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I could hear him jerking off, the slick sounds of wet skin on skin filling the room, mixing with his moans as I started to finger myself harder, spurred on by the sounds of Beckham pleasuring himself while watching me.
“That’s it, baby.” His voice, still a growl, settled deep down in my gut. “Play with your hole. That’s it.”
No. No, it’s still not enough.
“Fuck me, Beckham. Please. Give it to me.”
“That’s it. I want to hear it again, Oliver. Tell me you want it.”
“I want it. Please.”
I’d never begged for sex before, but here I was, my hole twitching and my entire body begging for it. I pushed my ass back in the air, opening myself wider for him, slipping another finger into my hole. I gasped, my cock twitching in the air.
I heard Beckham open the condom wrapper. Moments later, he grabbed my wrist and pulled my fingers out from my hole. I moaned, feeling my fingers being replaced by the thick head of his cock. He squirted some lube, his fingers sliding over my hole.
“Oh, Beck, that’s it.” I pushed back, slowly. His cock parted my cheeks and slipped past the tight ring of muscle. I gasped loud as he pushed in deeper, stretching me in a way fingers never could. I had wanted it so bad, there wasn’t any of the discomfort I sometimes felt at first. And even though Beckham had one of the biggest dicks I’d ever seen, I felt ready to take it all inside me.
He was tender, though. He teased me, sinking himself halfway and then pulling back, driving me totally crazy.
“Do you want my cock, Oliver? Huh?”
I moaned an answer, unable to form solid words.
“Is that a yes?”
Beckham, as if punctuating his sentence with a fuck, drove into me, filling me with his cock and pulling a cry of pure pleasure out of my throat.
I groaned, my fingers gripping onto the bedsheet, ripping it off the mattress.
“Yes, yes, yes.” I said the word with every fuck. Beckham started to slam into me, fucking me so hard that the headboard was banging against the wall and chipping some of the paint.
I didn’t give a fuck. I dropped my head and cried out, feeling my body light up like fucking Times Square at midnight. Beckham’s balls slapped against me as he fucked me, his hands digging into my hips. He moved one hand and put it between my shoulder blades. He pushed down. My face fell into the pillow, my ass arched higher into the air.
And he continued to fuck me, hard and fast, beyond passionate. I continued to shout into the pillow, a shock of pure pleasure coursing through me with every thrust. I could practically feel the shape of him inside me, hitting me deep. I wanted it to last forever. I wanted us to be one for the rest of time.
I couldn’t even warn him that I was about to come. My body exploded and unraveled. I lifted my ass and spasmed as Beckham continued to fuck the come out of me, every deep thrust pushing more out. My ass twitched around him with every orgasm wave, massaging him.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
Beckham gave one hard thrust, burying himself deep inside me, and he blew, filling the condom, his cries telling me that his orgasm was tearing through him with the same force that mine had.
We both continued to twitch as Beckham pulled out of me. He took off the condom, tied it off, and tossed it into the trash. My breathing was ragged, my entire body feeling like I’d just completed a triathlon. My muscles were crying out for sleep while my heart was crying out for cuddles.
Beckham and I kissed the moment he got back into bed. We both wore drunken smiles, our eyes a little glossed over from the moment. “Sorry I made a mess out of your bedsheets,” I said, avoiding the puddle of come.
“It was worth it.” Beckham kissed me again, his tongue playfully flicking my top lip. “Come, let’s get washed up and I’ll change these sheets.”
“I honestly don’t think I can move, Beck. Not for another week, at the very least.”
Beckham laughed at that, his lips still against mine, his breath mixing with mine. “I don’t mind carrying you everywhere.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure what would be more suspicious: me walking like I have a pole permanently stuck up my ass or you carrying me around like some kind of adult baby.”
More easy laughter. More tender kisses.
Beckham, who was able to stand up just fine, got up to start the shower. I rolled on the bed, groaning, not wanting to move a single muscle. Somehow, I ended up with my head hanging off the bed, the rest of my body slowly sliding off.
Before I fell and got a head injury (and I swear, if I tragically forgot the absolute best sex of my life because of that, then just take me out back and put me out of my misery), I put my hands on the floor and moved to get up.
