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It’s enough, I tell myself. What we have right here, right now.
As long as he stays with me, I can be whatever he wants me to be.
* * *
Dinner is a quick affair consisting of pizza and beer, and then Whit and I head upstairs while everyone heads outside to drink by the fire.
I’m emotionally worn out from visiting my mom’s grave, my eyes swollen and red-rimmed. I just want to be held, fucked, and then held some more.
For a moment, I worry Whit’s going to keep punishing me for earlier, that he’s going to withhold what Ineed, but when I get into our room, he locks the door and moves toward me, pushing my flannel onto the floor and then lifting my shirt up over my head.
“So, I take it you’re no longer punishing me for earlier,” I say softly, and Whit looks at me as he unbuttons my pants.
“I’ll fuck you tonight because you need it, Caleb. But you’re going to earn it.”
I don’t know what that means, but I don’t care. As long as I can be close to him, I’ll do whatever he wants.
He pushes me onto the bed and then stands there, watching me, those eyes traveling over me in excruciating detail. My entire body is trembling with need, and my cock hardens to full mast when he starts stripping. Slowly. Much too slowly.
“Come on, Whit,” I plead, and he steps to the edge of the bed and trails a finger down my sternum.
“There will be no rushing tonight,” he says.
I groan, and then he runs that finger over my nipple piercing, and he says, “You know I have excellent control. I can fuck for hours.”
“You’re full of shit,” I breathe shakily. Because I can barely last ten minutes with him inside of me.
“You have very little control, Caleb.”
“Not my fault,” I bite out, and he trails that torturous finger to my happy trail and slides through it.
“You’re too eager. You have no patience. Have you ever been edged?”
I shake my head, and Whit runs his finger across the head of my swollen cock as he leans down and says lowly, “I’m going to bring you to the edge so many times. You will cry, and I’m going to enjoy doing it.”
“Shit.”
* * *
I’m sweating, my cock aching painfully, and Whit’s still inside of me. When he said he could fuck for hours, I thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
He was being serious.
The things he’s done to me over the past two hours. I can’t even think about it, or else I’ll come.
I writhe underneath him, impaled on his long length as he slowly pulls out and then pushes back into me.
“Please,” I mutter, my mouth dry, my body trembling. Every nerve ending in my body is lit up, and my skin is hypersensitive to touch.
“Begging won’t help,” he mutters as a bead of sweat rolls down his cheek, and he shakes his head. “You can go longer.” And then he lifts one of my legs up and drives into me, hitting me in the prostate repeatedly until I’m gasping. I’m so ready to come, prepared to feel the headiness of release, but just when I think he’ll take pity on me, he pulls out. My hole feels empty.
“Whit,” I groan, and he swipes at his forehead.
He’s a mess, the exertion of fucking me for so long taking its toll on him. I can tell, but instead of stopping, of giving in, he keeps on going. The sight of him completely wrecked and on the verge of recklessness is an aphrodisiac all on its own.
“You too sore, Caleb?” he asks, reapplying lube into my sensitive hole, and I groan at being filled again. Need it. Want it. More.
