Page 76 of The Key Holder

"Are you sure?" he asked. I never knew respect could be so fucking sexy. "Because once I'm in, I'm not pulling out until I fill you up." Or dirty.

“I’m sure,” I answered, sliding forward to tease his cock.

After a quick flip of the cap and a squirt on his shaft, the tip of his cock found my hole. While his thumbs kneaded my ass, spreading me open, he pressed in slowly. A deliberate, agonizingly drawn-out invasion. A sound tore from my throat, half-scream, half-moan, as he buried himself inside me.

Once his body was flush with mine, he held still and I took the moment to adjust to the fullness that was somehow both overwhelming and sensual.

When he began to move, it was like I could feel every inch of him, sliding out then back in. Slow, rhythmic thrusts that quickened into a powerful, steady pace. One of his hands moved from my hip to my shoulder, and with that leverage, each fuck came more solid than the last. He drove into me with an unleashed hunger, each stroke perfectly aligning, like we were supposed to fit together like this.

“You love when I’m inside of you, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who’s hole am I fucking right now?”

“Y-yours.”

“Good boy.”

After he tousled my hair, I arched my back, meeting each of his thrusts, my fingers digging into the blanket. My cock was hard again, slapping my stomach with each pump from Ford. The bedsprings cried out beneath us, and I was afraid we were going to have to replace his bed too. “You have”—Ford’s breath hitched—“no idea”—as he drove into me—“how hot you look”—harder and faster—“when you’re getting fucked.”

My control frayed more and more every time his body slammed into mine.

"Oh God," I gasped, my voice breaking, "I'm cumming!"

“Again?”

“I’m cumming!” Every muscle in my body clenched as the first volley blasted onto the bed.

“Me too!” Ford practically roared, thrusting deeper than before, and I imagined the pulsing flood of his cum inside me as the rest of mine continued to splatter on the comforter below.

A few seconds later, Ford groaned, collapsing on top of me, smooshing me into the pools of my own release. He seemed to realize he was crushing me, because he slid off to lay beside me, his arm still wrapped around me.

“That was incredible,” I said.

“You take my dick so well.”

“It’s a lot to take.” I looked at him and smiled. “But it’s your hole after all.”

Ford averted his gaze. “I can’t believe I said that.”

I tilted his chin, making him look at me, then said, “It was hot, and it’s the truth. All of this is yours.”

“As is mine,” he replied.

“Including your hole?”

Ford chuckled. “If you want it, you can have it.”

We lay there, entwined, our bodies slick with sweat, while our heartbeats and breaths returned to their regularly scheduled program. Ford’s attentiveness—the ease with which he could go from dominant to sensitive—was a testament to who he was as a person. It was what led to us together in this moment—a messy culmination of desire and trust.

I just hoped he saw something as beautiful in me.

19

Ford

The first glow of dawn crept through the gap in the curtains, painting the room in soft, rosy gray. I lay still, every muscle in my body humming with a deep, satisfying ache. Beside me, Dylan was a warm, heavy weight, his breathing soft and even against my chest. I shifted slightly, just enough so I could see his face. There was a faint smile there, and I assumed it must be a really good dream.