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“If it hurts, tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“It’s not going to hurt.”
His fingers stopped pumping, making me whine. “If it hurts, tell me, and I’ll stop.”
“I promise.”
He started moving again, fingers grazing my prostate and making me squirm. “I’m ready.”
“Not yet,” he said, adding a third finger. My ass stung for just a few seconds, and then I was bearing down on all three, trying to get them deeper.
“Babe, please,” I whimpered.
His fingers pulled out, leaving me standing there quivering while he shoved down his pants, pulled off his shirt, and took the lube to coat his flushed cock.
When he was done, he used what was left on his hand and smeared it around my dick. My back bowed, hips thrusting toward him for more.
“Don’t you ever run from me again,” he ordered, letting go of my cock to grip my hips. “Up,” he commanded and lifted.
I wrapped myself around his upper body like a koala as he gripped my ass, spreading my cheeks.
In one hard thrust, he pushed into my body, my weight over him forcing him balls deep. His hands slapped onto the door on either side of me, and his eyes closed, head back in ecstasy. I could feel his dick spasming inside me and my own body clenching around him in return.
We stayed like that for long moments, vibrating from the inside out, letting our bodies adjust and fuse.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I pushed my face into his neck and anchored my hands in his hair. “Now.”
He pulled out and thrust up again, over and over, driving my body up the wall as he nearly split me in half with his rigid dick. The burn and stretch were so good that I started to float, chanting his name like it was the only word I knew.
My hands slid out of his hair, landing on his sweat-slicked shoulders as he continued to drive up in me, nailing my prostate until I couldn’t take it and reached between our bodies to work my dick.
I came fast and hard with a strangled sound, slumping over his body even as my dick jerked and spilled, splattering all over his chest.
His movements turned sloppy and stuttered, so I shoved myself onto him, enjoying the way he groaned my name. I felt him unload inside me, nothing quite like the warm rush of his release.
We collapsed against the door, the only sound in the room our rapid, uneven breaths.
“Hey,” he said, voice slightly drunk and about three tones deeper than usual.
I grunted, acknowledging his word but too tired to speak any of my own.
He backed up a little so I’d slide down the door with him pinning me again when we were at eye level.
“Lars.”
I opened my eyes, staring straight at him.
“Don’t ever do that to us again.”
I nodded. Tears filled my eyes, and he leaned in, kissing my lashes and making the breath skip in my lungs. After I was back on my feet, he helped me clean up before tending to himself. Swiping his T-shirt off the floor, he held it out to me, but when I reached for it, he pulled it back and frowned.
“It was on the floor,” he explained, wrinkling his nose and reaching for my suitcase.
“But it’s yours,” I protested, just wanting any part of him I could have.
He flipped open the lid on my case and made a sound, holding up something familiar. “This one is too.” Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Angel, how many of my shirts did you steal?”
My stare fell to my feet. “I just wanted something to remember you by.”
