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“Touch yourself for me.” His voice still burned hot, and now his eyes took on the same quality.
I listened, my hand gliding over my taut stomach, down to my stiff cock. I rubbed, holding my shaft in my hand and jerking, thumbing over the slit, lifting my thumb so he could see how wet and sticky he made me.
Beckham stood at the foot of his bed, his gaze setting me on fire.
He was so goddamn sexy. The kind of sexy that made my brain malfunction and my dick the boss. He was all man, and all mine. My eyes trailed the slopes of his muscular shoulders, over the strong chest covered in a light layer of silver hair, the same peppered color as his head. His nipples were pebbled, my tongue involuntarily wetting my lips as my eyes dropped lower, down his treasure trail, stopping on his rock-hard, hooded cock. His slit leaked as he pumped himself while watching me.
“You want this, baby?” he asked.
All I could do was moan and keep stroking myself.
“Tell me how bad you want this, baby.”
His eyes were drilling through me. He spit into his hand and returned it to his cock.
“So fucking bad, Beckham.”
“Show me.” His voice was a low growl. “Get on your hands and knees. Crawl over here.”
My blood was on fire. My balls ached with a pressure I didn’t think I could withstand. I did as I was told, rolling over and onto my fours. I looked up at the man who could undo me with a touch alone.
“Come.”
I listened and crawled across the bed toward him.
“Fuccck,” he hissed as his cock leaked a clear rope down onto my tongue. It tasted of sex and man, and I wanted more. So much more.
I started at his balls first, kissing and licking and sniffing, burying my nose into the crook of his thigh, filling myself with his intoxicating scent.
I looked up at Beckham as I slipped his head between my lips. His eyes rolled back, and his words were jumbled. A fresh ocean breeze blew in through the open window, rustling the curtain, almost as if Mother Earth herself was telling me to cool down.
Sorry, Mama, this is only getting hotter.
And then, as if to prove my point, Beckham spit in his hand again, but instead of bringing it down to his already soaked cock, he placed his hand on my ass, his fingers sliding between my crack. There was a wet kind of pressure against my hole as he pushed his finger inside, teasing me with just the tip.
Now it was my turn to spew out words that didn’t make sense. Beckham’s wet fingers swirled around my sensitive hole, his hand spreading me open wider while I kept sucking.
Beckham’s finger slipped inside, and all bets were instantly off. I moaned loud around his cock as he probed me, his finger sliding deeper, my back arching harder, my body crying out for more. I knew there’d be a puddle from how much I’d leaked onto the bedsheets underneath me. Beckham curled his finger, pushing at parts of me that had me seeing entire galaxies.
He pulled his finger out, leaving me with a desperate want to have him back in me.
“Turn around,” he said. “I want to see your ass.
Again, I listened, my heart beating like a drum inside my ears. I turned for him, just like he said. I was completely naked, on all fours with my ass to the man who knocked my world off its axis, and I was hanging off his every word.
“Spread your ass apart.”
I did. My heart skipped a beat.
“Spread, yeah, just like that.”
His tone was sending me on a spiral. It was the kind of tone that could stop an army in its tracks and make them all orgasm at the same time.
“Now rub a finger over that sexy hole.”
Again, I did as he asked. I opened myself to him, in a way I hadn’t with any other man I’d been with, and I fingered myself for him. He moaned as I opened wider and slipped in deeper, already wet from his spit and needy from his sex. Beckham moaned again. He spit in his hand, the sound making me shiver.
I moved my hand, sinking my finger in past the knuckle, the need suddenly howling through me. A need to have my finger replaced with Beckham.
