Page 32 of For Pucking Ever

"Please," I whisper, not even sure what I'm begging for. More pressure. More friction. More of him.

He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine as we share heated breaths. His eyes are nearly black with desire, pupils blown wide. The intensity in his gaze makes my chest feel full and warm.

"Tu es à moi," he whispers against my lips, and though I don't speak fluent French, the possessive tone translates perfectly.

You're mine.

The warmth of Bast's breath ghosts over my lips as he sets me down gently, his strong arms cradling me like I'm something precious. I've never felt so cherished, so desired. My heart pounds in my chest, echoing the throbbing need coursing through my veins. I'm not a small guy but the way Bast handles me, carries me, makes me feel almost delicate.

"Do you think you can take my dick, Derrick?" His voice is low, a rumble that vibrates through me, sending shivers down my spine.

I look into his eyes, those stormy gray pools that hold so much intensity, so much promise. "I want you. All of you," I say, my voice steady with conviction. I'm not just saying it, I mean it. I've wanted this, wanted him, for what feels like forever.

He leans in, kissing me again, slow and deep. His lips move against mine with deliberate precision, like he's mapping every millimeter, committing my taste to memory. It's a kiss that seals a promise, a pact between us, something raw and meaningful that words couldn't properly convey. When he pulls back, his gaze is heavy, those stormy gray eyes darkened to nearly charcoal, filled with a hunger that mirrors the ache spreading through my own body. His thumb traces my bottom lip, slightly swollen from our kisses.

"We can take this slow, considering you're still recovering." His voice has that rough edge that makes my skin prickle with anticipation. One large hand cups my face, his calloused thumb stroking my cheekbone with unexpected tenderness. " I'm going to give you five minutes to go to my room, get naked, and wait for me there."

The authority in his tone sends a shiver down my spine. This isn't a command, it's an invitation, a choice he's offering me.

"If you're there, you're mine. All mine." The possessiveness in those words makes my knees weak. Nobody's ever wanted to claim me like this before. "If not, then I will wait for you to be ready."

I swallow hard, mesmerized by the contrast between his patience and the barely contained desire radiating from him. In this moment, Sebastian, a man who is always in complete control of his life, is giving me the power to decide what happens next.

I don't need five minutes. I don't even need five seconds. I turn and start up the stairs, shedding my clothes as I go. Each step feels like a step towards something inevitable, something I've been craving since the first time I saw him. His gaze is heavy and hot, burning into my skin. It's a caress, a claim, and it spurs me on.

His room is dark and the scent of him surrounds me, envelops me. It's intoxicating, a mix of pine and something uniquely Bast. My dick is so hard it's almost painful, throbbing with every beat of my heart. I strip off the last of my clothes, my boxers hitting the floor at my feet.

I climb onto the bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the heat of my skin. I'm nervous, not because I'm unsure. I'm nervous because I want this so badly. I want him so badly. I haven't prepped, haven't had the chance to, but I don't care. I trust him to take care of me, to make this good for both of us.

I don't have to wait long. Bast stands in the doorway, naked and glorious. His body is a work of art, all smooth, light brown skin stretched taut over muscles honed from years on the ice. His cock is hard, jutting out proudly, and I lick my lips at the sight of it. I could cum just from looking at him, just from the anticipation of what's to come.

"Tu es belle, Princesse." You are beautiful, Princess. His voice is like velvet, wrapping around me, pulling me in. He strokes his cock as he approaches, his gaze never leaving mine.

He climbs onto the bed, his body blanketing mine as our lips meet in another searing kiss. His weight is a comfort, a grounding force that settles my nerves and sets my body alight. His dick presses against mine, hot and hard, and I moan into his mouth, begging for more.

He reaches for the lube and condoms on his nightstand, his fingers slick and cool as they find my entrance. One finger, then two, then three, stretching me, preparing me. I gasp at the intrusion, at the burn that quickly turns to pleasure, and push back against his hand, eager for more, eager for him.

“Bast, please. I need you.” I moan as he brushes his fingers over my prostate.

“I know you do, Princesse. I’m going to take care of you.” He removes his fingers, leaving me bereft, slides the condom on and coats himself in more lube. Then he's there, the head of his cock pressing against me. He enters me inch by glorious inch, filling me, completing me. I moan, beg, cry out for him to fuck me, to move, to do something, anything. . .but he stills, his body trembling with the effort to hold back.

"I missed this," he whispers, his voice ragged. "I love the way your body fits against mine, Princesse."

He leans down, kissing me slowly, his tongue stroking mine in time with the slow, languid thrusts of his hips. It's not fucking; it's more. It's a dance, a sensual, intimate dance that has me drowning in pleasure.

He whispers in French with each thrust, words I don't understand but feel deep in my soul. I'm lost in him, lost in the feel of his body moving with mine, lost in the sound of his voice, the taste of his kiss.

When we cum, I fall first. My dick, untouched, spills between us, painting our skin with my release. Bast lifts my leg over his shoulder, changing the angle, going deeper. He pounds into me, each thrust punctuated with a growled, "Le Mien!" Mine.

Bast cums with a roar, his body shaking, his cock pulsing inside me. He collapses on top of me, his breath ragged, his heart pounding against my chest. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close, never wanting to let go.

In that moment, I know. I know that I'm his. I've always been his, and he's mine. No matter what happens tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. This, right here, right now, is all that matters. This is everything.

As our bodies cool and our breathing returns to normal, Bast rolls off me, pulling me into his arms. I go willingly, nestling against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, his arms tightening around me.

"Mine," he murmurs, his voice soft, almost reverent.

I smile against his skin, my heart swelling with an emotion I'm not ready to name. "Yours," I agree, letting my eyes drift closed, content to stay here, in his arms, for as long as he'll have me.