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Patrick thrust his hips forward, sliding his dick into my mouth and pressing it hard against my throat. It cut my flow of air, but I liked it. I liked that the oxygen was a secondary need tonight.

My hands moved from his ass up his lower back and around to feel his abs. I was like a poor faithful, sprawling before the altar, reaching up to the glory above. I dragged my hands over his body, lending him my power, my faith, my sacrifice. He was my religion and I his subject.

When Patrick pulled back, he bent down and slammed his mouth against mine, kissing me and thrusting his tongue deep into my mouth.

“You’re so fucking dirty, you know that?” he said over my lips. It was the highest praise I could think of.

“I’ll be anything you want,” I said.

“Yeah?” The excitement that welled in his eyes made my heart grow twice its size. My stomach fluttered with tingling, and my dick pulsed, untouched for the risk of blowing at a single stroke. “Ride me, then.”

Patrick knelt before me, then lay on his back, sprawling on the floor.

His cock was so stiff it wouldn’t rest on his abdomen, standing at full size a few inches above his flesh.

His balls hung between his legs, and I leaned in, burying my face in his thighs, opening my mouth to taste him, to suck them between my lips each in turn, to eat him like nobody ever had.

Because he felt it, too, he felt what worshiping his body was like. He felt it was different . I stood out, and I didn’t plan to stop.

My lips dragged at an excruciating pace up from his balls, over his dick, and along the middle of his torso. I crawled on my palms and knees along his body until my lips found his mouth and my ass sank into his lap. His dick pulsed, lifting higher and pressing against my crotch.

Patrick’s hand closed around both our dicks.

I’d never felt anything like it. The strange, exhilarating contact of them rubbing together, stroked by Patrick’s firm hand.

The difference in size didn’t matter when Patrick swung his fist this way and that, my saliva on his cock still wet and helping against the friction.

I lifted my torso, fists planted on either side of Patrick’s head, and thrust my hips forward, fucking his fist with his dick still pressed against the underside of mine.

He gasped, tightening his fist, and told me he wanted me. He told me he wanted to be inside me.

I picked up lube and condoms from my nightstand—a lesson we had learned the hard way last week, when Patrick hadn’t had any left on him, and we ended up sucking each other a little begrudgingly. He’d used his fingers to do magical things to my body, giving us both the satisfaction we had desired.

Tonight, we came prepared. I slipped the condom on his dick, something that still felt a little strange to do while he watched me, and poured lube down his shaft before stroking him for a long while.

In that time, I used my other hand to prepare myself for him while Patrick’s hands were folded under his head, and his gaze was on my face.

When my fingers slipped into my body, a tremor passed over my face, and Patrick’s dick flexed in my fist. It’s pumping eagerness, and the ease with which I could probe myself told me what to do next.

I crawled up and set my knees on each side of Patrick’s waist, watching as his chest rose and fell with increasing speed.

The tip of his cock pressed against my slick, relaxing hole, and I held my breath.

He caught my gaze, held it, and I bit my lip as I sank onto him.

The pain was instant, yet it was gone just as quickly.

I lifted myself a little higher, letting my heart calm down, and lowered myself on his dick again, feeling him penetrate that first barrier.

After exploring sex with Patrick for an entire week—and years of going at it on my own—I was certain that half the trouble was purely psychological.

I was able to relax, to loosen myself with little more than correct breathing and a reminder that I wanted him inside me.

Because what came after a short flash of pain was an unimaginable warmth of pleasure.

Patrick entered me, slapping his hands on my hips and holding me in place, holding himself just the same. He didn’t move in or out until I released a long sigh of relief, and we both moved closer to one another. He entered me deeper, and I sank lower.

The sensation, another first to me, of him entering me from below, from under me, was a whole new revelation.

His dick, curving slightly to one side, eased itself into my body, entering me deeper with each jerky thrust. And when he reached my prostate, the tip of his cock rubbing against it in passing, my body pulsed with a new wave of pleasure.

It was an odd feeling, more pleasurable as a whole than any of its parts.

When he rubbed against my prostate, it felt as though I would come in an instant, uncontrolled and uncontrollable.

It felt as though I couldn’t take any more of him than I already had.

It felt as though something was ready to spill out of me, out of my chest and heart as much as from my dick.

I was full to the brim with these flickering, fluttering sensations.

They welled in me, sputtered out of me, made my hips swing and ass sink lower on the hard length of Patrick’s cock.

I pressed my hands against Patrick’s chest, pushing the air out of his lungs, and he sank his fingers into the flesh of my waist, yanking me down on his dick with increasing force.

Sometimes, it felt like lovemaking in its purest, most innocent form; when he lay on top of me and slid his dick into me, crunching his abs to thrust himself deeper into me, pressing his body against mine to feel with everywhere and with everything he had.

Other times, like now, it felt like fucking.

I wouldn’t have known the difference before trying it all.

It was, to me, just as intimate, but there was nothing pure or innocent about it.

This was an act in which two people trusted one another so greatly that they allowed their deepest urges to take over.

Wrestling, grabbing one another’s limbs, holding on, kissing and biting in equal parts, ramming out bodies against one another in any and all ways that would provoke a cry; all that was only half-human. No superego lived here. Only ID.

This passion, tainted and salacious, dragged us into a whole new world of curiosity.

I wanted to know what it felt like to be pushed to my admittedly near limit.

I wanted to know what taking him all the way in would do to me—not that I had found that out at any point during this week.

Three-quarters was the best I could do before slapping my hand against his abdomen and apologizing.

“Never apologize for that, Shane,” he said when it happened.

“I’m the one who’s sorry for going that far. ”

But I didn’t want him to be sorry. There was nothing to be sorry about. That moment of not-pain—because it didn’t hurt. It was simply too much—was the feeling I chased. I wanted it to be further out every time I ran to it, but I wanted to run to it always.

Patrick’s hands found mine, fingers threading until it was impossible to say which were whose, and I swayed back and forth in his lap, taking him in and watching how it made my dick spring. Precum trickled down my swollen, aching shaft, and Patrick hissed with growing tension.

I leaned my torso back, holding on to Patrick’s hands for support. I arched lower and lower, my head hanging until the room was upside down, my arms stretched out in front of me, and depending on Patrick’s sweaty, slipping hands to keep a hold of me.

As I leaned back, my hips slowed down and lifted, giving Patrick room to maneuver. He thrust himself up, lifting his ass off the floor, and rammed his cock into me from below.

The lightning bolt of lust slashed through me as he fucked me, his hips speeding up, then slowing down.

Sweat poured down my brow and chest, down my neck,, and along my spine, trickling between my shoulder blades and making its way to my lower back.

The scent of sex filled the room and my nostrils.

The sound of our breaths, our panting, our moaning, and the wet slap of my ass against his slightly upraised upper legs filled my ears.

There was more to it than just the physical sensations. There was the knowledge that we were here, alone, giving each other permission to be as wild or tame, creative or destructive, dirty or tame as we liked.

I didn’t think Patrick would scoff or roll his eyes because my voice ripped from my throat, and I begged him to fuck me just like this.

And it never could have turned me off when he indulged in licking the pooling cum in my belly button, even if we’d both finished already.

There was that unique, inexplicable bond between us that said, Yes, do it, do anything you like because I’ll still want you when it’s done .

Patrick’s moans grew to a higher pitch, and I knew how close he was. It was only tiredness and the saturation of my mind with the studies that had kept me going for this long.

I straightened my back and sat down on him, groaning as I exhaled, and I let him hold my cock. The tip was dark with all the blood that filled my dick. Patrick spat on his hand after a few strokes, then replaced it and jerked me faster.

My hands pressed down on his chest as my entire body bounced on him.

I wondered what other positions we might graduate to when I had more experience.

I wondered if they could be better than this.

This let us look into one another’s eyes, observe every little reaction on each other’s faces, as I let my fingernails sink into the flesh of his muscled pecs and his hand worked me toward my orgasm.