“God, the feel of your hands on me is—please just fuck me, never mind the—Miro!”
I gently bit his right cheek before kissing the small of his back, then licking over the top of his crease.
“Miro, honey, love,” he ground out before I speared my tongue into his hole.
He yelled my name then, and I had to hold him down as I feasted, licking and pushing deep and then rimming him, loving his taste, the way tremor after tremor raced through him as he tried to push back onto my tongue.
He rocked against me when I slipped a saliva-coated finger inside of him, then two; his decadent groan and the way he pleaded for more made it impossible not to comply.
I could do it for hours just to watch him come apart, to hear the noises he made, full of longing, yearning, and watching my fingers disappear inside of him made me ache to have him, fill him, hold him still and press inside until I hit his core.
I reached for my cock, bumping my hand on the back of his thigh.
“No,” he wailed, lifting his head, turning to look over his shoulder. “I want that now, please, fuckin’ Miro, just—fuck!”
“I wanna keep doing this. It’s getting me off,” I croaked, my voice thick, husky. It was hard to speak with how hot I was, how ready, how aroused. And like always with the discovery of how responsive Ian was, it hit me that I was in control, he had already surrendered, and the most important thing was him, not me. “I wanna make you feel good.”
“Listen!” he snarled.
I focused on his beseeching expression, the vulnerability there in his eyes, and stilled.
“I need you—close.” His voice was punctuated by staccato breathing, like he couldn’t get enough air. “Miro.”
I sat back on my haunches. “Roll over.”
He complied quickly, flipping over and then reaching above his head, slipping his hands under the headboard, the space between that and the mattress allowing it, readying himself for me, to take the thrusting. He showed no hesitation, no trace of feeling self-conscious, knowing I’d never tease him for what he wanted or needed because that was sacred, a trust between us.
Grabbing the bottle of lube, I slathered some on my cock, coating it longer than necessary because watching him watch me was a big fat turn-on. The desire on his face was just gorgeous to see.
“Hurry,” he pleaded, and I arched over him, dick in hand, lining it up with his ready, saliva-slicked hole, his muscles having succumbed to my ministrations so that the slow press inside his body was a sensuous, easy slide.
He wrapped his legs around my hips, wanting faster and harder, but before he could wedge his heels into the back of my thighs like he did when he wanted it rough, I changed positions, slipping my arms under his knees, curling his back, lifting his ass up off the bed as I drove down into him.
His hands scrabbled on the sheets, looking for purchase, a grip, no longer able to hold on to the headboard in the position I had him in, needing to brace himself, push up as I thrust down.
“Oh fuck yeah, like that,” he mewled, head back, eyes tightly closed as he arched under me, needing more.
He was slick and tight and hot, and I got lost in the feel of him as I used my arms and legs to hold him immobile, taking him hard, my body lost in a furious rhythm. At one time I would have worried about just letting go, about not checking. But I knew better now, knew when he wanted me hard and fast, that he was asking to feel me inside for hours after. Not hurting, never quite that, but close, a stretch, a tenderness in his body that he craved. It had been Ian’s initial draw to me, and it remained, always, that I could hurt him but could never, would never, because he was my heart. The tears in the midst of us wrecking our bed together were a surprise.
“Ian?” I ground out, my voice scratchy, not sounding like me at all.
His eyes fluttered open, and I saw everything I’d dreamed of years ago when he was only a dream. He was so very mine.
“What’s—”
“You’ll only ever do this with me, yeah? How lucky am I.”
It was me, I was the one who was lucky, and I was going to tell him, but I felt him tightening, contracting around me, heard him gasp as he bowed up off the bed, the murmured pleading for me to claim him, show him it could only ever be him, because he knew it in his heart but had to feel it in his body.
“Ian, you know I—”
“Show me,” he murmured, gaze locked with mine.