Page 83 of Daring You

I comply, and when I’m on all fours, he pulls my G-string down to my knees. There’s rustling, and I turn to notice he’s taking off his jacket, then shirt, then jeans. His boxers go next.

He’s stupid hot. There are no other words for it, no kind of description that could encompass the kind of man that makes Hercules look like an afterthought.

“Straight ahead, Astor,” he commands, and I realize I’m licking my lips at the sight of his dick.

I do as he asks, my sweater the only thing I’m wearing. Ben moves behind me, grazing his rough palms on the sensitive skin of my ass, up my soft stomach, and cups the mounds of my breasts and squeezes. Hard.

“You’re not wrong,” he says. “I don’t know what else to do other than fuck until I’m blind. Forgotten.”

“It’s just you and me,” I say, turning my head slightly. “Ben and Astor. That’s all.”

He dives between my legs again, fingers pushing deep, and curls them to center my pleasure. Anything else I was going to say gets caught in a feline purr.

Ben slips out, toys with my butt, paints it with my scent. My head rises with realization.

“You want this?” he asks.

I swallow. Not because I’m afraid, but because I’ve never done it before. And ever since—then—I’ve wanted to be nothing but an expert in front of Ben. Cool, confident and composed. Not timid. Not all tremulous and googly-eyed.

“You’ve done it before?” I ask him.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

“So you know what to do, then. To…prepare me?”

Jesus, I sound like a scared virgin. The exact opposite of the dominant, hot sex I—

“I believe, Astor, you put me in control, so I get to choose what I will or won’t do to your ass. Understood?”

The threat makes my thighs shake. In a very, very good way.

I nod, and he moves behind me. Tangles a hand in my hair to pull my head back. Uses his other hand to lubricate me, a mixture of spit and my dampness, of which I’m giving him plenty.

I’ve never anticipated anything like this before. I’m both curious, turned on, and terribly unsure.

I feel him as he uses his dick to explore. Rests in my crevice and moves back and forth, lubricating himself. He moans, and I push my ass back against him, asking for more.

He goes in soft, at first. Delicate, because as he said, he’s not a jerk in bed. At my murmurs of approval, he pushes deeper, and deeper. I clamp tighter, on instinct and in pure pleasure.

Ben pulls out, and I’m pissed at my whimper.

“I have to stretch you out a little more,” he says, then uses his fingers. “I can’t just go all in. Believe me on that.”

“Because you’re so big?” I joke with a smile.

“Well, yeah, that, and it’d fucking hurt if I stuck a pencil in there without massaging you a bit. Now be quiet.”

I’m about to retort, but then his other hand starts doing sinful things to my clit, and I shudder at the sparklers going off at the end of his fingers.

“The only sounds I want from you are those,” he says.

In all this time, I still haven’t looked at him. He’s a disembodied voice with the skilled fingers of a pianist—or pro athlete. And his coaching makes me grind, and dig my teeth into my lower lip, becoming the animalistic side of myself I figured I’d long evolved out of.

When he slips his dick in, I’m in a wondrous whirl of delight, and the surprising fullness only adds to my demise.

“Yes…” I say, then hiss as he moves deeper, “Yes.”

“This is how you want it, huh?” The growl swirls from his throat. “Really, truly, fucked from behind.”

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