Ian needed me.
Returning, finding him frozen where I’d left him, I shoved my pants to my ankles, then his, before kissing between his shoulder blades. Stepping out of mine, I kicked them away before flipping open the cap of the lube.
“I want to go home with you,” he husked. “I want you to hold me down in your bed.”
How I was supposed to manhandle him when he was baring his soul was beyond me.
“I lied, you know,” he confessed when I reached around him to take hold of his dripping cock and stroke him from balls to head.
“About what?” I asked, sliding my middle finger between his cheeks.
He gasped and arched his back, pushing back into me, burying my finger to the knuckle.
“Ian? What’d you lie about?”
“I-I never dreamed about your couch, M,” he croaked. “I dreamed about your bed and being with you in it.”
The honesty was going to kill me.
Jesus.
“How long,” I demanded, releasing his cock and gripping my own, greasing myself heavily, not ever wanting to hurt him but unable to do any more for him.
“Since the first time I slept over.”
Instead of beating him, I dropped the lube beside me on the carpet and leaned forward, my mouth at his ear. “Why didn’t you come upstairs and get in bed with me?”
“I was scared,” he admitted, hands spread on the wall, lifting his right foot from his sweats so he could widen his stance.
Wrapping my left hand around his throat, I tipped his head back on my shoulder as I kissed along his jaw.
“Miro,” he ground out. “I liked it when you came inside.”
He was trying to kill me. “Oh yeah?” I asked, forcing myself to remain calm, not rushing.
“When you… when your cum was dripping out of me, and I could feel it in my ass and on my thighs… I mean, I know it happened, yeah? We’re connected.”
“Yes.”
“Do it now.”
“You’re gonna take me in, do you understand?”
He nodded.
Leaning back, I took hold of the base of my cock, lined my head up with his entrance, and pushed.
“Fuck!”
His muscles clamped down tight, but I was too slick, breaching him, filling him, watching his hole swallow my cock until my balls pressed against his ass.
“Jerk yourself off,” I directed, hands on his hips, as I pulled out halfway, grinding my shaft over his nerve endings on the withdrawal, and then thrust back in, snapping my hips, jolting him.
“Don’t stop,” he pleaded.
His hands fisted against the wall as I repeated my motion, slamming inside of him, pumping rhythmically, no trace of gentleness, only pounding, driving movement.
His sleek inner walls, the way the muscles rippled and clutched around me—he felt indescribably good, all tight, slick heat.
“Forgive me.”
Like there was anything else to do. “Yes.”
“Keep me.”
“Yes,” I promised, feeling the slow roll of my orgasm building as my balls tightened and I broke out in a sweat. “Grab your cock. Get yourself off, because I’m gonna come.”
“Miro—” His voice went in and out on him, cracking. “I need it harder. Please, Miro. Make it hurt.”
“If it hurts I’m doing it wrong,” I growled, grabbing the back of his neck and shoving him to the carpet on his hands and knees, following him down. “Don’t fuckin’ move.”
He cried out, voice gone, as I pegged his gland, hands on his shoulders, holding him still as I fucked him.
He went rigid under me, and I came inside of him as he spurted onto the carpet beneath him. His aftershocks squeezed my shaft almost too tight, and I wanted to pull out, but a single word stilled me.
“Stay.”
So I collapsed over him instead, relinquishing all my weight, my face pressed into the back of his neck, panting into his sweaty skin.
“What if you end up hating me and I lose not only my lover but my partner and my best friend?”
“I know everything about you,” I said, rolling my head to lick and suck his skin. “What’s there to hate?”
“All the other women I’ve—”
“I’m not a woman.”
“Yeah, I can tell that that since your enormous cock is buried in my ass.”
“Lemme get—”
“No,” he whispered, reaching back to take hold of my thigh and keep me still. “Wait.”
So I stayed there, inside, taking every breath with him.
“This is good.”
It was so much more than simply that.
Chapter 16
WHEN I helped him to his feet, I was surprised to see blood on his mouth. “What the hell?” I questioned him worriedly, wiping it from his lip with my thumb.
“I didn’t want to scream,” he confessed, looking at me like he was drunk. “You can still kiss me, it doesn’t hurt.”
“Ian—”
“Kiss me.”
I leaned in, pressing my lips to his tenderly, and he melted against me, arms wrapped around my neck, molding his body to mine. I had missed the neediness in him, and now he was finally confident enough to let me see it.