Page 62 of Shots on Net

I set a slow pace. Tortuously slow might be a better descriptor, based on the way Carter is trying to push up into my fist. I time the slide of my finger across his prostate with each upward motion of my hand on his dick, and settle in to watch him come undone. He’s panting, hips rolling upward and both hands back on the bed, clenched in the sheet.

“You’re fucking killing me,” he pants. I firm my grip, adding a little pressure, and he moans. I make no effort to speed things along—I want to see how sweaty I can get him.

We’ve worked ourselves into a steady tempo now, hips and hands working in concert. There is a distinct hitch in his breathing and a shimmer of perspiration coating his muscular chest. I press a little harder against his prostate and he whimpers, again.

“I’m…” He starts to speak, breaking off with a groan before trying again. “I’m going to come.”

I don’t put my mouth on him, because swallowing isn’t something I enjoy doing if I can avoid it. When he comes, I’m not quick enough to catch it in my hand; cum spatters his abdomen as he groans through his release and collapses to the bed. I slide my finger out of him slowly, in case it hurts. He sighs, eyes closed and chest heaving as he works to bring his breathing under control.

Careful not to touch anything with my hands, I start to slide off the mattress. He cracks an eye open and lifts a hand out toward me, palm upward.

“Stay,” he requests, and my heart does a slow, hard roll in my chest.

“I was just going to wash my hands. I’ll come back,” I promise.

He nods, dropping his hand back to the bed and closing his eyes again. Grinning, I walk to the bathroom and do a quick clean-up. Wetting a pair of washcloths with warm water, I pad back into the bedroom. I’m expecting to see Carter right where I left him, dead asleep. I’m surprised to find him still awake, both eyes open and head turned toward the bathroom. When he sees me, he smiles. It’s my smile; I’ve never once seen him gift one to anyone else.

When I get to the bed, I prop a knee up and sit down next to him. The moment I’m sitting, Carter rests a hand on my thigh and rubs a small circle with his thumb. I haven’t yet put my clothes back on, and I’m pleasantly surprised to not be feeling self-conscious. I suppose once you’ve had your fingers inside someone’s ass, there’s not a lot to be shy about.

I pass one of the washcloths carefully over his abdomen, making sure to wipe up every bit of cum. Once I’m satisfied, I toss it back through the open bathroom door; Carter chuckles. I use the other cloth to carefully clean the lube from between his legs. I definitely used too much. When I’ve cleaned up as much as I can, I toss this cloth into the bathroom with the other. Carter’s hand—still resting on my leg—makes a sweeping motion that brings his fingertips to my groin.

“Are you going to stay here?” He asks, a tad tentatively.

“Can I?”

In answer, he moves over on the bed, making room for me on that side. Once I’m sitting next to him, he reaches down to the foot of the bed and pulls the sheets back up. It makes me realize how cold I am, unclothed and coming down from the heat of having sex. I hope Carter is a post-coital snuggler, because that’s something I would enjoy right now.

We settle down on our sides, facing one another with the comforter pulled up to our necks. I’m just working on extracting one of my hands when Carter beats me to it; he reaches over and curls his arm around my shoulders, tucking his fingers between me and the bed. I move a little closer, trying to make it a more comfortable position for him.

“Thanks for that,” he says, and nods his head vaguely toward the bathroom.

“For what?”

“For…you know.” There’s a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “The towel. That was nice.”

“Oh,” I pause, wrongfooted. “Isn’t that, like…something people do?”

He snorts. “Not the people I’m usually fucking.”

“Oh,” I repeat, a little sadly. Further proof that quality is far more important than quantity, when it comes to sexual partners. I decide it’s probably kinder if I keep this to myself. “Well, now that you’re fucking me, you can expect the full-service treatment.”

“Mm,” he brings me in a little closer, tightening his arm. “Or the other way around.”

I ponder this for a second, unsure if he means what I think he means. “You mean…you bottoming and me on top?”

This seems physically unlikely for many reasons. Not to mention he once told me he didn’t like to bottom. He seemed to enjoy himself tonight, but even someone as inexperienced as I am knows there is a big difference between being fingered and fucking.

“Yeah,” Carter says, completely unconcerned and unaware of the direction my thoughts have traveled.

“Okay, but you don’t like bottoming, Carter. You told me that forever ago.”

“It’s you, though,” he says, as though this is the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re not going to have to worry about me liking anything. Trust me. It’ll be fine.”

“Alright, but if it’s not fine, I expect you to tell me,” I say, seriously.

“Scout’s honor,” he replies. “We need to turn off the light.”

Both of us turn our heads and look at the light switch, over by the door. Grasping the comforter, I wiggle myself further underneath. Carter smiles like he knows what I’m doing.

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