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But he doesn’t give me what I want, instead, he makes me wait. His hands grab my ass cheeks, kneading them, pulling them apart slowly, working me into a frantic mess.
“Please, Quinn,” I moan, my forehead rolling on the wall in front of me. I am so goddamn empty and I just want to be stuffed full, impaled on him. I want to feel him press inside of me and stay there.
“Please what, Grey?” he asks, his finger sliding up my crack and teasing my hole.
My mouth falls open in a gasp and I rock back against him.
“Please fuck me.”
He leans up against me, one hand cupping my cock, the other pressing against my ass cheek.
“God, to hear those words come out of your mouth. The things I have let myself dream about. Well,” he begins as he pumps me faster, “they’re my reality now.”
He pulls away quickly and I hear the lube uncap. Then a second later, I feel the press of his fingers entering me. Yes.Yes. More of this.
“God, you’re so tight,” he mutters as he pushes in knuckle deep. “You’re a fucking work of art. I’m going to draw this. My hand up your ass.”
I groan as he continues to work me open, stuffing me full until I’m slippery and wet. And then I hear the snap of his jeans, the sound of his zipper lowering, and then his cock is pushing its way inside.
I love that he never waits too long, that he doesn’t treat me with kid gloves. I can take it. I can so fucking take it.
“More,” I grunt, his knees hitting the back of my legs as he thrusts up into me.
I feel my voice crack as I groan loudly, taking his punishing pace over and over. I should keep it down, try to muffle these moans, but the way he arches into me, the feel of his cock dragging over my prostate has me seeing stars.
“You. Fucking. Come,” he grunts as he slams up into me. I just lower my chin to my chest, trying to hold out, to calm this orgasm building within me, because this feels too good. I’m not ready to finish. I want more time. I need more time.
But he doesn’t give it to me. No, he can’t wait, always so damn eager. He reaches around me, pumping my dick, and I can’t do anything but watch his hand on me.
Oh fuck, that’s too good. Too fucking good.
My balls tighten, and I feel the tingling in the base of my spine.
My mouth falls open and I cry out, a loud, wild shout that reverberates around us. My cock jerks and spurts its release, my hole clenching around Quinn’s cock, milking him. His body tenses against mine, his hand tightening around my dick as he empties inside of me.
We’re left standing, still connected, our breathing shaky and uneven.
“It never gets old,” he whispers, his lips on my shoulder. “It fucking never gets old.”
I agree. I can’t imagine sex with Quinn ever becoming a chore. He’s always so into it, like I’m everything to him. I’ve never had it like this before. Never.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he says softly, his cheek resting against my back, his hand still clutching my cock.
“I know,” I say with a weak nod. I don’t want him to leave me either, but fuck, we have to get cleaned up. He can’t stay inside me forever.
“Okay, fine,” he murmurs and then slips out of me. I press my forehead against the wall and inhale deeply through my nose, trying to get my bearings.
Quinn moves to my side and reaches out, turning my face so I meet his gaze.
“You, Greyson Hart, are perfection,” he says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to my mouth.
I blink at him, not sure how to respond because I don’t feel perfect. I’m sure—almost positive—that this is just a teenage obsession. As soon as this trip is over and we’ve parted ways, he will forget about his crush. About me.
My ribs ache at the thought…of becoming nothing more than a distant memory to him.
But I have lived a life full of disappointment.
What’s one more? I’ve come to expect it.
