed Connor’s shoulders and his nails bit into skin.
Connor held still, his arms braced on either side of Jules’s head. His forehead dropped against Jules’s. He was breathing hard, his whole body locked with a careful patience.
“Jesus Christ,” Connor breathed. “You’re so tight. I can’t…I need a second, baby, or this is going to be ridiculously fast. I want to savor you. I need to absorb every moment of our first time together.”
Jules laughed. It came out breathy and wrecked but it was real, and Connor’s mouth twitched against his forehead.
“Take your time,” Jules said, clenching around him on purpose.
Connor groaned. “That’s the opposite of taking my time.”
“I know.” Jules clenched again and rolled his hips. “No need to wait on me. I’m good now. Fuck me like you mean it.”
Connor moved at the confirmation all was well. The first thrust was deep and hard enough that Jules’s breath punched out of him. His nails trailed down Connor’s back, leaving marks he hoped would be visible for days.
Dam burst, Connor pulled back and drove in again, no longer hesitating. He found a rhythm, building on it as he pushed deeper, hit harder. Jules met every single one happily. His hips rose to take Connor in, his legs wrapped around the man’s waist, his body opening to accommodate the size of him until the stretch was nothing but blinding, gut-deep pleasure.
“Faster,” Jules demanded.
Connor gave him faster then too. His hips snapped forward with a force that drove Jules up the bed. The headboard hit the wall. Connor’s hand shot up and gripped the frame above Jules’s head, using it for leverage, and the next thrust went so deep Jules screamed.
“Yes—god, yes, right there,right there—” Jules was babbling. He knew he was babbling. He didn’t care. Connor was hitting his prostate on every stroke, and his vision was fracturing around the edges and he wanted more. Wanted Connor to wreck him so thoroughly he’d feel it for a week.
“Give me everything, Connor. I want all of you.”
Connor’s composure snapped. The rhythm became brutal. Punishing in a way. Connor fucked into him with an abandon that was nothing like the controlled, calculated man Jules had studied for years. This was primal. Connor’s grip on the headboard turned his knuckles white. His other hand clamped onto Jules’s hip, yanking him to meet every thrust. The sounds filling the room grew more obscene. Skin against skin, the creak of the bed, Connor’s grunts mixed with Jules’s moans.
Jules was drowning. Every nerve in his body was lit up. He could feel his orgasm building, coiling at the base of his spine, tightening with every punishing stroke. He reached for his cock.
“Don’t.” Connor knocked his hand away. Pinned it above his head. “You come on my cock, or you don’t come at all.”
Jules’s brain shorted out. His cock jerked untouched against his stomach and he realized, with a kind of delirious disbelief,that he would. Connor was hitting that spot on every thrust, and the pressure was building to a boiling point.
