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This man is my lover—this beautiful man. I want nothing more than his pleasure. I draw more of him into my mouth, and his backside comes off the mattress. He starts breathing hard and heavy, groaning as if he can’t help himself. I can sense his burgeoning discomfort. It’s in every line of his big, smooth-skinned body with its thick, round muscles and its hard, male angles.
“What do you need?” I’m quite evil, and what’s worse is I delight in it. He cannot even answer for a time, just smooths my hair out of my face as his intoxicated gaze clings to mine.
“Wrap your hand around the bottom.” His eyes squeeze shut as his jaw clenches. “Just…go up and down.”
Instead I rise on my knees, scooting closer before rubbing him where I need him.
“I want you here.”
His eyes peel open. They seem pained, and when he speaks, his lovely, warm voice vibrates. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t—” His eyes squeeze shut, then open. “Finley.”
It sounds like a plea…or prayer.
“You can’t tell me you don’t ache for it. You’re desperate to press into me…and I want you there.” My voice catches. “I crave it.”
I lie on my back beside him, handing him the reins. My heart hammers as we lie there, side by side, both panting. Then he’s up. He’s on his knees between my legs. His eyes are molten as his hand works his stiff sex, stroking from tip to base, making his balls bounce with each firm stroke.
“Finley…”
I reach for him, stroking the twin globes as he tugs his sex. He groans raggedly.
“I need you,” I whisper.
“Oh fuck…Finley.”
I wrap a hand around his shaft, and with the other trace the seam between his testes. Something like shock flickers through his features. Then he rubs himself against me. I can feel the pressure of him, feel the tremble in his arm, the one that’s holding him up. His eyes focus on mine as he rubs me harder with his firm tip.
“You’re so fucking perfect.”
“You are.”
I laugh, and his eyes squeeze shut. I stroke his arm and lift my hips.
“Are you sure?” It’s raspy, an apology in a question.
“Yes.”
His eyes open to hold mine. His hand grasps my hip. I can feel him rubbing at me, pressing there.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps.
The next moment, he thrusts. I’m torn open, soul and body. He’s in me. He’s in me. Oh—I feel him deep inside. The stark invasion has me panting, my legs quaking as I try to make sense of the massive presence, of the stinging soreness of my flesh, and at the same time, such a heady, stuffed sensation. I shift a slight bit, and he presses at my insides, making me groan.
I’m shaking, my eyes leaking. Over me, he’s panting as his hand smooths my hair off my forehead.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck. Ahh, Finley…”
He sounds desperate. I can feel him trembling, too. I grip his arm as sweat rolls down my temple. Then he pushes deeper.
“Ohhhhh.”
