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Between the caresses and the inspiring sights, Fiore had already achieved a full stand. Disrobing was the work of mere moments. He slathered his cock with as much oil as he wished most fellows would use on him, then poured some into the crack between Enzo’s globes for good measure. Enzo shivered as it trickled down. Fiore found he enjoyed the sight and resolved to draw further shivers from him in short order. He lined up his cock-head with Enzo’s hole, settled his hands onto those sinewy hips, and began.
At the first breach, a deep groan of satisfaction erupted from Enzo’s throat, as if Fiore had unlocked the door to a forgotten mausoleum and its hinges sang out in sheer relief at their long-awaited release.
For his part, Fiore had to take a breath to steady himself. Enzo’s hole felt as tight as the eye of a needle even as it drew him in. A grip like an iron vise in a silken sheath. And the heat of it—all fellows were warmer within than without, in Fiore’s experience, but Enzo had a bonfire blazing within him. A quick thrust wouldn’t do the trick. Fiore had to slip inside by fractions of an inch, a drawn-out impalement, steady and delicate work.
Enzo’s breath hitched when the head of Fiore’s prick grazed the firm knot within him.
“Too much?” Fiore asked, his own words coming ragged.
Enzo shook his head between his arms. “More. Please.”
Fiore obliged him. Another inch was gained. He withdrew, adding ample oil, and plunged forth again, sheathing himself halfway up the blade.
Enzo moaned and rocked back against him. Another withdrawal and thrust seemed to please him still more, his back arching, knuckles clenched against the boat’s gunwales. Back and forth, steady as the tides, and all the while Fiore fought not to lose himself beneath the surging foam.
The mausoleum groan resounded again as Fiore sank in to the hilt.
Fiore laid himself over Enzo’s back like a second skin—both of them already beaded with sweat—and basked in the satisfaction. How he loved to lose himself inside another man. His chest clasped flush against Enzo’s spine, his heartbeat thudding through them both, thrumming in and out of time with the throbbing pulse within Enzo. He pressed a kiss to the nape of Enzo’s neck and felt his breath catch beneath him.
“Tell me when you wish me to move,” Fiore murmured. He combed his idle fingers through Enzo’s locks as he waited.
“Now,” Enzo said—but before Fiore could obey him, he added with some hesitation, “You might pull my hair.”
Fiore blinked down at him. His stunned expression remained hidden from Enzo’s gaze. He did his best to keep his shock out of his voice and instead revealed his genuine wonder with a low purr. “Might I?”
Enzo nodded brisk without turning to look at him.
Lightly, gingerly, and ever so slowly, Fiore reached for the black ribbon securing Enzo’s queue. Untying it released a river of tresses that poured through Fiore’s fingers. He wrapped them around his fist and gave an experimental tug.
A soft gasp escaped Enzo as he bucked his hips back against Fiore’s cock.
A grin stole over Fiore’s lips. He’d never sat astride a horse, but there remained something instinctive as he settled into the saddle of Enzo’s ass and, with one hand firmly clenched in the reins of his hair, began to ride.
Enzo mumbled something.
Fiore slowed at once. “What is it?”
Enzo drew in a shuddering breath and growled out, “Harder.”
The low command reverberated through Fiore’s own ribcage and shot straight down to his cock, which pulsed within Enzo. If this kept up, he knew not how long he could withhold himself. He drew out his prick until the head brushed against the tight entrance. Then he slammed it in to the hilt again in one swift thrust.
Enzo gasped. “Yes—more—please—”
At each exclamation, Fiore obliged him with another draw and thrust. And with every draw and thrust, Enzo rutted back against him. True to his word, he took a cock like one who’d taken many and still hungered for more. Every low syllable that dropped from Enzo’s lips made Fiore’s cock throb. But it was the pleas that threatened to overwhelm him.
There were many rules Fiore followed in his career. The ritual of making sure Corelli saw him—and more importantly, who he was with—whenever he took a man belowdecks. Accepting the drinks men offered him without taking more than a sip or two. Laying out his laws plainly beforehand to forestall any confusion or complaint if they should receive something other than what they’d expected.
One particular rule he found difficult to follow now.
The whore must come last—if at all.
The concern went beyond the mere practical concerns of the difficulty of continuing to fuck a man after one had already spent within him. In Fiore’s experience, if he spent first, the gentlemen tended to take it as an invitation to try and fuck him in turn. He’d never enjoyed that. And despite his preferences, he’d nonetheless endured more than his fair share of it. Worse still were those who saw how their fucking him had made his prick wilt and concluded he’d gone soft because he’d spent rather than because he took no pleasure in the act.
Sometimes he could convince them to let him go below instead. This he far preferred. He derived a great deal of enjoyment from sucking cock. Seeing firsthand the reaction gleaned from his efforts inspired his own pleasure. A sharp contrast to lying on his stomach getting pounded like a cod-skull beneath a fisher’s bat. Besides, having his teeth so near to something so tender gave him a well-appreciated sense of control. Should things go sour he had the upper hand.
At present, however, his cock was buried up to its hilt in Enzo’s body, and Enzo himself was making it rather difficult for Fiore to restrain his own spend. Between his deep ecstatic moans, the way his breath caught as Fiore wrapped his hair in his fist, his long lean frame shuddering and writhing beneath his grasp, and how the hot sheath of his body clenched tight around Fiore’s blade, it was a wonder Fiore hadn’t spilled his seed a hundred times over already.
When Fiore could stand it no longer, he dropt his hand from Enzo’s hip to find his cock. It had a long, thick, satisfying heft, warm velvet wrapped tight over a steel blade. Enzo’s heartbeat throbbed through the vein. A few swift strokes made Enzo moan in pleasure. A few more sufficed to send him spilling over Fiore’s fingers. His whole frame shuddered as his prick pulsed in Fiore’s palm. Likewise his hole clenched around Fiore’s own cock.
