Page 77 of Carver’s Craving

He brushed my prostate again before withdrawing his fingers.

I held very still. “Uh, anytime now.”

In response, he coated his covered cock in lube. “You need to learn to be patient.”

“Uh…that’s never going to happen. Please. Look, I’m begging you. And I don’t beg.” Except I just did exactly that.

“I know that. So I’ll say your wish is my command and give you what you want.”

“Thank Christ.” I just needed to remember through the need, anticipation, and sliver of fear. The concern that always came from bottoming. Somehow, when I didn’t know the guy, I was fine. When I was with someone I’d been with before, though, I had mild performance anxiety. Like wanting it to be good for him as well.

Carver lined himself up.

I took a steadying breath.

Slowly, he pressed forward. His crown was big enough that I felt the burn as he pushed in. He stopped once he’d made it that far.

“Uh…that was the hard part. Please get on with the pleasurable part.”

Another grin. “As you ask.” He pushed in a bit, then pulled back. Thrust forward farther, retreat a bit. Searching for that perfect place. Where he was fully inside me and he’d bottomed out.

When that moment arrived, our gazes held. I saw my future in his eyes, and it stole my breath.

“You okay?” He furrowed his brow.

“I’m fine. Truly.” I pressed my thumb to the line on his forehead. “Just…please fuck me.”

His grin returned. He pulled almost all the way out, then thrust in.

Forcefully.

“Again.” Because I wanted to feel him now. And hell, I wanted to feel him tomorrow and maybe Sunday as well.

So he repeated the action—brushing my prostate.

My cock became very interested.

He’d withdraw almost to the tip and thrust back in. He snapped his hips as he did this over and over. On one particularly magnificent thrust, my head hit the headboard. Not hard. I adjusted the pillows and grabbed his biceps to urge him to continue. I wrapped my legs around his hips and dug my heels into his ass. More. More. More.

His labored breathing matched mine. “Jerk yourself, Styx. I—” He obviously couldn’t finish that statement as he continued like a man on a mission.

Obediently, I grabbed my cock. I smeared the couple of drops of precum and then started tugging to the punishing rhythm he set.

Magical. I couldn’t put my finger on why precisely, but here—in Carver’s cabin—I felt surrounded by something almost otherworldly. A presence of pure joy. Which defied adequate explanation. Still, I sank into the pleasure. I let it wash over me in waves as I neared the ultimate release.

“God, Styx, fucking come already.” His face contorted—as if he were holding back in some excruciating way. “I mean—” Labored breath. “—if you can.”

I tugged and twisted my cock in just that way. My balls drew up, and the orgasm slammed into me. Fucking brutally hard. Good in all the right ways. I arched my neck as I broke eye contact with Carver and looked up at the ceiling. This was just too intense.

“No.” He gasped that. “Look at me.” Part pleading, part command—and I was powerless to disobey.

I angled my neck so I could meet his gaze.

He stiffened, thrust once more, then held himself still.

Part of me wished we didn’t have a condom between us. I’d never gone bareback—but I wanted to now.

He blinked repeatedly.