Page 93 of The Silencer

He reaches into a drawer and pulls out some lube, wetting his hand and stroking my cock once more, making me nearly squeal.

Oh my god, this never gets old. Why does this never get old?

He torments me this way for a solid minute, his hand shuttling slowly up and down my dick before his hand drags across my taint and through my crack. His fingers massage my hole, a dark chuckle moving through his chest when he hears me moan and watches the muscle flex under his ministrations.

“You like this? Of course you do. You’re so greedy.”

I nod, my cheek rubbing against the wood, sticking to some papers. But I don’t even care. I just want him to fuck me. I want him to take that big cock and shove it right inside of me. I want him to keep it up there for hours.

I’d cockwarm him any day.

But he doesn’t give me what I want. He spends what feels like hours teasing me, dragging his hand along my cock before pressing gently against my hole. Over and over again until I’m groaning mindlessly.

Begging.

Fuck me. Please. Please.

Finally after what feels like days, he pushes two fingers into my hole, and at this point, my body doesn’t even resist him. I just take him all the way to his knuckles, his wrist twisting inside of me. Searching. Hunting.

When he finally finds it, I come off the desk, my back bowing from the pleasure shooting through me.

“Anthony!” I shout, my fingers scrambling on the desk, trying to hold on to anything to anchor me. He chuckles again, his fingers massaging my prostate, not letting up until I’m fucking back against his hand, wanting more and yet never wanting this to end.

“Such a good boy for me,” he mutters as he continues to make me breathless.

His free hand cups my straining cock, and he starts to press in time with each stroke, making my eyes cross. I don’t last. Just come on a low moan, my throat closing on a gasp. I shoot directly onto the floor, the orgasm endless, but still, he doesn’t let up. He just continues to work my dick and my prostate until I’m crying out, begging for him to stop.

But he doesn’t. “You have one more for me,” he says, and I shake my head, still fucking back against his fingers.

I don’t know how he makes everything so good, especially as someone who’s apparently never had gay sex before. I’ve been with plenty of men, but none have been as skilled as him. None even compare.

Anthony is on a different planet altogether.

His fingers continue to pump my oversensitive dick and push against my swollen prostate.

“One more, Tatum. One more,” he demands.

I moan when I feel it, a low buzzing in my spine, moving quickly to my balls. They’re empty, and yet my second orgasm moves through me, a quick and painful thing. My cock jerks, cum spilling languidly over the tip and dripping to the floor. Anthony huffs in appreciation and then as my orgasm comes to an end, he pulls his fingers out of me slowly.

“Good. Good boy,” he says as his hand lets go of my softening cock.

I wet my lips, unable to move. I’ve never in my life had two orgasms like that. I feel like I lost my soul between the two. It’s puddled on the floor between my legs.

I feel him start to wipe me up and I don’t move, unable to, my body boneless.

I hear Anthony make a call and then the door opens, and still I just lie there, my bottom half exposed, my eyes shut.

“Ah, looks like you exhausted him,” Kingston says, his British accent full of amusement.

Anthony grunts and then pulls me up and into his arms, wrapping a blanket around me as he goes. He strides to the couch, and I nuzzle into his chest, feeling content and satiated for the first time in hours.

My hand moves up to his beating heart and I rest it there, letting myself drift off for a moment while Kingston and Anthony speak.

I’ll make sure I get him back, I think.

I’ll make him just as mindless as I was minutes ago.

As Kingston and Anthony converse, I eventually come to, blinking my eyes open and shifting uncomfortably on Anthony’s lap. I stretch and wet my dry lips, finding myself waking slowly.

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