Page 51 of Employing Patience

Joey’s head falls back against my shoulder. “That was …”

I hum because I know. Then I lift my pointer and middle fingers to his lips. “Suck.”

“Why?”

“Because in order to play with your prostate, I have to shove these up your ass.”

“But … but …”

I groan against his ear, pulling the lobe between my teeth. “If you don’t want me to, say no, and I’ll go back to using my tongue until you come. But if what you’re about to say is worry or concern about me playing with your ass for reasons other than you don’t want me to, I suggest you shut the fuck up and get my fingers nice and wet.”

And like I’d noticed earlier, Joey’s good at following orders. Every other interaction I’ve had with him, I never would have guessed, but the way he reacts so easily to my demands is fucking beautiful. His lips close over my fingers, and he sucks them like he was sucking my cock earlier. I give him a few seconds before pressing down on his tongue, and his mouth immediately floods with saliva.

“Perfect.”

Joey tenses against me as my fingers trail along his crease before reaching his hole. I keep one arm around his chest, but his ass is clenched too tight for me to do anything. I tilt my head to press a kiss to his temple.

“I know it’s different, but if you can’t relax, I can’t do any more. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know. I just …”

“Do you not want me to?”

“I sucked on your fingers like a goddamn lollipop. Yes, I want it. We’re just back to my body and brain being on different wavelengths that have apparently switched.”

“I can work with that.” His head being on board is the main thing. “Touch yourself. Slowly. Focus on getting to the edge.”

He wraps his hand around himself, and I trail kisses down the side of his face until the rest of his body loosens. Then I get to work. Gently, slowly. I wait until he’s ready before slipping my first finger inside. It’s clear he’s taken off guard by the intrusion, but he keeps on jerking off like I’ve directed, and I keep slowly fucking him with my finger. I take my time, stretch him out, let him sink back into that place where he’s feeling good and loose, then press the second finger in. He fights it a little more this time, but I wait him out, letting him adjust—and it’s a toss-up whether it’s his ass or his mind holding him back. It’s a different sensation, and sometimes it takes a minute to adjust. Sometimes it never happens.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before Joey is pliant in my arms again, strokes getting faster. I fuck him with my fingers, getting harder and deeper with every whimper until I feel it.

“Fuck, shit, damn, godshitting, holy fucks.”

I almost crack up laughing, but there’s nothing funny about the way Joey shudders and jerks off with purpose. He’s pushing back onto my fingers, moaning and writhing in my arms, and it’s the goddamn hottest thing I’ve seen in a long time. He’s pinned against me, straining in my hold, hips thrusting back and forth between my fingers and his fist, and I get completely swept up in the sounds he’s making. I kiss and lick along the column of his throat until I reach the dip of his shoulder. His skin is so soft and tempting and smells like him. My mouth closes over a spot, and I suck hard, determined to leave a mark.

“Nrg, Art.”

He comes for the second time tonight, and a deep satisfaction settles in my chest. Dark and possessive and addictive. The feeling passes, but even when I remove my fingers, even when Joey slumps back against me and I brush his sweaty hair off his forehead and look into his lust-drunk eyes, I crave it again.

He turns in my arms and laughs weakly, lifting a hand to his neck. “Did you give me a hickey?”

“Yes.”

“Little high school, isn’t it, Art?”

“This is nothing like an inexperienced accidental bruise.”

Surprise flickers over his face. “You did it on purpose.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to remember, at least for the next few days, every single thing about tonight. I want you to look at it and feel me behind you, my lips on your skin, and I want you to know that for tonight, you were mine.”

He doesn’t reply for a second, and my chest squeezes that maybe I’ve gone too far, but then that wild spark hits his eyes, and he leans in closer. “Tonight’s not over yet. How many more reminders do you think you can give me?”

15

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