Scratch the Surface

“What will you let me do?” I asked him instead of what I should have.

His breath came out in a rough, strangled sound.

“Anything I want?”

“Yes,” he whispered, straining to keep his eyes open.

I licked a line up his cock, from balls to head, and that was it, long gold lashes fluttered shut, head back on his shoulders in absolute, utter surrender.

It took everything in me not to crow. This man needed me bad.

Standing quickly, I wrestled him facedown on the bed, ass in the air, and pulled a condom from the right breast pocket of my suit jacket, along with a lube packet. I had found that many businessmen who wanted to try something new, take a walk on what they perceived as the wild side, had condoms but never lube. I was nothing if not prepared.

Belt open, unbuttoned and unzipped, I quickly shoved my briefs and pants halfway down my thighs. I gloved up—lots of practice meant that I could easily do it one-handed after I used my teeth to tear the foil—and then slicked my cock before I went to work on him. When I took his cock in one hand and slid the first slippery finger into his ass with the other, there was only a low keening sound from him. Words were apparently no longer happening. The trembling was a surprise, and I stilled.

“Tell me you’re okay and you want this,” I demanded gently, needing to know that the shaking was due to anticipation and not fear.

“Please,” he barely got out.

It was enough.

“Take your T-shirt off,” I ordered, and he did it fast, reaching back to drag it over his head, his reward being my mouth kissing down his spine as I continued to stroke his cock, faster, rougher, the counterpoint to that being the second finger I worked tenderly into his ass.

He was shoving himself forward into my grip and then pushing back onto my fingers, and as I watched him come apart, it hit me that even though this was transactional, there was trust in this exchange. He had faith that I would take care of him, make him feel good, and his submission was a huge turn-on. I suspected that in everyday life, the man did not let down his guard for anyone. To see him like this was a gift.

Pressing farther inside, I curled my fingers forward, grazing his prostate, which tore guttural, pleading words from deep within his chest.

I knew I could get him to come like this and so put my mouth to his ear. “I can do this,” I murmured, massaging, scissoring, adding a third finger, loosening his muscles, opening his body for me, making him ready. “Or I can fuck you. What do––”

“You,” he husked, the words catching on his sharp exhale. “I want you.”

I didn’t give him a chance to change his mind.

Easing my fingers free, I took hold of my cock and pushed in slowly, gently, parting his cheeks, feeling the muscles clamp down around my length, fighting the inevitable breach.

His head dropped between his braced arms as I worked his hard, leaking cock in my hand and thrust home, to his core.

I stayed still, letting his body get used to me, and in seconds, what had been his muscles trying to keep me out became the viselike squeeze to keep me where I was. His decadent, carnal moan was such an honest sound I couldn’t help but revel in what I’d done.

“I…need to see you.”

“But it’ll be easier for you to––”

“Please,” he murmured, easing forward, sliding off the end of my cock.

I rolled him to his back and looked at him, flushed, panting, pupils blown, lips parted, chin wobbling, and broke my own rule.

Crushing him under me, pinning him to the bed, I spread my body out on top of his, taking his mouth hard, savagely, my tongue invading, swallowing first his gasp, then the deep, low moan as he melted beneath me.

The second his arms wrapped around my neck, holding me there, making sure I couldn’t lift up and away from him, my brain kicked in and I remembered why kissing was a bad idea. Kissing was somehow more of a connection, more intimate than fucking. I could never figure out why, but it was. Being with him was a joining now, and I was in way over my head.

His arms coiling around my neck was a surprise, his gorgeous long legs wrapped around my hips, less so. He was holding on to me so tight, and I felt the thrum of arousal that wasn’t just my body anymore. I wasn’t simply going through my paces this time; I was totally off script.

Positioning myself at his entrance, I rolled my hips forward, and buried myself back inside of him in one slow, steady motion.

He arched off the bed, grinding up into me, his moan guttural and deep.