Page 36 of Pretty Mess

“Another time maybe.”

I look over my shoulder. His face is flushed, and I feel like my whole body is on fire.

“Please,” I beg. “I need you inside me.”

His eyes close. “Yes.”

I wriggle into position, hearing the familiar sound of foil ripping. I crane my head to watch him roll the condom onto his dick. He grabs a bottle of lube and greases his cock liberally,a fact that I’m going to be grateful for when he gets inside me because he’s big.

“Eyes forward,” he snaps.

I jump to obey. A few seconds of silence ramp up my nerves and, contrarily, my desire. Then I tense, throwing my head back and groaning as I feel his slick finger at my hole.

“You’re a noisy little thing, aren’t you?” he says, a thread of amusement running through his voice.

“I can’t help it,” I pant, lowering my face to the mattress and pushing my arse into his touch as he inserts another finger. The burn is instant, but it quickly becomes pleasure under his knowing fingers. “Do you want me to be quiet?”

There’s a silence while he continues to finger me. He traces the puckered opening with a fingertip, tickling, making me squirm and rub against the duvet. “No,” he finally says. “It’s pleasing to me.”

He pauses to add more lube and another finger and then starts to stretch me. His touch is impersonal, but he obviously knows what he’s doing, and I feel a pang of gratitude that it’s him and not that horrible man Ian from the club. My thoughts fly away as his finger finds the nub of my swollen prostate, and he taps it.

“Fuck.” The stretch is fantastic, and I pant and whine as he adds a third digit to my hole. There’s an edge of pain now, and I hang my head, breathing through it.

“Good boy,” he says in a soothing voice. “I know you can take it.” His other hand caresses my arse, the touch cool on my overheated skin. I pant into the sheets. Those damn words again. They make something in me tighten up and then loosen with relief, as if I’ve been waiting all my life for a stranger to call me his good boy.

He taps my prostate with gentle but firm touches that light me up inside but still aren’t enough. I’m on the edge of coming,and he knows it, judging by the chuckle he gives. “Not quite yet,” he whispers. “I know you can hold off.”

I nod frantically and then give a choked whine as he pulls his fingers slowly out. My hole feels stretched and horribly empty. “I need it,” I say, falling forward onto the mattress and trying to get air in. “Sobad.” I writhe, pushing my cock into the surface, feeling the fold of the sheets rough on my dick.

He taps my shoulder in an unspoken command, and I obediently come up on my hands and knees again. I wish I were facing towards him, and I could kiss him. I dreamt about his kisses last night, but there’s no sign of that intimacy today, despite what we’re doing now. I wonder if that’s deliberate—him keeping me in my place—but I don’t have time to think about that, because he pushes into me.

At first, I take him easily due to the prep, and the slide is so wonderful that I feel tears in my eyes. He’s girthy, though, and halfway in, I wince. He immediately stops with his hands on my hips.

“When you’re ready,” he says quietly. There’s no hint of strain in his voice, but I can feel the tremors in his fingers and how tight he’s clutching me—tight enough to leave bruises. He’s not as unmoved as he likes to pretend. The thought gives me savage satisfaction which is enough for me to take a breath and shove back on him, taking his whole length and swallowing his cock in the grip of my arse.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

I smile blindly ahead. Sweat stings my forehead and drips into my eyes, my hole sore and throbbing around the length of his dick. But it’s a good soreness, and I wiggle to get comfortable, making him immediately suck in a deep breath.

“You’re so tight and hot,” he says hoarsely. “Are you ready?”

“God yes, fuck me. I need it.”

“Yes, you do, don’t you?”

He pulls back, and I open my mouth to bitch, but what comes out is a shout of pleasure as he thrusts back in.

“Be quiet,” he says, but there’s a thread of amusement in his voice in addition to lust. I hope he’s okay with me being noisy, because I’m not a quiet person, let alone when I’m getting the dicking of my life.

He pumps into me with steady strokes, his hips hitting my arse with meaty thwacks while I keep up a constant stream of grunts and groans. I reach for my cock and cry out crossly when he slaps my arse.

“No,” he snaps. “Leave that alone.”

“Really?”

“Do as you’re told,” he grunts. I clutch the sheets, fisting the cotton until my knuckles turn white, while I take what he wants me to have.

It’s infuriating but still so exciting—like having an itch you can’t scratch—and I writhe on the end of his dick. He’s deliberately not hitting my prostate, so I stay on the edge.