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“Talk to me. Tell me what you want me to do to you, right now.”
“Bite me. Hard.” Dustin had entire fantasies that revolved around little more than the sensation of Wes’s teeth grazing his skin.
“Yeah? You want me to leave a mark? I’d like that. Leave a whole trail of them down your back. Every time you looked in the mirror, you’d know you were mine.”
“Fuck yes.” It was entirely possible that Dustin was going to come from little more than nipple stimulation and Wes’s filthy words. And, God, he wanted that, wanted to be marked, wanted to be Wes’s in the worst way.
“I’d like to bite you while fucking you.” Wes’s hand became a blur on the screen. “You up for that?”
“Can I touch myself?” A whine escaped Dustin’s throat. He wanted to finger himself, pretend it was Wes’s practiced touch and not his own fumblings.
“Not. Yet.” Wes’s voice was strained.
“Come for me,” Dustin urged. He wanted that almost more than he wanted his own orgasm. He loved the sounds that Wes made, little groans and gasps, loved the way that his voice became deeper and more southern the more turned on he became.
“Wish I could come all over you. Love marking you with my come. That’s my favorite fantasy—you all marked up with my bites and bruises and dripping with my come.”
“Oh fuck. Fuck me. Yes. I want that,” Dustin babbled. The hotness of the image almost tipped him over, even with nothing more than air on his dick.
“Tell me, baby. Tell me how bad you want it.” Wes’s voice was a deep groan now.
“Fuck me hard. I need it. God, I need to touch my cock. Need to come. Please let me.”
“That’s it.” The screen blurred for a second before come seeped out of Wes’s fist and his strokes slowed. “Now you. Come now. But keep the camera on your face. Want to see you go.”
Oh fuck. That was a hard request, one they’d never done before. He’d always pointed the camera at his dick for the money shot. But he needed to climax so fucking badly that he gave in, angling the camera at him, closing his eyes, and fisting his dick. “Not gonna take much,” he muttered.
“Good. You did so good. Your nipple’s going to feel it later. Love that.” Wes’s voice was blissed-out, the low drawl of a satisfied, sleepy guy. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”
Dustin really needed to tell him to can the “baby” business because no way was the pet name supposed to feel this good, make him feel...special or some such BS like that. He wasn’t supposed to want to be Wes’s, wasn’t supposed to want claiming by him. But he did.
He stroked himself with a rough hand. The memory of the sounds Wes had made while coming were enough to get him on the edge. “Need it.”
“Yeah, you do. You earned this.” Wes’s praise was like a drug pounding through Dustin’s veins, intensifying all the good sensations.
Heat licked up his spine and his balls tightened. “Oh fuck. Here it comes,” he moaned, dropping the phone so that he could twist his sore nipple right as he came. The orgasm swamped his senses, made him shudder over and over in an overload of sensation—pleasure and pain all twisted together.
“Hey. I thought I said I wanted to see your face,” Wes complained after Dustin had caught his breath and picked up the phone again.
“Sorry. Got carried away.”
“It’s okay. Next time.” Wes shrugged.
“We can’t.” Every bit of anguish came out in his voice.
“Hey. Let’s not make any bold proclamations right now, okay?” Wes soothed. “We’ll figure this out, I promise. But right now, we both need sleep.”
“Wish you were here,” Dustin whispered.
“Me too.” Wes’s eyes looked as forlorn as Dustin’s chest felt. This was the worst part of cyber, how alone he always felt after it was over. He wanted a warm body to cuddle up with, wanted Wes to hold him and tell him that there was a way that this thing could work, a scenario where they didn’t both lose big. But instead, all he had was spunk rapidly cooling on his stomach and a bare, empty room.
Chapter Fourteen
If you’re not scared of jumping, it’s time to quit jumping. The words of Wes’s first jumpmaster at SEAL training rang in his ears as they assembled in the Arizona sun for more HALO/HAHO training in the sort of high-altitude military parachute jumps that SEALs specialized in. He’d made the desert trek with his Little Creek team more than a few times, but he was still adjusting to how his new team handled training operations.
And how Dustin handled things. They were in an increasingly weird place—not unlike the terror of the freefall before the chute opened when death seemed imminent—where they couldn’t seem to help themselves from continuing to message even as the ground was rushing up at them. Fall’s not going to kill you, but landing just might. Out here though, they were all business. Dustin was his commanding officer, period, not the guy who begged so seductively in the dead of the night or the guy whose confessions and inner demons kept Wes awake a long time after each conversation was done.
