Page 39 of Locked & Loaded

Then his tongue drags over my hole again, and I snap back to reality with another moan.

He eats me out until I lose track of time. Torturous, thorough, his tongue working me open with a patience that makes me insane. His hands grip my ass, spreading me wider, and the wet sounds of his mouth on me are loud and obscene in the quiet room. I’m writhing beneath him, my hips pushing back against his face, and the pleasure keeps building in slow, relentless waves until I’m shaking with it.

Then I hear the cap of the lube bottle snap open.

Cold liquid hits my hole, and I hiss at the sensation. Mads’s finger replaces his tongue, circling my rim, slick now, and the first press of it makes my breath catch.

“Did you google this too?” I ask, my voice ragged.

A pause.

Then, quietly, “Yes.”

I laugh, helpless and stupidly fond. He’s kneeling behind me, his finger poised at my entrance, his expression focused in that painfully Mads way, like he’s one wrong move away from asking if there’s a manual.

“But,” he adds, careful now, “I don’t want to hurt you. So maybe you could show me how it’s done?”

The request is so perfectly him—practical, considerate, a little awkward—that I can’t hold back my smile.

I reach behind myself and find his wrist. His skin is warm under my fingers, his pulse jumping against my thumb.

“Put it in,” I say, pressing his finger against my hole. “Slow. One finger at a time. Curl it a little once you’re inside.”

He nods, his eyes on mine.

I let go of his wrist, and he pushes in.

I barely feel the stretch, but Mads freezes anyway.

“Okay?” he asks, instantly worried.

“Yes,” I say. “Keep going.”

He pushes deeper, his finger sliding into me to the second knuckle. Then he curls it, and on the first try, he finds the spot inside me that makes my vision blur.

“Fuck,” I pant.

His eyes go wide. “Was that—?”

“Yes,” I say. “That was it.”

He does it again. His finger curls inside me, pressing against my prostate, and pleasure zips up my spine so fast I see stars. My hips push back against his hand, chasing more.

“Another,” I say, my voice rough.

He adds a second finger, working me open slowly, his free hand stroking my thigh like he’s trying to soothe me through it. The stretch burns at first, then eases into pleasure, and by the time he has three fingers inside me, I’m writhing and begging without any dignity left to save.

“Please,” I say, my forehead pressed to the mattress. My voice sounds broken even to me. “Mads, please, I need you inside me.”

My cock pulses, still leaking onto the sheets, and I’m so hard it hurts.

Mads leans over me, his chest pressing against my back, and his mouth finds my ear.

“A little more,” he whispers. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His fingers keep moving inside me, stretching me open, taking their sweet time, and I let myself fall into the sensation—the stretch, the burn, the building pressure of his body over mine. Then his free hand finds my cock, wrapping around me, and the double sensation of his fingers inside me and his hand on my dick pulls a groan from deep in my chest.

I’m close. Too close.