Page 58 of For Real

He lets me go this time, and my cock nudges up against his when I reach over him to get the stuff. I enjoy the clumsy intimacy of it, as I get back into position. “You can touch yourself again, now.”

He hisses out a breath and wraps his hand around his cock, stroking himself slowly, like he’s afraid of the pleasure.

I cover my fingers in lube and rub them together until it warms a bit. When I touch him, his whole body responds, his cock shuddering and leaking and his head falling back onto the pillows so that his stubble-rough throat is all ripply and vulnerable.

I press into him, and there’s very little resistance.

He wants me. He wants me so bad.

“Oh…God,” he sighs. “Yes.”

He’s hot inside, hot and tight and strong, and I can feel him all around me, wrapping my finger in this carnal embrace. Even the thought of what it’s going to be like when it’s my cock is enough to make me pretty urgently hard again.

I move in and out of him, just kind of teasing him and because I like the way it feels and how it looks, his body dragging my finger in, greedy and desperate. And Laurie’s kind of pressing into the chains now, opening himself to me even further, moaning softly with my every thrust, and rocking his hips to meet me, his hand matching my rhythm.

I’m totally entranced. Watching him turn wild. Shameless.

At one point, I kind of slip on the lube and fall out of him, which is a complete accident but an awesome one.

He jerks gracelessly after me, arching off the bed, and bursts out with, “Oh please, God, don’t stop.”

So, of course, I stop. Instead, I circle him, round and round and round, with the slick pad of my finger. And I think I kind of break him just a little bit because suddenly he’s begging and begging and begging, the words catching and then tumbling from his mouth like pearls on a broken string.

And I swear to God, it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. The same dark, sharp joy uncurls inside me like some wicked, clawy monster thing, and it’s practically purring.

“Wow, you really want me, huh?” I sound almost as breathless as he does. So much for playing it cool. But compared to him, I’m the fucking Snow Queen.

“Yes…yes, I do. Please.”

He’s so beautiful, and my little monster is so pleased with him that I have to reward him. I thrust two fingers inside and tear this deep, wonderful, slightly shattered groan out of him. I actually don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I know I’m supposed to be sort of angling up and forward to get the high score, but maybe it’s a good job I’m not sure because he’s kind of going nuts as it is, fucking himself against my hand, his every breath a frantic little moan.

“God.” I stare at him in a kind of blissed-out wonderment of my own. “You totally love this.”

He twists and gasps. “Y-yes. I–I…love this.”

“All chained up and at my command.”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours.”

Mine. My heart melts into blood and rubbery tube bits and wet candyfloss. “You should probably stop, by the way.”

He makes another amazing sound. Pure despair. “Toby—”

“Stop.”

And, somehow, he does. Both hands on the rail, chest heaving, cock throbbing, arse still swallowing my fingers. “Please…I need…” he says, so softly, so miserably. “Please.”

I smile at him, completely full of love. “Please what?” There’s a kind of wet gleam to his eyes. Jesus, is he crying? Is that okay? “What do you want?”

“You.” He lifts his head as he says it, staring straight at me with his gold-and-silver eyes. This one moment of stark coherence he’s somehow found a way to give me.

“You can touch yourself again.”

“I can’t. I’ll—”

“Touch yourself.”

He’s kind of wrecked before he even touches his cock. His whole body pulled tight and held open and trembling. The sound he makes is closer to pain than pleasure, and it’s gorgeous, just like he is. The truth is, I fucking love the way he suffers. It makes me feel ridiculously good, like I’m turning into caramel from the inside out.

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