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Chapter twenty-two

Mike

The second we got inside, Elliot slammed the door behind us, pressing me against it with the force of a man on a mission.

Outside, Mrs. H was still yelling. “Yeah, get it, boys! Shake the whole damn house!”

I groaned, burying my face in Elliot’s chest. “She’s going to talk about this for weeks.”

Elliot chuckled against my ear, his breath warm. “She’s old. Let her have her fun.”

His kisses were light, tender in a way that stole my breath. He was such a big, burly man, I’d had no idea he was capable of such gentleness. And yet, as caught off guard as I was, it all made sense. The way he treated his friends, how he cared for Mrs. H, even how he laughed when Homer tried to make his leg his own, all spoke of a man who was comfortable in his own skin and loved taking care of other people. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

Then he stripped me naked while he stood there, fully clothed, gaping like a preteen seeing his first set of boobs in Playboy .

I wanted to crawl under the couch. My body wasn’t a disaster—far from it. I was lean with decent definition and a dusting of cinnamon covering my skin. Still, as any redhead would admit, the insecurities of a youth filled with teasing was hard to ignore.

Beneath the gaze of one of the most stunning men I’d ever known, I suddenly felt even more naked than I was—and I was very, very naked.

“Mike, you’re—”

“Naked?”

“Beautiful.”

“Oh,” I said, unartfully.

Elliot reached up and trailed his fingers across my chest, digging them into the thick pelt of crimson I’d always wished to be any other color.

“God, I’ve never been with a redhead. I don’t think I’ve ever even been attracted to one.”

“That’s us,” I said through a skittish laugh.

“Huh?” Elliot’s face was comically confused.

“We’re either someone’s fetish, the kind where the guy has coffee table books filled with redheads, or we’re anathema to a good time, the guy so ugly no one wants to see clothed, much less naked.”

Elliot’s brow knitted, then smoothed. Something flashed in his eyes. It wasn’t passion or desire. For a moment, I thought he’d grown angry over something, but I wasn’t sure.

“Mike, listen to me,” he said sternly. “You are so handsome, inside and out. I look at you and my whole world tilts . . . and I’m not easily tilted.”

“That’s for sure,” I said before realizing I’d spoken.

He smirked. “And look what else you do to me.”

Without warning, he untied the string on his shorts and let them drop to the floor. I was not the only one in the room who didn’t wear underwear and—

“Holy fuck,” flew out of my mouth as I gaped down at what was, indeed, a light pole of death. “Elliot, you never said . . . oh, my God . . . you’re huge.”

He shrugged, his smirk growing. “Guess it goes with being six-three, two twenty-five. Big boys need big guns.”

“Fuck me, Elliot, that’s not a gun. It’s a cannon.”

He snorted, then yanked his T-shirt over his head.

“Oh, God. I think I’ve died and been reborn in a porno.”

I reached out and placed a hand on his chest, feeling to make sure what stood before me was real. I mean, I knew he was big. I’d seen him in tight jeans and even tighter Ts, but none of that had prepared me for the naked truth, so to speak.

Standing before me was Henry Cavill in Superman , but two inches taller and twenty pounds heavier—and possibly with two more abs. I lost count at six. I was sure there were more.

His shoulders were wide and round, his arms fucking softballs or mini bowling balls—I wasn’t sure which. I couldn’t find a single hair anywhere, except down below where he’d trimmed his jungle into a neatly pruned hedge that made his already impressive manhood look even more intimidating—and it didn’t need the help. His chest was as broad as the rest of him and even more defined, with sharp, deep lines forming between his pecs and outlining below where his torso began. Perky nipples the color of dark sand stood out against his well-tanned skin.

“Elliot,” I breathed, barely able to speak. “Jesus.”

He grinned, then reached out and spun me around, slamming me against the door. The next thing I knew, his lips were pressed against mine, all heat and passion. Hard. Hungry. Like he was starving for it.

And that wasn’t the only thing that was hard. Fuck me running. As we kissed, his body smothered me even more than his mouth, and I felt him grow bigger and bigger and—

I think my butthole squeezed shut, threw a padlock on, and sent a note asking for the National Guard to come save it from imminent destruction.

And suddenly, I forgot about Mrs. H, though she was still barking from outside.

Hell, I forgot about everything.

All that mattered was Elliot.

His hands were everywhere, gripping my waist, sliding up my sides to my head, fingers curling into my hair like he was terrified I might disappear.

“Your house. Where do you want to go?” he murmured against my mouth, pulling me deeper into the house.

“Couch,” was the only word I could get out before his tongue tangled with mine and English became my second language.

By the time my back hit the couch, Elliot was on me—

His body, solid and warm, just beginning to sweat. In any other situation, I would’ve been grossed out by all his sweat; but in that moment, I wanted him to slime his way across my body and make me smell like him for weeks.

His lips trailed fire down my neck.

And me?

I was a mess.

“Jesus Christ,” I gasped as his mouth found my collarbone, his teeth scraping, tongue soothing.

Elliot just hummed, pleased with himself. “Told you I was good with my hands.”

“Those are teeth, not hands. And shit, you might make me come if you keep doing that.”

And, fuck.

“Less talking,” I breathed against his mouth. “More of everything else.”

Elliot was sprawled above me, completely bare, skin pressed to skin, heat sinking into heat. I was panting now, my body arching, hands gripping his waist.

“I need you,” I whispered, raw, pleading. “Please, Elliot.”

Elliot groaned, wrecked. “You’ve got me, Mike. I’m right here.”

He kissed me again, softer this time, letting it linger, letting it mean something .

After an eternity of our mouths smashed together, he raised up enough to breathe, then licked his way down my neck. I don’t know why “The Star-Spangled Banner” played in that moment, but my brain was mush, and every part of me was standing up and saluting. When Elliot started nibbling on my right nipple, I thought my whole body might leap out of my skin.

“Oh shit, those are sensitive. Careful!”

He eased up with his teeth, replacing them with an equally vicious tongue. It circled and flicked, teased and taunted, then let its enamel cousins resume their relentless nibbling.

I didn’t protest or fight then. The shock waves were too much to resist.

It felt like my body was a volcano and every nip caused yet another eruption.

Wait, that was a terrible analogy. There was no erupting. Not yet.

Just when I thought my nipple might be raw for weeks, his head dipped lower, and he licked and kissed his way to my belly button. I tried squirming, gripping his hair—fucking buzzed shit that wasn’t long enough to grip. I even tried scooting up so he couldn’t—

“Oh, crap, El—”

His mouth closed around the head of my cock.

I arched back.

His hand gripped my balls, pulling them gently down so the skin of my dick pulled taut and the whole thing hardened beyond reality.

Then he took my length down his throat until I was sure I’d struck a lung.

Elliot didn’t gag.

He didn’t flinch.

Hell, he didn’t even slow.

Up and down, his head bobbed. My shaft appeared, then disappeared.

So slow.

So hot and wet.

Pleasure streaked through me as his other hand reached up and twisted my nipple while he sucked me deeper and deeper.

The clashing cymbals of pleasure and pain were almost too much.

“El, I want you inside me. Fuck, I need you deep inside.”

“Condom?” he asked in his no-nonsense manner.

“Bedroom. Nightstand. So far away.”

He slathered a finger with spit, then slid it between my cheeks.

“OH!”

There was no circling or exploring or—fuck—warming up.

Elliot shoved his meaty power pole worker’s forefinger into my ass, hitting my prostate on his first stab.

It was a stab.

There’s no other word for it.

All the breath in my body whooshed out, leaving my eyes bugged out and hands gripping throw pillows.

“El, damn, you’re gonna have to go easy when you . . . fuck . . . God, that feels good . . .”

His hot breath tickled my ear as he leaned down and whispered in the sexiest, deepest, Barry White voice, “I’ve got you, Mike. Let go. I’ll catch you.”

And damn if I didn’t believe him.

Five minutes—it might’ve been a week—later, he retrieved his evil digit and pushed off the couch, leaving me breathless, wrung out, and desperate for more.

“Nightstand. Lube in there, too?”

“Uh-huh,” I groaned.

“Be right back,” he said, leaning down and kissing me again. His kisses were even more intoxicating than his finger—and he had one fine finger.

He returned before I could recover, lube in one hand, condom in the other.

“Can I?” I asked, eyeing the condom.

He smiled. “You can do anything you want. I’m yours.”

My heart did a backflip, then a somersault, then stuck the landing. Even the Russian judge scored it a ten. I wasn’t sure I could count that high in that moment.

With a shaky hand, I reached up and took the condom, ripping the wrapper open with my teeth.

“Hmm. Teeth,” he said, leering down.

With two hands, I guided the rubber over the tip of his cock, briefly wondering if my normal-people-sized condom might strangle his beast of a cock.

It did not.

In fact, the condom slipped on and was thin enough for me to still feel the ripples of his veins or whatever Snickers bar madness was carved into his skin. The thought of that sliding in and out of me made me shiver.

Click.

My eyes snapped up to watch him removed the cap from the lube and squirt a generous amount on his now-sheathed sword. It glistened in the lamplight of my den.

My butthole puckered again.

He then squirted some in his palm.

“Lay back, legs on my shoulders. This might sting at first.”

“Are you my gynecologist?”

“Better. I’m here to beat the shit out of your prostate.” He snorted. “Now, legs up.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

He rubbed his hands together, creating friction and warming the lube. No one had ever done that for me before. I think my heart did another backflip at how Elliot seemed to care about every detail. Then his fingers were slicking my hole, and a whole new sensation crawled across my skin. With my legs firmly planted on his shoulders, I did my best to relax.

“I want you to tell me what you want,” he said, his lubed-up fingers still playing with my hole.

“I want you inside me,” I said.

He grinned. “You’re going to get that, but I want you to talk me through it, tell me what you like, guide me on what you want next. I love hearing it. I want to hear it. Talk to me, Mike.”

Oh, my. He likes a talker. That’s a twist.

“Kiss me,” I said.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine.

I could’ve died happy right then.

I reached down and took his cock in my hand, guiding him between my cheeks, positioning him in just the right spot. He didn’t push. He didn’t budge. He just waited.

Gently, I used my other hand to push against his backside, guiding him inside me.

“Oh, shit, you’re big,” I said between kisses, my breath again threatening to fail.

“Too much? Are you all right?” Elliot’s voice carried so much concern I fucking swooned right there.

“No, just go slow. Slide in a little more.”

He eased in another inch or so.

I gritted my teeth and tried to relax—but damn, it hurt. I wasn’t a fucking rookie, but Elliot wasn’t average, not by any measurement, and this hurt like a bitch.

“A little more,” I said.

He cupped my cheek and kissed me again, while the rest of his body did as instructed. His kisses were so incredible I’d completely lost track and missed the part where he ran out of dick to give me.

Fully inside, he pushed upright and stared down, brushing hair off my forehead.

“I’m all the way inside you now.”

“Yeah, uh, oh, yeah. You sure are.” I nodded, a quick, ragged gesture. “Don’t move. I just need to breathe a minute.”

He smiled. “Take your time. I could live inside you, if you let me.”

Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Why did this man have to be so damn perfect?

I guided his hips, ever so slowly pushing him back until he was barely inside me before pulling him back in again.

“I can’t even tell you . . . God . . . that feels . . . El . . .”

“I like it when you call me that.”

I blinked, my brain catching up with the sensations racking my body.

“What?”

“El. Nobody calls me that. Well, except you now. I like it.”

My heart shit the bed right there. Had I given him a pet name without realizing it?

“My El.”

And damn if I didn’t add possession to it. What in the ever-loving fuck was happening?

He slid out, then back in, this time a little quicker and harder.

“Oh, shit. Not fair. No warning or orders or—”

He did it again, this time a lot harder.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”

“Careful what you ask for.”

Apparently, I said the anti-safe word, because he lost all control, pulling back and slamming me so hard my head sank into the pillows. Elliot lifted from my shoulders to grip my ankles, spreading me wider, as his demon cock proceeded to drill, baby, drill.

My whole body arched as my head flew back. Eyes shut, I saw every star that ever dotted the sky. Elliot didn’t just hit my prostate; he played it like a boxer drilling against a bag. How he managed to hit exactly that spot, over and over, was a wonder. But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he never missed.

“More,” I whispered.

Elliot gave me more.

“Now,” I pleaded. “El, please. Fuck me harder. Make me fucking yours, damn it!”

My mouth fell open, a gasp of pure pleasure escaping, fingers clawing at Elliot’s back.

Elliot was shaking with restraint, barely holding on, surrounded by heat and tightness and the overwhelming feeling of finally, finally being together like this. I knew what he felt because every part of me tingled with the same intensity, the same overwhelming pleasure of feeling his skin and lips and . . .

Elliot stilled, barely breathing. “Okay?”

“More than okay.” I nodded frantically. “But not enough. Harder!”

My eyes flew open, lasers boring into him, ravenous, intense, and demanding.

His eyes widened, watching as I came apart beneath him.

Then he gave me what I asked for: Faster. Harder. Deeper.

I moaned and gasped and cursed, grabbing at Elliot’s shoulders, his arms, anywhere I could touch. I squeezed his pecs, then punched at them. I grabbed his shoulders, then dug nails across his back. He growled like some primeval beast whose hunger could never be sated.

He thrust in again, somehow deeper. How the hell did he get deeper?

I cried out, gripping Elliot so tight he’d have bruises tomorrow. “Right there, fuck—”

Elliot did it again. And again.

I was losing it, right on the edge.

“Elliot,” I whined, desperate, needy. “I—”

“I’ve got you,” Elliot murmured, wrapping a hand around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “Let it go.”

It was too much.

I tensed, my body going taut, back arching as I spilled over Elliot’s hand and my stomach and his chest, crying out his name like it was the only word I’d ever known.

Elliot groaned, following me over the edge, spilling inside the condom as heat and pleasure overtook him.

I shuddered. Then he did. Aftershocks from the shift in our world.

For a long moment, we just breathed.

Elliot pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to my jaw, my neck, my shoulder.

He made to pull out. I gripped his butt, holding him in place.

“Please. Stay in me . . . until you can’t.”

He nodded, and his smile filled the world with light.

I hummed, smiling blissfully. “Damn.”

Elliot chuckled. “Yeah. Damn.”

“Hey, El?”

His smile widened. “Yeah?”

“I might need you to do that all the time.”

His smile morphed into a smirk. “Oh, I plan on it.”