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I smile, though it feels syrupy, almost drunk. “Okay.”
He starts to move. It’s gentle. Slow. It’s more of a rocking back and forth instead of the brutal thrusting I’m so used to. It feels different, but still very fucking good. It’s like he’s rubbing against all of the best places at once, causing pleasure to slowly seep from every inch of me instead of coming in zaps like it usually would. The sensation is how I would imagine melting into a puddle would feel like. Warm and gooey and—oh holy fuck—so very, very good.
Except, except, except—what about him?
“Is it—is this good?” I ask. I reach for him because I can, because he’s Maison, because he’s not my master, but my hand trembles as I touch his cheek. “Y-you feel good?”
“You kidding? Baby, you’re making me feel fucking amazing.” His eyes do that thing they do, settling the unease inside of me. He’s definitely enjoying himself. It’s not as nice as a good boy, but nothing ever is. If I was a little more confident, maybe I’d ask him for one. Maybe one day I’ll be able to.
For now, I just need to focus on the fact that I’m making him feel good. I need to let it go and be happy. It’s never that easy though, is it? Fucking anxiety always gets the last word.
“You’ll let me know? If there’s something you want?” His eyebrows pull together, and I realize I’ve pushed the issue too hard. I should have just taken his word for it and let him keep going. Now he’s going to get all worried. I look away, trying to think of something to say to fix this. “I just want to take care of you like you’re doing for me.”
“This is taking care of me. Hey, look at me, baby.” He cups my cheek and turns my face until our eyes lock. He looks so sincere it nearly kills me. “Is this not what you need? Is that what’s wrong? Tell me what you want and I’ll do it, Nol. I want you to feel as amazing as you’re making me feel.”
“Oh, no! No, this is great. This is—nothing else.” I force a smile. He doesn’t look convinced. “Just—um… just want to be good.”
“Nolan—”
“I need it, Maison,” I say, cutting him off. “I just need to be good, okay? It’s a kink or whatever. Just let me reassure myself by asking. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong, I promise. Just need to hear it. Need to—need to know it, you know?” I groan, putting a hand over my face to hide. “I know, it’s stupid. Just ignore me.”
“Hey. No. Baby.” He gently takes my hand, guiding it away from my face until he can look into my eyes again. He doesn’t seem upset or disgusted, which is good. My heart stutters. Is he going to be okay with this? Will he finally tell me I’m a good boy? Maybe even call me his good boy? Oh god. My cock thrums just at the thought of it. “You’re so good for me, baby. So fucking good. You’re taking my cock so fucking well and just—you’re just fucking perfect, all the damn time.”
I whimper, my hips moving without my permission from the rush of need that passes over me. Maison grins.
“Oh yeah? You like hearing that, baby?”
“Yeah. Yes. God.”
He drapes himself over me, pressing kisses to my throat all the way up to my ear. His dog tags drag against my sensitive skin, like a trail of kisses themselves. I grab them like they’re an anchor, needing something to keep me in the moment as things start to quake and buzz and overwhelm. He nuzzles the sensitive spot where my face meets my ear, murmuring, “So good for me.”
I come.
It’s the most embarrassing fucking thing in the entire world and I can’t even get myself to care because it feels so fucking good to come, to be filled, to be told how good I am, and he’s grunting and saying a hoarse, “Fuck yes,” and suddenly thrusting sharp and fast before he’s spilling his own cum into me, and it’s all perfect and lovely and so close to everything I need that I know in my heart it could be enough.
“Christ,” Maison nearly growls, his breath hot against my ear. He slides an arm beneath my back so he can press my front even harder against his. I feel just on the edge of being crushed, but in the best way possible. If this is how I go, I’ll take it.
At least until he starts moving his hips to pull out of me. Even though he’s going soft and I’m a little sore from being fucked for the first time in a long time, I don’t want him to leave. No, it’s more than not wanting it. It’s—I need him not to leave. Panic seizes my chest. “Wait!”
He freezes, pulling his head back to look down at me. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“No. Just…” I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling ridiculous. How do I even say it?
“Baby, talk to me. Whatever you need, I’m going to give it to you.”
The words are a soothing balm to every worry that’s built up over the time I’ve known him. Maybe he really will give me anything I need. Maybe what we did tonight won’t have to be enough. Maybe he’ll be able to give me everything.
Tears spring to my eyes as the hope bubbles up in my chest, eating away at the panic that was there before. “I don’t want to be empty,” I find the courage to admit.
His expression softens. “Oh, baby. I don’t mind filling you up. Give me a second, okay?”
“W-where are you going?”
“I’m going to grab a warm cloth to clean your stomach and a glass of water for us to share. Then I’m going to push any of my cum that’s slid out of you back inside you and you’re going to fall asleep with my fingers filling you up.” He gives me a smile that’s half-fond, half-seductive. “And the next time I’m in town, I’m going to get my needy man a few plugs.”
I exhale shakily, the tears in my eyes falling down my cheeks. “I love you so fucking much, Maison.”
He grins. “Well, that’s a fucking relief, because I love you too.”
