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“I know,” I said, as breathless as he was. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but it’s so good, so good.”
He laughed and found my wrists with his hands, holding my arms down and curling forward to take my mouth aggressively as I arched my back and pressed myself against him.
“God,” I moaned. “Damn.”
“You like that,” he panted, his fingers like iron on my wrists. I squirmed against his hold, my arms straight at my sides.
“I like it,” I admitted, the sensation of being held down by him almost euphoric.
“Make me come,” he whispered between kisses.
“What?”
“Rub against me. I’m so hard. I can come like this.”
Oh, hell yes.
“Can I unzip you?”
“No,” he said, and my pulse increased by tenfold.
What the fuck was wrong with me? Who knew being denied was such a huge turn-on?
I whimpered and pushed my hips forward, rubbing my cock—hard as rock in my jeans—against him, feeling the strength of his desire under me. He groaned and pushed back, keeping my hands immobile as I wiggled against him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whispered, dizzy with arousal as I ground myself against Alastair’s covered cock. The look on his face was something I’d remember. He looked pained and desperate as I rubbed against him, his erection pushing against the front of his dress pants as I drove my hips back and forth, my wrists pinioned against the leather of the sofa.
“Oh my God,” I panted, my forehead furrowed with concentration as I rocked. Alastair’s face became a picture of bliss as he groaned, went rigid then let out a curse as he gasped mouthfuls of air.
I rode him like a bucking bronco, my cock so hard in my skinny jeans it was torture. I almost came in my pants, watching him lose control, but instead I simply whimpered and begged for assistance.
In a moment he had released my wrists and had my cock out of my jeans.
“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he mumbled, sounding shattered and stunned.
I watched his face as he licked the palm of his hand and wrapped it around my cock, pulling with firm, relentless strokes until I gasped and came in thick spurts all over his chest.
“Fuuuck, fuck, fuck,” I groaned, amazed at the intensity of the fumbling, desperate joining. We were like two high school kids in the basement after school before anyone’s parents were due home.
I rested my forehead against his, eyes closed, as he stroked me through the aftershocks. Then I made a choked gasp and pushed his hand away.
“Too much. Stop,stop.”
He let me go and we breathed together, coming down from the high of climax and whatever it was that had taken hold of us. When I opened my eyes, he was smiling and looking down at where my spunk had landed—right in the middle of his beautiful chest.
“I, uh, made a mess,” I said. “Again.”
He swiped his finger through my jizz and sucked it into his mouth.
“Jesus,” I hissed as my dick twitched. “I thought you were safe.”
He grunted, withdrawing the finger, licked clean. He held it up in front of me. “You’re twenty years old. You said you don’t have casual sex.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Should I be worried?” he asked, frowning.
“No. I would have told you if I had anything.”
