Page 26 of A Man To Remember (Skin on Skin #3)

I pose freely, letting my body move however it wants.

I arch my back, showing off the curve of my spine, the flex of my ass.

I run my hands through my hair, letting my fingers trail down my chest and stomach.

I cup my balls while stroking my cock, spreading my legs wider, giving him every angle he could want.

He doesn't seem to mind this lack of professionalism. If anything, he seems to prefer it this way—unscripted, unplanned, just me being myself in my own skin.

He moves around me like a predator circling prey, camera clicking occasionally, his eyes doing most of the work.

The sound of the shutter becomes background noise, less important than the way he's looking at me.

He even becomes his own model at one point as he stands in front of me, grabs both our cocks with one hand, stroking, and capturing the image from above.

I'm so lost in the moment I barely register when the camera stops clicking, and hits the table with zero ceremony. Then his hands are on me, pulling me against him, and his mouth crashes into mine.

I kiss him back desperately, all teeth and tongue and need. He walks me backward until my spine hits the wall hard. The impact knocks the breath out of me. But it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is the sensation of his body pressed against mine, his cock, hard and hot against my hip.

Austin doesn't let me enjoy it for long, and when he steps away, the loss of contact makes me want to voice my protest. But the look on his face—predatory, determined—makes me stay quiet.

He walks to the pile of our clothes on the floor, and when he grabs my jeans and goes through my pocket once again, I need to remind myself to breathe.

When he makes his way back to me, with that predatory gaze still fixed on my face, I'm plastered against the wall, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. The cool surface against my back is a sharp contrast to the heat building under my skin.

"Turn around."

I swallow hard and do as he says.

"Step away from the wall a bit. Lean on your forearms."

I adjust my position, forearms braced against the wall, ass pushed out.

"Spread your legs."

They automatically do.

Jesus. Since when do I enjoy being ordered around? I would wonder if I'm discovering some new kink if it weren't for the fact that I'm about to pass the fuck out.

I close my eyes, trying to ground myself as I listen to the sounds behind me. The tear of foil. The soft squelch of lube being squeezed. Austin's breathing, slightly elevated.

He stands very close behind me, close enough I can feel the heat radiating from his body. His chest almost touches my back as he leans forward, and when he presses the tip of his lubed finger against my hole, I have to bite my lip to keep from making a sound.

"You're going to relax for me now," he whispers straight into my ear.

And somehow, miraculously, I do. My muscles unclench, my breathing evens out, and I let myself sink into the sensation of his finger circling my rim. Teasing. Preparing.

He starts with one finger. Just like last time. Except it isn't like last time. Last time was exploration, discovery, figuring out what I liked.

This time has intent behind it, a goal that makes every touch so much more intense.

When he slides that first finger inside me, pressing immediately against my prostate, my knees wobble and my cock leaks against the wall, leaving a wet streak on the surface.

"Fuck," I breathe, and he chuckles behind me.

"We'll get there."

He works me slowly, methodically, getting me used to the feeling of being stretched, and just as I finally start to relax completely, to really enjoy the rhythm he's established, he adds a second finger.

The stretch is more intense this time. Purposeful.

I fluctuate between discomfort and pleasure as he moves his fingers, working me open with careful precision.

Sometimes it burns, sometimes it takes my breath away, and sometimes both sensations hit me at once, and I don't know whether to push back for more or pull away.

"Breathe," he reminds me when he feels me tense up.

I focus on his voice, on the steady rhythm of his fingers, on the way he seems to know exactly when to pause and let me adjust. The discomfort gradually fades, replaced by a fullness that I'm starting to crave.

Then comes the third finger, and I've never felt so full in my life. The stretch is intense, almost overwhelming, and I have to concentrate on accepting what he's giving me. He moves slowly, patiently, letting my body adjust to each new sensation.

Once he catches a steady rhythm, pressing against my prostate with each thrust, I lose the ability to form coherent thoughts. All I can do is hang on and try not to come from this alone.

I do my best to concentrate on the pleasure rather than the stretch, and after a while, the discomfort fades completely. Pure pleasure takes over, making me push back against his hand, silently begging for more.

And the second I start to really enjoy it, really lose myself in the sensation, his fingers withdraw, leaving me empty and aching and desperate.

"Am I…" I feel stupid asking, but I need to know. "Am I ready now?"

His mouth is right against my ear, voice low and rough. "You tell me. Are you ready?"

My heart's hammering as I ponder the double meaning of the question. Physically? Yeah. I'm sure he took good care of that. Emotionally...?

I give myself a second to think, weighing the fear against the want. The want wins by a landslide.

I turn my head to the side, cheek pressed against the wall so I can look at him over my shoulder. "I'm ready."

The words seem to flip a switch in him. He growls, like I've spoken some magical incantation that's unleashed something primal in him.

I watch through blurry vision as he tears open the condom wrapper and rolls it onto his cock. He squeezes lube onto his palm and spreads it along his length, making sure he's slick enough not to hurt me.

When he's done, he looks up and our eyes meet. I only last a few seconds before the weight of his gaze becomes too much.

I let my eyes fall closed, press my cheek against the wall and repeat, "I'm ready."

He enters me slowly.

Excruciatingly slowly.

I can feel every single millimeter of his cock as it slides into me, and count my breaths.

It takes forever and a day for him to bottom out completely.

The stretch and the fullness balance just on the edge of being too much, and even though the sensations are nothing like I've ever felt before, I find myself enjoying every single second of it.

Was it really just a couple of weeks ago that I thought I was straight? It all seems so laughable now. So absurd.

Guess it's safe to say that ship has sailed forever. And I don't miss it one bit.

Austin presses his entire body against mine, chest to back. There's this pained sound of restraint in his breathing, like it's taking everything he has to stay perfectly still and let me adjust to having him inside me.

It only takes a few seconds for my body to fully accept him. I clench around his cock experimentally, and he lets out a deep, guttural moan.

And suddenly patience isn't an option anymore.

" Move ," I demand, pushing back against him.

And he does, pulling back halfway before sliding home again. The drag of his cock against my inner walls is hitting nerve endings I didn't know existed. He fucks me slowly at first, long, deliberate strokes that let me feel every inch of him.

Each thrust brings new sensations, new angles, new ways of being filled and stretched and claimed. He shifts behind me occasionally, adjusting his position, testing different angles to see what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes me push back for more.

I'm enjoying every single one of these angles, each one bringing something new, grazing different spots inside me.

When he shifts again, angling his hips just slightly, the head of his cock hits directly against my prostate. The sensation is so intense it almost makes my knees give out, and I let out a deep, long moan that echoes off the walls.

He pauses, cock fully inside me, and lets out a strained chuckle. "Hi there," he whispers in my ear.

And then he really starts moving.

I yelp as he withdraws almost completely before slamming back in, the force of the thrust pushing me forward into the wall. He finds a new rhythm, urgent and unforgiving.

I can't breathe normally anymore, each breath cut short every time he slams into me. My cock is leaking steadily, bouncing between my legs with each thrust, throbbing with desperate need.

But I don't touch it. I'm too focused on the sensation of Austin behind me, inside me , claiming me with each powerful thrust. He's hitting my prostate with every stroke. If I were to touch myself right now, I'd come on the spot.

And so I let out a shaky breath and take it. Take everything he has to offer, every powerful thrust, every grunt of effort, every inch of his cock as he pounds into me like his life depends on it.

His palm finds mine against the wall, and our fingers entwine, and when he puts his other hand on my throat, squeezing firmly but not painfully, my head spins and I'm sure I'm in an entirely different orbit.

The room fills with our combined sounds, moans and groans and occasional curses and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin. I'm sure if we were out there , in one of the public rooms right now, we'd be the loudest ones there.

"Jesse," he says, and my eyes snap open. This is the most authoritative he's ever sounded, even though his words come out chopped, cut in half each time he bottoms out inside me. "I'm so fucking close I could die right now."

His thrusts are getting more erratic, more desperate.

With one hand still on my throat, he lowers the other and wraps his palm around my cock, starting to stroke me with firm, quick movements that match the rhythm of his hips.

"And I want you to die with me."