Page 83 of Unlocked Dive
Echo appraises me in the aftermath, righteous and effortlessly erotic. His shirt hangs open and his dress slacks are falling off his slim hips, rendering him debauched and decadently deviant, his impossible erection flushed and dripping with the evidence of his brutal claiming.
I’m too far gone to do anything but humble myself in worship. My knees hit the carpet, and I crawl to him until I can capture the firm slope of his calves in my hands and press my face into his groin.
A soft sigh escapes him when I brush my mouth over the head of his cock, my tongue flicking out to taste his triumph. And then his hands are in my hair, and I’m sucking him clean as murmured words of praise sing in my ears.
“Fuck, baby. You’re killing me. How can I stay mad at you when you feel so fucking good?” And then, “Okay. Okay, Coen.” He pulls free and tugs me to my feet. “It’s your turn now. Come to bed with me.”
He sits me down on the foot of the bed and strips out of his clothes, holding me hostage with his bright gaze. If he was demanding before, now he’s nothing but seduction, feathering his fingers over his pebbled nipples and down the black script decorating his torso.
“Close your mouth. Unless you want me to fill it again.”
It’s hardly a threat, but I do as he commands, leaning back on my hands so he can measure my reaction to his naked body.
With flashing eyes and a cocky smirk, he straddles my hips, lacing his fingers behind my neck.
“Do you know how long I’ve been fantasizing about getting my cock inside you like that?” he asks, grinding his slick length against my own.
“Since I told you I’d never done it and jacked you off in the front seat of my car?”
“Mmm. That was fun. But no. Since before I even met you. There’s this video on YouTube. The song was some slow piano thing, and you were…” He runs his tongue up the side of my throat and sinks his teeth into my earlobe. “You were so fucking beautiful. I was terrified of meeting you, of letting you see me broken, and I still couldn’t stop myself from jerking off to that video every night.”
My hands find his hips as a shiver runs down my spine. “‘Glitter in the Air’ by Pink. I remember that act. Pretty romantic for a horny twink.”
“What about you?” He pulls back to study my face but doesn’t stop the slow roll of his hips. “When did you first let yourself think about fucking my tight ass?”
It’s a test, despite the filthy words and teasing tone, and I’m pretty sure there are no right answers. So in the continuing spirit of the night, I go with honesty.
“Since you leaned through my window, nicotine scented and rain soaked, looking nothing like your brother.”
His eyes flash electric fire and his blunt nails dig into the back of my neck, but he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he spits into his palm and uses it to coat my cock, smearing the saliva into our combined precum.
“I’mnothinglike him,” he declares, raising up on his knees and slotting my eager dick against his entrance. “Nothing.”
“You’re not prepped,” I protest, but he sinks himself down on my shaft, and his body opens for me like it always does. Like he was made for me as I was made for him.
“Ever heard of a flip-fuck?” he asks. “I knowhenever taught you.” And then he squeezes around me, obscenely tight, and I struggle to form words.
“Slow,” I warn as he begins to rock his hips. “Or I won’t last.”
“You’ll last,” he promises. Or maybe it’s a threat. “You want to begoodfor me tonight, remember?”
“Fuck,” I groan, torn between letting him take whatever he wants and flipping him over to fuck him hard into the sheets.
“No more talking,” he whispers against my lips, and then he’s kissing me deep, flooding my tongue with his smoky, sylvan taste as he carves away the last of my secrets.
It’s me who snaps first, crazy with the need to come and desperate not to disappoint him, chasing his mouth when he arches away from me and cants his hips to give me access to that perfect spot inside him. I plant my feet to leverage my frantic thrusts, and only my fingers painting bruises on his hips and the velvet vise of his channel keep him from falling backward off my lap and spilling onto the rug.
When I’m about to lose it, when I start to swell inside him, he stops me with a hand wrapped around my throat.
“Enough.” His other hand grips his leaking cock, staving off his own release. “My turn again,” he says with a smile both wicked and angelic. My chest heaves, and I stare at him blankly until he pushes me down on my back and climbs off my cock to stand between my dangling legs. I lie panting, trying to claw the lust-drunk pieces of my brain back together while he coats himself with a fresh layer of lube. “Feet up.”
My legs are jelly, but with his help, I comply, bringing my heels to the edge of the bed by my hips.
“Look at you,” he marvels, dragging two fingers through the mess of lube and cum between my cheeks and pressing them into my hole. “Still all fucked out and open for me.”
I shudder but don’t deny it. It feels right, being vulnerable and exposed to him. He deserves so much more than the cautious, fearful version of myself I’ve been willing to share in the past.
This time, I get to watch his face while he enters me—the way his eyes reflect my own wonder and the lines of his throat go taut as his head falls back.