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“Don’t be gentle.” Tripp looks at me over his shoulder, biting the lip that’s still puffy from my kisses.
I punch forward as I grip his hip and pull him toward me, nearly losing it when my intrusion makes his eyes flutter closed in bliss. God, he’s beautiful. Then I smack him again.
Tripp’s mouth falls open on a guttural moan as his hole clenches around me, gripping me so tight I have to choke off the air in my lungs to keep my body from tipping over the edge. Holy… I smack him again as I thrust my hips forward, and it happens once more, only this time my lungs give out, and I let out an animalistic groan of my own.
Just as before, all my restraint seems to evaporate, and I give in to my baser urges. My hips piston forward relentlessly as I latch onto Tripp’s waist for support, pulling his body over my cock as I drive it deep.
The pleasure is so intense my vision blurs, the slip and slide of our joined bodies engulfing me in a carnal nirvana unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if every nerve in my body has gone on vacation, except for the ones cocooned inside Tripp’s body, and they’re on high alert, crackling and zinging over and over again like fireworks as they build toward the finale.
Grunting, I push toward the precipice, the feel of Tripp’s cock slapping my leg driving me forward. Then a sharp tug on my balls turns that grunt to a needy whine. I gasp as I realize he’s squeezing both our sacs in his palm.
“Not yet, big guy. I can still hear the guilty voices in your head. No coming til they’re gone,” he commands.
Planting my right foot on the ground for leverage, I thrust as hard and fast as my body will allow, the smack of skin on skin drowning out the post-game coverage on the TV. The speculation about me, and the team, and our future. All the noise that threatened to send me careening into an abyss of anger and self-pity, before Tripp gave me his body as a lifeline.
Jesus. How does he understand me so well? How does he know what I need before I do? How does he make me feel whole?
“Harder.” Tripp's order has me realizing my pace has started to slow. “Get out of your head and fuck me.”
With renewed focus I drive into Tripp’s slick hole, losing myself to the friction and pressure that surrounds me as I tunnel into him.
“That’s it, big guy. Give me all of you. Everything.” He lets go of our balls and grips his cock with a throaty groan, and I find a rhythm that borders on frantic, pounding into him relentlessly as my mind finally quiets, allowing my body full control.
My abs burn, my thighs twitch, and my cock feels like it’s chafing despite the slickness surrounding it. And then his hole clamps down like a pressure cooker, squeezing me to the point of pain. My toes curl and cramp, my balls draw up tight, and I unload like a damn firehose, filling him so fast my cum seeps out and slides down our thighs.
The room goes dark as my release fades, my body too spent to hold my eyelids open, and I collapse against Tripp’s back. My weight causes his arms to give out, and as we fall against the cushions. Our sweaty skin is just slippery enough that my torso slides off his, coming to rest between his warm body and the back of the couch, though our legs are still tangled.
“I hope you pay your cleaning lady well because I painted my entire load on your sofa,” Tripp mumbles beside me.
“I’ll just flip the cushion.”
“And leave my jizz there as a memento? First a spanking and now this? Kinky.”
“I didn’t spank you to be kinky. You were talking about always being ready to fuck, but you don’t need to carry hookup supplies around when we’re in my house.”
Tripp shifts to lay on his side so he can face me, eyebrow arched impishly. “Hate sex doesn’t go so well if you have to say, ‘please hold while I try to remember where I put the lube.’”
“Was that hate sex?” I set my hand on his hip, focusing on the way my fingers glide over his skin instead of the look I might see in his eyes.
“What did it feel like?”
“Salvation.”
He snort-laughs. “I know I’m a good fuck, but you’re giving me too much credit.”
“I'm serious.” I swallow thickly, risking a quick glance at his face before I study my hand again. “I was about to spiral, and you stopped it. That doesn’t feel like hate.”
“It’s not. But hate fucking has a better ring to it than get it out of your system fucking,” he says airily.
“Why would you let me do that to you?”
“You needed it.” I feel him shrug. “And in case you didn’t notice, I happen to really like it.”
“I was pretty rough. I’m not even sure I was aware of what I was doing half the time. I could’ve hurt you.” My fingers flex and release on his hip as if to punctuate my words.
“You let go of your control, just like I asked you to. Do you feel better?”
“Yes and no.” I swallow again. “I’m not as angry, but I’m a little confused.”
