Page 40 of Heart of the Race

He pulled out, and I would have screamed, but he moved me too fast, grabbed me, flipped me over onto my stomach, and shoved me facedown into the bed, ass in the air.

“Say you want me, Brian.”

“Oh yes.” I surrendered as he breached me and slid home.

One hand held my thigh tight in a bruising grasp, and the other was pressed, palm open, to the small of my back, holding me as he thrust.

When he suddenly stilled, pressed his chest to my back, wrapped a strong, lube-slicked hand around my cock and squeezed tight, I moaned out his name.

“Show me,” he ordered, face pressed into the back of my neck.

The angle, the push, the stretch, his skin plastered to mine was all there was. I came, spurting onto the comforter beneath me, with his name, the chanting of it, sounding like a prayer.

“Brian,” he barked gruffly.

My muscles tightened around him like a vise, clamping down, and he came deep inside of me. His climax made him clutch at me, his arms curling underneath mine, almost like we were wrestling and he was holding me down.

We didn’t move. There was only him emptying, me being filled, and him holding me as aftershocks rippled through us.

When he finally eased slowly from my stretched and slippery channel, I felt the warm trickling of fluid down the insides of my thighs.

“Don’t move,” he said tenderly, pushing my sweat-dampened hair back from my face and kissing my forehead before he bolted into the bathroom.

I stayed where I was, and he came back to drop a hand towel over the mess I’d made on the bed and then used a warm washcloth to wipe me down. He had never, ever, been so gentle with me.

“I’m not gonna break,” I said shyly, unable to look at him.

“I know,” he said hoarsely before he was gone again.

I straightened up, feeling the twinge in my ass from the pounding I had just taken, loving the fact Varro had done it, used me, taken pleasure from me. The act could never be undone, never forgotten, even if he walked back into the room and announced it was all a big mistake.

He had been mine. It was all the truth I would ever need.

I was pushing the comforter down to the end of the bed when I heard him behind me. There was not even enough time to turn before I was on my back under him.

“What’re you— Oh,” I uttered as I took in the gleaming-eyed man above me. “Hi.”

“You just gave yourself to me like no one ever has.”

“Because I trust you,” I murmured as he flopped down close by.

Strong arms wrapped around me, and he draped a thigh over my hip so I was enfolded, pressed tight to his heart.

He kissed my eyes closed, and the bridge of my nose, my cheeks, my jaw, and finally my mouth, running his tongue along the seam of my lips to get me to open them.

What started languid and sweet became rough and bruising so fast. I was breathless, digging my hands into his back as he parted my thighs.

“I’ll be so gentle.” He whispered the promise.

I was still stretched and slick with lube and cum, and he slid in easily before rolling to his back, bringing me with him, impaling me on his shaft. I let my head fall back as I lifted up only to slide back down, loving the feel of him moving inside of me.

“I love you, Brian.”

I leaned forward to meet his dark gaze and whisper the words he needed to hear and I needed to say. “I love you, Varro, so much.”

“Swear it,” he said and held out his pinky with his right hand as he fisted my cock with his left.

“What’re we?” My voice dropped off. “Ten?”

“I am. You’re nine. Now swear.”

I hooked his pinky with mine as he pushed up from under me.

“Jesus, Varro, you feel so good.”

“So do you.” His voice sounded like sandpaper as he reached up and hooked a hand behind my neck, drawing me down to him. “Come here.”

I closed my eyes when he kissed me.