He
sighed, then kissed me again, this time not hiding his hunger,
pulling me tight against him, licking and biting and sucking my lips
in a way he hadn’t done before, and I was already getting hard
again and I tried to forget my haunting doubts about how I ought to
be doing things and for the first time I started to really touch him,
to explore that delicious body, skin as smooth and soft as any woman
I’d ever touched, but the architecture of him so, so male, those
long, sinewy limbs, his narrow hips, those naturally broad shoulders
I was so jealous of. He kept putting his mouth to me, kissing my
neck, then biting, until the skin all over my body was tingling. Had
I ever made a lover feel the way he made me feel? One or two, maybe.
The two I’d been so obsessed with that I almost forgot my own
pleasure in my desperation to make them need me as urgently as I’d
thought I needed them.
When
we were both quivering and needfully flexing and rubbing against each
other I broke away from his ravenous kiss and asked, “What do you
want?”
“I
want whatever you’re ready for.”
“Don’t
do that. Pretend for a second you’re not afraid of scaring me off.”
He
gave me a shy, almost embarrassed smile that was utterly endearing.
“You really want me to say it, whatever it is? No holding back?”
Suddenly
I was terribly nervous again. But still agonizingly hard. “Yes.”
“I’m
dying for you to fuck me.”
Honestly,
I didn’t believe him. That of everything, that was the one thing he
wanted to do more than anything else. I was sure that the honest
answer would have been that he wanted to fuck me. And that, more or
less, is what I said.
He
laughed, quietly and very sweetly. “Even after what you just
experienced, you can’t believe I’m aching to feel you inside me?”
“It’s
not the same thing. Is it?”
Still
smiling. God, that smile of his. “No, it’s not the same thing.
But bottoming is delicious, too. Don’t dream for one second that
I’m offering to sacrifice myself at the altar of your pleasure.”
A tender, lingering kiss. Then, “But I can also wait for pleasure
like that. I don’t want us to do it before you’re ready.”
I
hurried to say, “I want to. God, I want to. I just . . . ”
“It’s
okay. Say what you’re thinking.” Sweet little kisses along my
hairline, from just by my ear, up to my temple. Then that steady
gaze. “You’re safe with me.”
“I
just wish I were more experienced. So I’d be good.”
“You’ll
be good.”
“I
don’t . . . I’ve only done anal a couple times. And the two
women, neither of them liked it much.”
A
little grin. “I’ll like it. Don’t worry. Just start off slow
and easy, and don’t take offense that I have a habit of
communicating exactly what I want.”
I
smiled at him through my nervous uncertainty. “Alright.”
He
gave me a smile. Gave me a kiss. A hungry, slow, wanting kiss that
went deeper and deeper as we started touching each other. Caresses.
Palms and fingertips exploring sleek planes, contours of muscle and
sinew, smooth skin, tufts of hair. The way he was using his mouth on
me, the way he was touching me, he had me panting, writhing, flexing
into his hand each time he started to tease my cock, rock hard again,
aching. I was holding out, resisting my urgent need to release the
want he was provoking, half out of the desire to tease him, to make
him ache the way I was aching, and half because I was afraid to start
it. But then he drew back, and after gazing at me for a few moments,
maybe to give me a look of reassurance, or maybe trying to read in my
face if I was half as ready mentally as I was physically, he fished a
condom out of the nightstand drawer, opened the wrapper, and after a
provokingly mischievous little grin, put it on me. Then I watched,
breathless, as he lubed up my cock, but at the same time it was
taunting, thrilling, him rubbing and squeezing my desperately swollen
erection.
Finally
he said, “I’m fucking dying for it, Aidan. Please don’t make me
wait any more,” his usually serene voice like the growl of some
big, predatory animal. Then he was on his knees, turning away from
me. I planted my knees between his, ran my hands over his ass. Fuck,
his perfect, muscular ass. Holding my cock in my hand, I found his
dark little pucker, and nudged the crown up against it. “Just start
slow, okay, baby?”
“Yes.
I’ll start slow,” I said, and it came out so quietly I hoped he
heard me.
I
was so crazy with want it was hard to go slow and gentle. As I pushed
the head of my cock past his clinging clench and I felt the squeeze
of his body I whimpered with the strain of holding back.
“Okay?”
I whispered.
Trembling
under me he said, “Yes. Fuck, yes. Just, I’m dying for more of
you. Push into me slowly, baby. But please, give me all of it.” I
did what he said, and slowly as I could bear, pushed the entire
length of my cock into him, the little grunt he let out driving a
maddening thrill through me. “Fuck,” he panted. “Fuck, you feel
so good. Let me feel you move.” His voice trembling, like his body.
“Start gently, but don’t be afraid. You won’t hurt me.”
I
stroked his hair, caressed the graceful nape of his neck, ran my
fingertips lightly down his spine, then curved both hands against his
hips, and still struggling to hold myself in check, pulled a little
way out, panting through the intense sensation of his body’s
desperate grip on mine, as if it were trying to hold me still, and
then I worked my cock back into him until my groin was pressed right
up against his ass. Little by little, listening to his huffing
breaths, his little grunts and sighs, I started to fuck him. Before
long I had to stop and hold still for a minute because it was already
too much and I was afraid of coming too soon. Still inside of him, I
bent down to kiss his neck, running my hands over his lean abdomen,
his chest, teasing his nipples for a moment, loving how that made him
groan and push back like he was begging for more of my cock.
God,
I wanted to make him come. Hear him, feel his body shudder through a
climax. I grabbed the lube and got a glob of it in my hand, reached
under him, and wrapped my hand lightly around the base of his cock.
God, what a weird, awesome feeling, the sensation of having a hard
cock in my hand, but not my hard cock.
He
whimpered a warbly little, “Ah, fuck,” as I took hold of him, and
let out the most rousing, delicious moan as I slid my hand up the
length of his hard-on and gave the crown of his cock a little squeeze
just as I started fucking him again, pumping my dick into him and
drawing it out with all the restraint I could muster. “You feel so
fucking good, baby. You have no idea,” he said, his quiet voice
strained.
I’d
really thought he’d wrung me dry sucking my cock while he’d
fingered my ass, but I was killing myself trying not to get carried
away too soon, desperate not to come before he did, so I started
jerking him in earnest.
“Baby,”
he huffed, “I’m not going to last two more minutes if you keep
that up.”
I
went still. “I just . . . I don’t think I can last, no matter
what,” I confessed.
He
made a sound, and I thought maybe he’d laughed. Turning to look
back at me, I think I was right, because there was his mischievous
smile. “It was just a courtesy, my little warning. Don’t stop.
You’re perfect.”
Panting
and grunting, we got our rhythm back, me still pumping my hips
shallow and slow, trying desperately to hold on as I stroked him,
knowing as soon as he shifted a little under me and I realized that
he was holding himself up on just one arm that he was close, that he
was going to ejaculate in his cupped hand, the idea of it giving me
such a sudden thrill I almost lost it right then, but I kept
massaging his hard cock, pumping my dick into him, pausing, then
going at it again, my heart pounding.
“Fuck,
baby. Oh, fuck!” He let out a long, guttural groan, writhing under
me, pushing back into me and saying, “Don’t stop though, keep
fucking me. Harder. Stop holding back,” and I did what he said, all
my anxiety suddenly gone, and surrendered to how fucking good it
felt, fucking him, stroking him until he caught and stilled my hand,
crying out, and holy fucking God I started to come, a long,
excruciating spasm like all the life force was being suddenly,
violently sucked out of me, crying out, fuck, almost crying.
When
I’d pulled out and he’d used a couple tissues to mop up the mess
in his hand he gave me a smile so happy it felt like my heart was
breaking. We sprawled, panting, holding hands. When I thought about
it, that felt stranger than anything had felt all during those hours
of terrifying, beautiful firsts. Lying there sated and naked, holding
each others’ hands. Wonderful, but strange. Then he turned onto his
side and lay there gazing at me, and I turned onto my side to gaze
back.
“You’re
alright?” he asked, looking utterly tranquil as if the only
possible answer was “yes.”
“I
feel absolutely perfect. Body and soul.” Beautiful. When he smiled
like that, like he was the embodiment of happiness, the only possible
adjective for him was beautiful. “How are you feeling?”
“Dangerously
happy,” he said.
“Dangerously?”
“Being
too happy is always dangerous.”
*
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