Page 93 of The Boy from Half Moon

“Mmmm,” I moaned, lifting my ass higher and giving him a big clue that I was just fine, while still not outright speaking.

I’d learned that letting him take his time, while not giving additional instruction after we’d initially discussed the particular act, was what worked best for Luke. He wanted the sexual outline only, but after the Cliff’s Notes, he definitely wanted to write his own story.

“How’s that feel?” he growled. I arched my back even more, and my ass thrust off the bed. “There you go,” he encouraged, breaking through my resistance and holding his finger there.

Where he’d learned his technique, I didn’t need to know. My best approach would be to reap the benefits of his careful method of lovemaking. Another finger invaded my tight hole, and once again, he paused until I could accept him. Once convinced I was comfortable again, he began fingering me deeper, swirling in a circular motion as he made space for something larger.

“Mmmm, yeessss,” I whimpered. “Deeper.”

Luke pulled his fingers out and spit on them. The nasty way it sounded turned a crank I didn’t know I had. His actions were feral, masculine, and downright dirty. I wanted more.

“Three now, baby,” he growled. “And I know you can take them,” he added, shoving them deep inside of me as I gasped in a combo of pleasure and pain.

This bashful boy I’d met a few months ago was now learning to do unimaginable things to me, playing my body like he’d been trained specifically for me. I couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

“I want your cock, Luke,” I pleaded. “Please put your penis inside of me now.”

Luke removed his fingers, sitting back on his knees, and then lifted me from the bed and turned me over. I literally made zero effort as he repositioned me. I stared at him wide-eyed, convincing my inner warning voice that I could trust him.

“I want us to face each other,” he said, moving my legs to either side of his hips while I continued to gawk at him, still dumbfounded by his pure strength.

“You just picked me up like I weigh nothing,” I stated.

“You do weigh nothing,” he said. “Was that okay?”

“I guess I’m stunned you can do that,” I explained.

“I’ll never hurt you, Tate,” he said. “And I like being in control during sex. Plus, you did tell me you liked your man to be in control.”

He was a good listener and an even better student. Three weeks ago, I felt like the teacher, the explainer, and now, I felt like he’d graduated Summa Cum Laude, and I was benefiting big time.

He put his fingers in his mouth, lubricating them again, and stared at me, a barely there smirk at the corners of his mouth. “You did say that I get to be in control, right?” he asked, moving his hand to my hole as he nudged my legs further apart.

“I did,” I admitted. “And you’re doing it so well, stud.” I pulled a bottle of lube from under the pillow. “Here. Use this.”

He uncapped the lube, generously pouring it on his hand. “Like this?” he asked, sliding a hand over his dick. He gazed at me with a hungry stare. I nodded and locked eyes with him. Using his free hand and fingers, he pressed against my hole, swirling and lubing my entrance. This time, it felt like all three fingers at one time. “There you go, my love. Open up for your boy.”

His voice was intoxicating in the way he instructed me rather than actually requested. Luke fingered me nice and slow, locking eyes with me, almost demanding I look at him while he worked his magic. I loosened up and Luke’s pace increased, burying three fingers over and over as he finger fucked me.

I glanced toward the box of condoms lying nearby. He grinned mischievously. “You sure?” he asked, gripping his rock-solid cock, glancing at it to remind me of its abundant size.

I nodded, lifting my knees to my chin.

CHAPTER FIFTY: Luke

You can do this, Luke. Tate loves you and he wants this.

My inner voice was doing battle with my nerves. However, neither the voice nor the nerves influenced my penis. That was still hard as a rock. So far, my desire to make love to Tate was there, and with his loving guidance and my raging desire, I was doing well, according to him.

Three weeks of his support, as well as lessons about what we could do as sexual partners, had me firing on all cylinders. I craved sex with Tate. I couldn’t get enough sex with him, routinely suggesting we have it as often as I could. My endless desire to connect with him worked seamlessly with my urges.

Had I been asked a month ago whether I saw myself as a sexual being, I would’ve delivered a resounding no as my answer. Truthfully, sex frightened me, intimidated me, and unfortunately, at the time, disgusted me.

All those feelings went away when counseled by Tate. His advice, patience, and concern for my welfare first and foremost, allowed me to trust him and the act of sexual contact. And here I was three weeks later, and I couldn’t get enough sex.

I was in love with Tate. Of that, I had no doubt. And because of that, once the fear was replaced with trust, I wanted to show him I loved him, not only with my actions and my words, but through our sexual connection. It didn’t hurt that he woke things up in me that I’d never considered a possibility. One of those was that he wanted to be dominated by me in bed.

He’d explained it as wanting a sexual partner to lead, to be the power in the bedroom because he fantasized about being manhandled by a strong man. I was strong, I could do that. After several examples, a bit of instruction, and explanations of what two men could actually do together, I understood the mechanics of male-on-male sex and was more than willing to fulfill his wishes. I also had a few desires of my own.

---