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The look on his face…I swear to God, his self-controlalmostslipped. But he pauses and says, “You sure you don’t want protection?”
“I’m sure. I have my last results, I can go—”
“You’re not going anywhere.” He grabs me by the face and kisses me again, hard, before whirling me around and pushing me down over the kitchen counter, my breath deserting me in a rush. “Pull your ass open for me. Let me see you.” I reach back and spread my cheeks for him, breathing hard as I hear him make a low sound of pleasure. “Perfect.”
He leans over, reaching for the olive oil he used for dinner, and uses it just as liberally on me, pouring it all over my ass, into my crack, slicking me up with one hand while he spreads it over himself, too. I watch him over my shoulder, watch until he lines up with one hand and, with the other, pushes me firmly down between the shoulder blades, so I’m pressed down on the countertop.
I feel his blunt head pressing against my hole, and when he breaches me, it’s with one thick stab, his dick splitting me open. Pain thrills through me, but I gasp out, “Don’t stop,” when he pauses. “Come on, Max. Make me feel it.”
He makes noise that’s almost a growl, and he shoves in hard, making me cry out. One more push and he’s home, bottoming out in me, his cock flexing against my walls as he leans close over my back with a satisfied hum.
“You’re so damn hot inside,” he sighs out.
I wonder if he’s ever done this before: fucked bareback. I haven’t. I haven’t, and I’m already desperate to feel him shoot his load, fill me up.
Mark me.
“Max, come on,” I mumble. “Please.”
The weight of his chest disappearing makes me whine in protest, but his hand returns to my back, keeping me there in place. Keeping me right where he wants me as he fucks into my hole, a steady, medium-paced pistoning that lets his head drag right over my most sensitive spot, pulling moans and whimpers out of me. I can feel my dick drooling down my thigh, or maybe it’s the oil, or maybe it’s the whole goddamn mess of our mating as he pumps me deeper and deeper with a wet slapping sound that’s almost as erotic as his grunts of satisfaction.
His hand leaves my back only so he can brace himself on the edge of the counter, pounding into me as I gasp and laugh and—yeah—start begging for it. Begging for him to fill me up with his seed, to make me his, breed me, make me feel it...
“Please, please, please, please,” I chant, driven to the edge by the intensity of his fucking, the way his balls slap against me, the way his dick stretches me out as he pulls out and the way it’salmosttoo much to bear when he shoves back in. Almost too much—and just what I need.
“You want it?” he demands. “Tell me. Tell me you need it.”
“Give it to me,” I beg. “I need your load in me—please—”
His dick swells up inside me, impossibly large, and then I feel it throb as he spills into me, his hips rolling, stuttering, grinding against me as he deposits every last drop deep in my gut, and then falls over me, panting and groaning, cursing me out affectionately,that’s my good fucking boy; God, you take it so well; you’re gonna fucking kill me…
And then he’s pulling out of me, ignoring my cry of protest at the sudden loss, pulling me up off the counter for a sloppy kiss, all tongue and spit. I can feel the mess oozing out of my hole, and I writhe away, try to clench my butt muscles shut, but his hand darts between my cheeks, catching the oil and his spunk as it trickles out of me, using it as lube to jack my stiff, reddened cock, leaking away in his hand.
I’m so hard and swollen it’s almost painful, and his mutteredCome on, kidin my ear is what pushes me over the edge. My dick shudders and spurts, painting my belly and his with my hot spray, and his arm goes around my waist, keeping me upright, holding me close, while he works me through it until I’m completely dry, my arms around his neck, holding on like he’s the only thing keeping me afloat.
And hell, that’s not so far from the truth right now.
As my heart rate settles, I shift, the stickiness between us becoming a lot less sexy as it cools. “This floor is gonna need a real wash down,” I mumble. “God. Tomorrow. That’s tomorrow’s problem.”
“Tomorrow,” Max agrees, and then yawns.
“Ugh, I’m leaking. That was great,” I add quickly. “I mean—more than great, for sure, but—”
“Let’s go upstairs so we can clean off.”
I run up to the bathroom and then we shower together, regretfully washing away the evidence. Once clean and dry, we slip into my bed together.
Max falls asleep quickly, his breathing slowing into a steady rhythm. I lie still beside him, wide awake despite my exhaustion. Thoughts about my crew, the mole, my relationship with Max…they’re all keeping me from sleep.
And thoughts about my father.
He’s been on my mind so much recently, I wonder if it’s time to face him again. Because next time he gets sick, he might not shake it off.
The words I spoke myself at Rook’s funeral come back to me, reminding all those people how unpredictable life can be. Van echoed those sentiments afterward to me, and more than one person there thanked me for my words.
Maybe it’s time to put the past the rest. Maybe it’s time to go and see my father. I haven’t spoken to him for years…
I glance over at Max, listen to his steady breathing in sleep. He’s become such an important part of my life in such a short period, and part of me wants to share my thoughts with him. Ask his advice, even.
