Fuck, Miles couldn’t believe this was him. He’d gone from having next to no sex drive to being some kind of nympho.
The thought made him smile in amusement even as he continued finger-fucking himself. Miles looked down at his wantonly spread thighs, his hand, moving between his legs, his hard cock almost touching his quivering, flat stomach. He did look like a slut.
At that moment, the door opened and Ian entered the room.
He went still in the doorway, just staring.
Miles felt his face become warm, but he didn’t remove his fingers, his gaze locked with Ian’s as Ian slowly shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Blue eyes framed by dark lashes stared at him hungrily, pupils blown and expression dark. That gaze felt like a physical touch, making Miles’s nipples ache and his hole clench around his fingers. God, why wasn’t Ian naked and on top of him already?
It felt like time dragged as Ian started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his wide, muscular chest and hard abs, his heavy gaze still on Miles.
Miles watched him, transfixed, his arousal spiking when Ian unzipped his fly and let his slacks drop. His black boxer-briefs followed suit, leaving him gloriously naked.
Licking his dry lips, Miles pulled his fingers out and lifted his gaze from Ian’s erection to his face. There was something dark and predatory in those eyes. Miles felt like a virgin sacrifice laid out for a wild beast.
It probably shouldn’t turn him on so much.
“Fuck me,” he whispered.
***
Fuck me.
Ian had never thought words could have such power.
But as soon as Miles said them, looking at him with that irritatingly needy gaze that pushed all his buttons, it felt like his body was no longer his own. Blood pumped in his cock and balls, demanding release.
His fingers were disgustingly shaky with impatience as he put on a condom and slicked his aching cock up. All the while he couldn’t look away from the boy: from his lightly tanned, golden skin, long, toned limbs, glazed green eyes and panting mouth. He’d never thought of other men as beautiful, but that word fit Miles the best. Beautiful. He was beautiful from the top of his messy golden-brown hair down to his perfect toes. Even his erect cock didn’t ruin the picture. To Ian’s surprise, seeing another man’s junk wasn’t a turn-off. It was actually arousing, to see the evidence of how much Miles wanted him.
As if reading his thoughts, Miles spread his legs wider, his slicked hole glistening.
Fuck.
Ian used to think gay sex didn’t make sense. Although he didn’t consider himself a raging homophobe, he had been brought up traditionally. His upbringing aside, he simply couldn’t imagine wanting to fuck another man’s asshole. Women were softer, prettier. Wanting to fuck a man had always seemed strange to him.
But at that moment, as he stared at Miles’s shiny hole, stretched and slick just for him… he felt like he’d taken a powerful aphrodisiac, his cock so hard it was starting to be painful. The arousal was drowning out all complex thought, leaving only the base desire to fuck, to take, to have.
“Fuck me,” Miles repeated unsteadily, his pretty lips trembling. He met Ian’s gaze. “Please. I don’t want foreplay.”
Ian rolled on top of him and hitched Miles’s legs up around his waist. He didn’t want foreplay, either. They’d had weeks of foreplay. All he wanted was to finally fuck this confusing, ridiculous human being, fuck him out of his system once and for all.
Propping himself on one elbow, Ian lined up and pushed inside Miles in one hard thrust, clenching his jaw as his tight walls enveloped his cock. Miles made a small sound, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
Ian bottomed out and went still, his right hand gripping Miles’s hip, his teeth gritted as he fought for control. But control remained elusive, the insane urge to take impossible to resist. He gave a small, shallow thrust.
A moan slipped out of Miles’s mouth, a shameless, loud sound. Miles was looking at him dazedly, his face flushed and eyes completely glassy from arousal.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Ian snapped, slamming hard into him.
Miles cried out, his fingers digging into Ian’s ass, as though trying to pull him deeper inside him.
Ian couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He wasn’t gentle. His cock pistoned in and out of Miles in a hard rhythm that betrayed just how far gone he was. Part of him, a distant, civilized part, was incredulous of his own behavior. He was being little better than an animal, fucking Miles like he was just a wet hole for him to fuck. Or rather, the wet hole Ian had wanted to fuck for ages. He was fucking Miles in a way only a man driven by his sexual frustration would fuck.
But Miles, bless him, seemed perfectly happy with it. He was moaning, little breathless moans and Ah, ah, ahs filling the room as Miles clung to him, fucking himself on Ian’s cock as roughly and desperately as Ian felt. Ian could almost taste the sense of finally in the air, in the primitive, hungry rhythm their bodies had found, in the sheer pleasure and need written all over Miles’s face.