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.