Page 13

Dylan

T he opening of the next season of the show brought with it a familiar mixture of excitement and anxiety, palpable as the early morning mist that clung to the streets outside our studio in downtown Brooklyn as I navigated the corridors teeming with the hurried steps of the crew and cast members. A sense of anticipation built within me, punctuated by the sharp scent of coffee and the distant sound of dialogue rehearsals echoing off the walls.

Today marked the first table read of the season, a ritual that, despite its routine nature, always seemed to stir a nest of butterflies in my stomach. The script for the first episode lay heavy under my arm, its pages crisp and marked with occasional notes in the margins – reminders of changes I had mulled over the night before. The changes weren't the only reason I was particularly short of sleep from the night before. Today was the first time I would be coming face to face with Spencer since he had agreed to give me some space to work through my own chaotic mind what I wanted. I wasn't any closer to a decision, but the one thing I did know is that not one part of me wanted to let Spencer get away.

Walking into the room, the cool air felt sharper, every sound more pronounced – the shuffle of papers, the quiet murmur of my colleagues discussing their lines the soft tap of shoes against the wooden floor. All mundane, everyday sounds, yet they seemed to amplify the tension that thrummed through my veins with an almost electric intensity.

As I navigated the semi-familiar terrain of chairs and scattered scripts to find my usual spot at the table, my gaze inevitably, irresistibly swept the room for Spencer. There he was, already seated, an island of calm in the bustling chaos of pre-read preparations. His composure, a stark contrast to the slight tremor of anticipation that ran through my veins, soothed yet unnerved me simultaneously. His eyes lifted to mine as I approached, and that simple act – the fleeting meeting of our gazes – struck a chord deep within my chest, a resonant note that vibrated intensely with raw, unfiltered connection.

The moment our eyes locked, the space between us became charged with the electricity of our past interactions, every secret shared, every silent promise, and every unresolved and untouched tension. It felt as though an invisible chord, taut with the gravity of our mutual history, pulled me towards him with an almost physical force. As I took my seat, the weight of his gaze enveloped me like a tangible force, igniting a warmth that radiated through my chest and settled deep in my stomach, a smouldering ember that weeks of separation had failed to extinguish.

Sitting so close to Spencer, feeling the heat of his presence envelop me, was both a torment and a solace. His proximity was a reminder of the profound connection that had sprung up between us, now tinged with the allure of the forbidden, drawing me in, inevitable as gravity. His eyes, deep pools brimming with complex emotions, pierced through the fa?ade I struggled to maintain. Every breath I drew was heavy with our as-of-yet unfulfilled longing, each inhalation a bitter reminder of the time that we had let pass us by, each exhalation a silent yearning to bridge the chasm that time and circumstance had imposed between us.

Spender's gaze was not merely curious, it was charged with a piercing intensity that seemed to resonate with every pulse of the turmoil within me. His eyes, a deep, magnetic blue, spoke of understanding, of shared longing, and unspoken desire, communicating in a language that transcended mere words. Each look we shared knitted this tangible connection tighter, threading through the space between us with a silent acknowledgement of burgeoning feelings.

Natalie commenced the table read, her voice cutting through the thick tension. "Scene One, exterior night, the glint of the streetlamp catches the gleam of something sinister in the dark. Laura, distraught yet determined, watches as her husband leaves for the last time." The script unfolded, drawing us into a world of deceit and dark intentions. As the narrative progresses, Laura's plan to kill her husband for the insurance money, and her forbidden love for her sister-in-law, thickened the plot, adding layers of emotional complexity and moral ambiguity.

Spencer, embodying his character Nico, the detective assigned to unravel the mystery, read his lines with compelling authority that sent shivers down my spine and tightened my underwear. "According to the server logs, there's a series of encrypted emails." Spencer's voice deepened, his gaze intense as he flicked through the script. "Someone was planning to dispose of a large quantity of… organic material in several steel drums." The way he leaned into the word 'organic', his voice a seductive whisper, was ridiculously enticing.

I had it bad.

My lust-addled brain seemed to imbue each spoken word with a hidden dual meaning, his professional prowess mirroring the personal tension that simmered between us. His command of the script, and his effortless transition into Nico's investigative mindset, were utterly captivating. It wasn't just his appearance that ensnared me, it was the entirety of him. His mind, his soul, the way he could so effortlessly reach into the depth of his character, which mirrored how he reached into me.

As the scenes moved forward, detailing Nico's descent into the labyrinth of Laura's deceit, I found myself attention-locked to Spencer. I wish I could say it was in a totally professional and above-board way, but no. I watched his every nod, the way his lips moved silently along with lines not his own, the thoughtful furrow of his brow. It all completely enraptured me with an intensity that I feared bordered on obsession. I pressed my thighs together, squeezing the ever-engorged cock that sneaked down the leg of my trousers as I watched that damn grin etched on his face, the subtle wink he would give a co-star when they fluffed a line or the sexy way his tongue would sneak out to wet his bottom lip. I imagined flinging my script behind me and mounting the table, crawling on my hands and knees towards him and gripping hold of that full lip between my own teeth, sucking his tongue into my mouth.

"You alright?" Natalie murmured, elbowing me in the side.

"Yeah, I'm good, why?" I pressed my thighs tighter together, caught like a naughty schoolboy.

"You were groaning underneath your breath," she smiled. "Thought you might be getting sick. Turns out you just have a fever ." The word dripped with innuendo.

"I'm fine," I scoffed, turning back to the room of actors still working through the lines.

"Whatever you say," she chirped before turning her own attention back.

I continued to watch Spencer dissect Nico's complex emotions, perfectly reflecting how we'd created his character to not only be the central core of the show, but also the heart and the moral compass of his colleagues. How Spencer interpreted the character showed me how he had come to understand and unravel my own guarded layers.

The script weaved through tense confrontations and whispered betrayals, each line resonating with the undercurrents of our own unresolved story. Spencer's voice, when he interrogated a suspect or pieced together clues, throbbed with an underlying passion that spoke directly to me. It was as if each phrase he spoke was filled with invitation, a challenge not just to his fictional adversary but to me, a step closer, to breaching the divide.

"I believe Laura wasn't acting alone," Spencer asserted as Nico, his eyes flickering to mine with a piercing gaze that felt like it was peeling back every defence I ever had constructed around my heart. "She had someone else in the shadows, someone who shared her need to be rid of her husband. Someone who shared her same dark desires. They were done with watching and waiting. They hated the fact that they were so close, but they still couldn't just reach out and touch her." Spencer's voice was low, charged with an undercurrent of intensity that felt tailored just for me. The subtext crackled between us, electric and alive. Each phrase he uttered was precisely measured, resonating deeply and drawing me into Nico's complex web of deduction and seduction. "They were done with waiting. It was now or never. They couldn't help themselves. Every breath without Laura in their arms was a moment they were never getting back."

As he spoke, I caught the faintest tremor in his voice, a subtle but clear indication that he was just as affected by our proximity as I was. His eyes flickered to mine with a mix of professional focus and a deeper, more personal turmoil.

An amused huff sounded off to my left.

"Ouch!" Natalie yelped as I stamped firmly on her sneaker-covered foot.

The whole room stopped, their attention now focused on a grimacing Natalie. "Sorry, I stubbed my toe," she winced, casting me a quick glare. "Carry on," she waved to the room.

It was clear from the way his gaze lingered slightly too long, from the way his breath hitched when our eyes met, that the connection I felt wasn't one-sided. The room seemed to pulse with the energy of our mutual desire. The room felt hot and suddenly too small.

The read continued, but beneath the surface of our professional exteriors, a storm of lust and longing raged. I realised with a sinking, exhilarating certainty that whatever this was between us, this deep, compelling, maddening connection, it was not something one-sided and definitely not something I could deny myself any longer. Not now, perhaps not ever. The realization wasn't just liberating, it was as inevitable as breathing and as elemental as coming home.

As the last lines of the read were delivered, and the room began to slowly clear, it felt as if the future, with all its uncertainties and possibilities hinged on the choices I was about to make. My heart pounded fiercely, each beat heaving a testament to the raw, unchecked desire that Spencer ignited within me. I watched with bated breath as each of the cast members sidled up to Spencer, shaking his hand, congratulating him on a script well-read. As he offered a slight smile or a nod of the head to each member of the cast or crew that presented themselves before him, his gaze never left my own. He tracked the movement of my hand as I brought it up to stroke the side of my neck, my skin overly sensitive. The warm breeze from the window was like flames licking on my tender flesh. The mere thought of touching him, of closing the distance that propriety and circumstance insisted on, was overwhelmingly tempting, a test of restraint I was not sure I could endure much longer.

"Hey, I'm heading out," a disembodied voice said from somewhere, as my eyes were still glued to the man across the room. I must have developed superpowers, because somehow I managed to drag my eyes away from him and latch them onto a now-smiling Natalie who stood just to my right. In her hands, she held a bunch of loose scripts, a messenger bag slung across her slender shoulders. "Earth to Dylan."

"What did you say?" I shook my head slightly.

"I said I was heading out, thought we might grab some lunch from that place around the corner," she gestured behind her. "You know they have those cute as fuck waiters, so I just thought…"

"NO!" A deep baritone barked directly in front of me. My head snapped around to see a flustered-looking Spencer now only mere inches from me. My hands tingled at my sides. I curled my fingers into a fist and shoved them into my pockets before they did something like rub them down his dark hairy chest.

"Everything okay Jax?" Natalie smirked, her eyes darting between us both.

"Yeah sorry." His mouth formed into a wide awkward smile. "I asked Dylan here if he could help me with some lines from the script that I was struggling with a bit."

"Oh, I didn't see any request for additional support…" she gasped falsely, pressing the scripts to her chest.

"I… um…" he started.

"Cut it out Natalie," I chided, kicking her leg slightly.

"You're not fun," she mumbled. "Anyway, I thought it was a great read today, but I was reading over the scripts and the story arc for the season, and I think that I maybe have an idea for a new direction either later in the year after the mid-season finale or for next season."

"Not that I don't think we won't get picked up for next season, because I definitely do," Spencer held up his hands, "but is it smart to plan something for a reveal next season before we've even had the green light?"

"I agree," I smiled, laying my hand on his muscle-bound forearm, mostly to offer him gentle support, but mostly so I could just touch him, "but Natalie's right, I've been having some thoughts of direction shift as well."

"Really?" She chuffed out a laugh. "What cogs have been spinning up here?" she smiled, tapping the side of my head.

Shoving her hands away, I gestured towards a large sofa near the edge of the room. I sat at the edge of the sofa, leaning my back against the arm. Before Natalie could move to take her usual space next to me, Spencer slid into the space directly by my side, leaving enough room for Natalie at the other end of the sofa. His body pressed subtly against mine, a silent statement of proximity that sent a jolt of awareness through me. I could feel the heat from his thigh against my leg, an innocent touch that felt anything but.

Natalie, anything but oblivious to the undercurrent flowing between Spencer and me, settled herself at the other end with a smile and sigh. "Alright, so what were you thinking?" She pulled out a notebook from her bag, flicking to a page littered with black ink scrawls and bullet points. As she started to talk about different character arcs for Nico during the season, I tried my best to pay attention, but it was no use. My entire focus was locked into the feeling of Spencer's body against mine. My cock started to thicken in my underwear, soon punching at the confines of the zipper of my jeans. My breath began to come in low, short pants. I knew that I needed to pull back just a little before I made a fool of myself.

As I started to move my leg slowly away from his, Spencer shifted, his arms stretching wide along the back of the sofa, his leg pressing firmly now against my own. I tried valiantly but was unable to claw back the small whimper that left my throat and seemed to reverberate around the room like a foghorn.

"Oh no!" Natalie dramatically smacked her forehead with her palm. "I forgot my other notes! I should run back to the office and pick them up before we go any further." She gathered all of her things quickly and shoved them into her messenger bag.

"I'll catch up with you later." I pointed my eyes towards the door, hoping she would take her cue to get the hell out of there without me having to physically drag her out.

"Okay boys," she nodded, throwing a careless wink my way. "I can see Dylan has got you… sorry, I mean this , in hand." With that she swept out of the room, a small chuckle sounding as she left.

And just like that, we were alone. At that moment, we both paused, lingering in the now empty room, the air thick with unspoken promises and suppressed yearnings, I knew we were both contemplating that same forbidden step. I dared not turn my head to look at Spencer, both afraid and exhilarated by what I might find lurking behind his eyes.

Spencer's phone chimed in his pocket, breaking the tension. He slipped the small phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He read for a moment before barking out a laugh. "Natalie messaged to say that she's found her other notes in her bag, but said she forgot she was meeting Hillary for drinks and not to expect her back any time soon."

"She isn't very subtle is she?" I laughed nervously as Spencer's fingers trailed like red hot pokers down the nape of my neck. I suppressed a shiver that threatened to wrack my entire body.

"So you were talking about your thoughts for the show?"

I turned to catch a heat that blazed in his stare, his eyes glued to my mouth.

He expected me to have coherent thoughts? Now?

"Well I was thinking that we need to look closer at your, well Nico's past, and I was thinking that as your character is generally quite closed off about his past it could be a good idea to introduce a rookie cop, your half-brother. Create some conflict and eventual bonding." I hoped that I was getting my points across clearly and not rambling.

"That sounds like it could be fun to play," Spencer murmured, pressing firmer on my neck now, trailing his fingertips down to my shoulders and kneading a spot there.

Caught in a torrent of nerves and the close proximity of Spencer, I began to ramble, my words tumbling out faster than I could organise them. "So yeah, regarding the new character I was thinking about, we have to ensure that they're not too, you know, hot. We wouldn't want them overshadowing… well, the established appeal of your character."

I paused, catching the amused twinkle in Spencer's eyes as he leaned in slightly, clearly intrigued by my flustered state. "I mean," I continued, fumbling over my words, "It's not like I'm calling you, well Nico, hot, but obviously, he is… because you play him and you bring this… intensity. Not that I'm saying that you're… uh…"

My voice trailed off, and I let out a frustrated sigh, my face flushing with embarrassment and the strain of holding back what I really wanted to say, or do.

"Oh, fuck it," I muttered, no longer able to contain the whirlwind of feelings Spencer stirred in me. In one bold move, driven by the compelling mix of frustration and attraction, I closed the distance between us. I reached for Spencer, my hands finding his shoulders as I manoeuvred myself to straddle his lap, bringing us face to face at last.

The room seemed to fall away as I looked into his eyes, seeing the shock, the desire mirroring my own. "Hi," I murmured.

"Hi, yourself," he smiled, his hands gripping my hips tightly.

"I can't do this, this dancing around each other," I brought my face close to his, his warm breath fanning across my face, "I can't be around you and not want you. It's driving me crazy not touching you. I feel like I'm going insane every second you're not kissing me."

With a final growl, he surged up until our lips crashed together, initiating a kiss that burned away any remaining pretence. The shock in Spencer's eyes gave way to raw desire as our lips moved firmly together in a way that ignited a firestorm of pent-up yearning. The kiss was ravenous, each movement and moan filled with weeks of our unspoken fantasies. My hands roved across his solid shoulders, down to the strong planes of his back, fuelled by an urgency that seemed to consume me to my core.

Spencer responded with equal fervour, his hands racing over my body with a wildness that was overstimulating and overpowering to all my senses. With a suddenness that had me gasping against his lips, he flipped us over, pressing me into the couch as he pushed his body flush against mine. He tugged at my shirt with eager, almost desperate pulls, our breaths mingling. His touch was like fire on my skin, every nerve singing with the need for more … deeper … closer .

"I've needed this," Spencer growled against my lips, "needed you." His voice was thick with desire. His hands mapped my skin with a possessiveness that left no room for doubt about his intentions.

The couch creaked under our combined weight, barely containing the passion that overflowed with every shift and grind of our bodies. I was coming undone, layer by layer, as Spencer seemed to take me apart, piece by piece. His heavy body ground down against me, my effect on him jabbing against my skin. Deeper and deeper he thrust and caressed, driving me further into a frenzy that threatened to engulf me entirely.

His scent enveloped me, a heady concoction of leather and vanilla that was so distinctly him, sweet, smooth and completely intoxicating. It filled my senses, threatening to drown me in his essence. Our chests heaved against each other, the rapid rise and fall syncing with the speed of our breaths.

The months of waiting, of watching without touching. All that time when he was mere feet from me, without his hands on my body suddenly became too much for me to bear for a moment longer. "Please," the primal moan that poured from my lips was almost alien to my own ears, "please Spencer!" I whined pathetically, pushing up against his powerful frame.

Spencer pulled back sharply, his hands caging me in against the softness of the couch underneath, his arms stretched and locked enough that the veins in his arms pulsed under his skin. What seemed like miles of skin and taut muscle waited for the tender feel of my tongue. Later I would marvel at my self-restraint, my ability to stop myself from doing just that to peer into his heated gaze as he regarded me beneath him like prey. "What do you need Dylan?" His voice was smooth like silk, caressing my ears. "Tell me."

"I need you inside me." The words tumbled from my lips. "Oh god, don't make me beg, because I will."

He chuckled for a moment before dipping down to press a kiss to my lips. "No begging necessary." Then another kiss that stole the breath from my lungs. "Are you sure?" he whispered against my mouth.

We had talked enough. We had talked for months. We had done nothing but talk for fucking months. Talking, when we could have been doing this the whole time. The time for talking had long since passed. Needing to show him how serious I was, I brought my hand up in the space between us, my palm hovering in front of my face as I swiped my tongue heel to fingertips, wetting the skin. Spencer eyed me curiously, watching as my tongue lapped at the sensitive skin of my palm. "I'm very sure," I breathed as I pushed my hand down between us, sliding beneath the waistband of his dark jeans and underwear, grasping his thick engorged length for the very first time.

"Holy shit," he breathed, before crushing his mouth against mine. His tongue invaded my mouth and tasted all of me. He felt so good in my hand. The weight of him was hot and heavy. The silky skin of his cock slid smoothly up and down his shaft and I tried my best, given the awkward angle, to make him feel good.

"I need you," I panted against his mouth, my cock like steel, trapped behind the confines of my trousers as I thrust against him. Spencer had begun fucking the warm, wet heat of my hand. His cock, like a hot iron rod, shuttling through my fist. "I need you in me."

As the tension pulsed between us, Spencer and I moved with an urgency that had been months in the making. With a mutual, unspoken agreement, I pulled my hand from around his cock and almost in sync, we stood and hurriedly shed the barriers of clothing between us. Once again, later, I would congratulate myself on not busting a nut the moment Spencer stood in front of me in all his naked hotness.

He was a vision of masculine perfection, his physique sculpted in such a way that he might put the Greek gods to shame. His chest was broad and powerful, each muscle defined, rippling under the skin that seemed to glow with inner fire. Dark, black hair dusted his chest, trailing down in a line that led to a trim waist, where it thickened into a dark patch around his magnificent cock that bobbed hard and thick in front of him.

I reached forward and trailed my hand down his solid abs, which were a testament to his physical prowess. Each one was sharply defined, creating valleys and ridges that longed to be further explored. "You're so fucking beautiful," I murmured as I continued to explore his body. My fingertips grazed through the thick pubic hair, scratching the skin beneath before finally once more trailing along the length of his shaft. He hissed in pleasure as I kneeled down and licked a small bead of precum that gathered at the tip of his fat cockhead.

"Me?" he breathed harshly, my eyes snapping up to meet his predatory gaze as his cock pulsed in my firm grip. "Have you seen you? I get to have you. I can't believe I'm so lucky."

Unable to hold back any longer, I surged forward and swallowed down the length of his meat. His sharp intake of breath was a symphony to my ears, each hiss a note that played along the edges of my consciousness, urging me on ever further. As my lips tasted skin, the flavour of him sparked a fire within me that threatened to consume all rational thought. My hands, guided by a mixture of desire and reverence, explored further, tracing the powerful lines of his hips and thighs, his muscles tensed under my touch as I trailed my digits around to grasp hold of the two thick powerful globes of his ass.

"If you keep that up I won't last much longer," he panted as I slurped and sucked along the veiny ridges of his cock, his heavy balls swinging back and forth, slapping against the underside of my chin.

I grinned around his cock as it thickened along my tongue, sucking hard one more time as I pulled off him, letting him fall out my mouth with a pop. "Don't worry old man, I'll take it slow for you."

"I'll show you old man," he growled, reaching down to hook his forearms under my armpits. Pulling me up to face him, his hot breath fanned across my face. "You drive me wild, Dylan," he whispered against me. I felt the tension coil tighter within him, a storm of need mirrored in the darkening of his eyes. He tugged me close until there was not a hair's breadth of space between us. His cock was like steel sandwiched between us, sliding gloriously against my belly. He ran his hands down the expanse of my back, sliding his hands over my ass before his fingers creeped between the cheeks of my butt. Gasping as a thick digit rubbed insistently over my hole, I let out a wanton moan, pushing back against his finger. I rested my cheek against his shoulder, my bottom lip catching on his skin. My tongue sneaked out to lick the salt from his taut muscle.

"Do you want me in here?" he growled, tapping against my hole.

"I… I just… I need… Please, Spencer," I pleaded, losing the ability to form coherent sentences.

Pushing me backwards with his strong thighs against my own, he manoeuvred us back towards the couch. The back of my knees made contact with the seat, as I sank backwards. I thought for a moment he would take the seat next to me, but he just stood in front of me, an imposing figure of masculinity and strength. He watched me, a hunter before an unsuspecting kill. He pressed a knee between my legs and pushed them apart until I was spread wide on the cushion beneath. I watched in awe as he sank down between my legs, which needed to stretch even wider to accommodate the width of his shoulders.

"I've got you." He pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh, running his tongue along the tender flesh until he reached the intersection between my balls and my thigh. He pressed his nose into my groin and inhaled deeply. "I'm gonna take care of you." And just like that the spell was broken. Not in a bad way, but the raw desire of needing to get this hunk of a man inside me petered away. It was replaced with an aching need to give myself fully to Spencer. To have a part of him within me and to give myself to him. I realized that right up until that point, I'd been playing a role. The sad lonely guy, pining over something that once was, but that was no more. I gazed down at the sensitive, sweet, intoxicating and patient man between my legs who had waited for me to be ready, who'd never pushed, never wanted me to do something I wasn't ready for. I was so fucking ready right then though. It had been a long road to get there, and there was no way in hell I was turning back.

His arms tensed as he dragged me towards the edge of the seat, pushing my legs backwards until my knees were around my ears. "Look how pretty you are," he sighed, dipping down to run the tip of his tongue around the rim of my hole. The gentle pressure of his tongue on my sensitive skin sent waves of pleasure radiating through me, each lap a promise of what was to come next.

I caught his gaze, those deep eyes that seemed to see right into me, understanding and answering all of those silent questions that had haunted me for so long. "I've got you," he reassured again, his hands firm on my thighs, holding me open to him, vulnerable yet safe. Stars exploded over my head as he speared his tongue into me. The warm wetness of his tongue worked me open as he explored deeper, each deliberate stroke against the most intimate parts of me feeling like a direct connection to every nerve in my body, sparking alive with pleasure.

The sensation of being so fully attended to, of being the sole focus of Spencer's intense concentration, heightened every touch to an almost unbearable intensity. The rhythmic dance of his tongue was meticulously designed to stretch and prepare, to soothe and excite and that job was completed in spades. He explored with reverence, his breath warming my skin against the contrast of the cool air of the room, each exhale a whisper against the tenderness he lavished upon the puckered flesh. My fingers tried in desperate vain to clutch against the material, of the couch for some type of purchase, something, anything to make sure I didn't float away.

Gradually he withdrew, leaving a cool absence that was immediately missed. I ground my hips down against the cushion in protest, whining like a bitch in heat. "Easy baby." He patted the skin above my cock. "I just need to grab something from my wallet."

His voice was a low murmur, laden with desire, as he leaned back to retrieve a small foil packet and lube from his wallet. My eyes followed his every movement, captivated by how his muscles bunched up underneath his skin as he tensed and flexed. The momentary absence of his skin on mine was like a cold shadow passing over me, and I ached for his return.

Spencer positioned himself at my entrance, the tip of his hard meat pressing gently against me. His eyes met mine, a silent question lingering in the depths of his gaze, seeking permission in a moment so intimate it felt as if the world had narrowed down to the space we occupied together.

I nodded, unable to speak, my breath caught in the tightness of my throat. Understanding flashed in his eyes, and with a tender but firm push, his cock speared my entrance, the warm skin of his cock sliding along my slick flesh. The sensation was mind-blowing, a mixture of pain and pleasure so intense that I felt my consciousness waver for a moment. As he filled me, slowly, inexorably, the stretch and burn gave way to a deep, pulsing pleasure that radiated from my core outwards.

"Dylan, you feel so good wrapped around my cock. You're taking me so well," Spencer whispered as he slid himself almost all the way out, before sliding deep once more. I watched as the skin on his forearms puckered with goosebumps. The feelings currently taking over all my senses were obviously having a similar effect on him.

I hooked my arms beneath my knees and pulled myself open wider and higher. My hole stretched wider around him. I stared down in wonder as his thick, hard cock slid impossibly deep inside me. I could feel him in every cell of my being. With each thrust that pegged my prostate, I could feel him in the tingling of my nerve endings that were zapping across the planes of my skin.

His rhythm picked up, becoming more urgent, and desperate. The sound of flesh against flesh, the soft, slick noises of our bodies moving together filled the room, mingling with our staggered breaths and low groans. I started to feel the tell-tale tingle low in my balls that told me that my orgasm would in moments be barreling towards me.

"I'm not going to last much longer Spencer," I whined, "I need you. Please cum in me."

"You're a fucking dream baby," he growled. He leaned forward, bracing himself with one arm beside my head, his other hand tracing up my side. His fingers explored thoroughly as if memorizing every detail. "Hold on tight," he winked.

My hand reached up, fingers tangling in his dark hair, pulling him down to me for a kiss that was both a moan and a sigh, lips meeting in a rush of passion. With my other free hand, I reached between us and grabbed hold of my cock, needing more than anything to cum whilst his dick tunnelled in and out of me. I'd barely got off one stroke before he battered my hand away. "Your orgasms are mine." His hand replaced mine as he jacked off my cock at the same punishing pace as he was treating my now likely gaping hole.

The crescendo of our movements built towards an inevitable peak, our bodies moving in perfect synchronisation, as if we were two parts of a whole, finding completion in each other. My balls tightened up and my stomach clenched. "Oh fuck I'm gonna cum," I cried as volley after volley of hot spunk sprayed across my chest and stomach.

"I'm there too baby," he groaned, and with one final powerful thrust, he filled the condom inside me. Even through the latex, I could feel the warmth of his release pressing against my soft inner walls. His body shuddered as his climax ebbed away from him. He collapsed on top of me, my still-warm cum now pressed between us. His weight was a comforting presence, grounding me as I floated back down to earth from wherever it was my mind traveled to when a truly life-altering orgasm blew it away.

"We made it," I whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

"We did," he agreed, his voice hoarse with spent desire, but bright with something more – hope, perhaps, or maybe the beginning of something new, something real. I began to feel the hope of something new blossoming in my gut. In the warmth of our shared space, with traces of lust and desire still lingering on our skin, I knew I had crossed a threshold. There was no going back, not that I even wanted to. With Spencer, I hoped I had not just found pleasure, but the promise of tomorrow too.