Page 58 of Saving Pookie

In and out.

In and out, and this feeling of incompleteness overtakes me. It'll never be enough.

I drop my head against his, my mouth finding its way to his neck. I suck at his skin, leaving red marks on the delicate, reddened flesh. Sweat begins to pool on my forehead, the curled strands of my hair straightening.

"Fuck, Pookster," I moan into his ear. "You feel so fucking good."

He drapes a hand over the back of my neck, holding my head in place as I pick up the pace, rocking into him with a horned-up furor.

"Braxton..." he cries, managing to slip a hand between us to pump his cock. "I'm going to..." His lips wriggle and his eyes pull to a close. "Gonna fuckin⁠—"

"Come for me, baby," I whisper. "Come for daddy."

"Fuckkkk," he moans out, his fingers digging into the muscles at the top of my back. "Fuck me harder..."

I oblige, slamming into him now with no reservation. All the way in. All the way out. Pelting his prostate with my cock as hard and as fast as I can. He chokes on one final gasp as he breaks, shooting ropes of hot jizz onto his chest.

The grunts and groans of release echo off the walls, and I quickly realize he's being too loud, but he's too lost in euphoric release to care. I quiet him with a kiss. Gentle at first, but then quickly something uncontained. I drown the sounds of his orgasm out with my tongue, lapping against his. Chewing at his lips. Biting.

Thrusting. Deep and then deeper.

My slicked cock driving into him with ease, like I was meant to fit inside him. Just like this.

I break moments later, spraying my cum deep inside him and stilling myself there. My cock throbs, spilling every last drop of my seed as I quiet the sounds of my own release by continuing to make love to his mouth.

And when I finally open my eyes, when I finally see him like this, staring at me like he's just been saved from a very horrible, no-good day, that I realize I'm in deep shit. I don't want to pull my cock out of him. I don't want to leave this bathroom. I want to stay here, just like this, for as long as possible.

My chest heaves as I fight to catch my breath, and in the silence that follows the earthquake, that's when I realize that I called him baby.

This is not fucking good.

A hole is a hole. That's what I've been telling myself all night.

Now that I'm home, lying in my own bed with nothing but the hum of the air conditioner, I can't stop thinking about one particular hole. Pookie's hole. I check the alarm clock to find that it's a little after four in the morning. I should be fast asleep right now, having a wet dream or something. Instead, I'm awake with a full-ass erection poking through the fabric of my boxers and making a fort in the sheets.

I wager that Pookie is most likely awake, too. After all, he's just had a very eventful day.

"I should check on him," I whisper to myself, and as noble as I'd like my intentions to be, there's no denying I have ulterior motives.

Regardless, I throw the covers from my body and climb out of bed, my erection wobbling in my plaid boxers. I sneak across the hall to find Pookie's door is cracked open, and even though I should know better, I can't bring myself to care. I push the door open, and the light that filters in through the nightlight in the hall paints a crease over Pookie's face, highlighting his dark eyes that are wide awake.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't tell me to leave or ask that I come in, so I wait at the door a little longer in an awkward silence.

Just fucking do it.

I exhale a soft release of air and tiptoe inside. He watches me intently until I take a seat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry for punching Cameron."

He purses his lips in reserved contemplation before settling on a quiet, "It's okay. He deserved it."

"Yeah, I know." I chuckle and cock my head over my shoulder. "Still, I should have thought about the consequences."

He sits up, the sheets coiled around his waist. "Is that why you came into my room at four in the morning?"

"Yeah," I lie through my teeth, but something tells me he sees right through it. "No."

He shifts sideways, towards the other side of the bed, and pats his hand over the sheets. It's an invitation to join him.

Mission accomplished, I guess. I roll onto my back, taking up half of the bed. I stare up at the ceiling where a fan turns in fast circles, whirring through the awkward silence. I glance at him out of the corner of my eyes and notice a hickey has formed on the side of his neck. Oops.