Page 54 of Vine

Of course, Max being Max, we had to postpone giant-man-wang-related activities to brush our teeth. As foreplay it was novel, but, afterwards, he kissed me with anI’m going to rail you to Mars and backsort of kiss and I replied with alet’s get started then, shall wesort of kiss. Frankly, we could have stood side by side at the sink and shared the same fucking string of dental floss if that’s what got his juices flowing.

“I want you like this.” Like a caveman hauling home the kill of the day, he dragged me back to the bed. A rush of need spilled down my spine.Eviscerate me, daddy. “Facing me.”

Pillows plumped behind my head. A pristine bottle of lube appeared in my hand. At the end of the bed, in all his glorious nakedness, Max pointed to the lube. “You do it. I want to watch.”

His hand worked the end of his cock as I leisurely unscrewed the cap from the lube. I was in no hurry. If Max wanted me to put on a little show, a little show is what he’d get.

I drew one heel up to my arse, leaving my other leg loosely splayed. Lube dribbled from my fingers, and I circled my hole before glancing up at him, wide-eyed. “Like this, you mean?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Like that.”

As my fingertip breached, his own fingers tapped against each other. A heavy knee landed on the bed; he leaned forward to get a closer look. With my free hand, I pinched one of my nipples. As a rule, nipple play did zero, nada, zilch for me, though it startled a gasp from Max’s lips.

“You can take over, if you want.”

He shook his head. “No, I like watching you. I like watching your… fuck.”

Two fingers. He liked two fingers. For a man struggling with words, Max had a gift for articulating his desires. His eyes, stuck on my finger action, overflowed with filthy language. In up to the second knuckle, I nudged against my sweet spot, letting out an involuntary moan.

His other knee thumped onto the bed. A big warm hand soothed up the thigh of my outstretched leg, caressing my lean muscle. When his beard scratched along the same path, I arched up. Fleetingly, the heat of his breath scorched my skin before he pressed his mouth to my hard shaft.

“Christ, that’s so good, Max,” I praised, because, honestly, it really fucking was. If his big hand wasn’t clamped around my wrist, I’d have moved my own away to give him more room. Instead, he held it there, lapping at my shaft and controlling the speed at which I finger-fucked my own arse. If my meds weren’t putting the brakes on, I’d have come from the fucking glorious sucking, lapping, grunting noises alone. Max wanted me, I felt wanted, and it was the sexiest, most flattering thing out there.

Did condoms kill the mood? Not when Max slicked one on, sitting back on his haunches and easing it over his proud, swollen crown. Nor when he anointed it in lube, giving himself a couple of extra pulls. I drew my other leg back as he settled between them, wide open and ready for him. Very ready.

“Go easy on me, Max,” I whispered as the giant man wang edged closer. “It’s been a while.”

Oh god, he felt good. Nothing revealed a person’s true colours more transparently than allowing them to fuck you up the arse. Even more so when opening yourself wide to them during the worst storm of your life. From every angle and in every light, Max’s true colours were beautiful, entering me centimetre by centimetre, and so tenderly, even though each cell in his body must have been screaming to plough me into the middle of next week.

“Not enough,” he grunted, as all 15.9 centimetres, if my memory served correct, breached me. Like it weighed nothing, he hefted my leg up over his shoulder, bringing us impossibly closer still. A long, drawn-out, lustful moan escaped his lips.“Mm.Better.Now I’m where I want to be.”

Christ, I felt full. Like, I couldn’t move full. “Give me a second. It’s…”

“I’m bigger than average,” he reminded me.

“Christ, yes.” Shifting, I blew out a breath, and suddenly, everything felt more settled. “Better,” I gasped. “Fuck, so much better.”

Cradling me with his elbows, he swept back my hair and kissed my forehead. Not once, but over and over, like he was gathering up all the frayed edges of my soul and planting tender new seeds there. Or future promises.

“Tell me what to do,la mer Caspienne,” he whispered. “What you want me to do now.”

I want you to love me. To make love to me. Care for me. Kiss me like this every morning. Keep me safe.

I said none of that, of course. Instead, I sank into his earnest brown gaze and let it wash me clean of everything. “This is the best part, Max,” I whispered back. “Just close your eyes and move your hips.”

My sexual appetite—a weird phrase I was convinced no one ever said aloud but was appropriate here—was unaffected by my meds. I could get hard sitting on the inseam of my jeans. Achieving orgasm, however, was hit and miss. Quickly bored, Leigh gave up trying. Once he’d reached a satisfactory conclusion, I had a window of about thirty seconds to do the same.

Max, however, gave it his best shot without even knowing. I think the kissing did it. Sure, down below was swell—he fucked me like he’d been honing his technique on that steady line of twinks all afternoon. But the care he laid down alongside it had me shuddering. The way he rested his weight on his sturdy elbows above me. How he brushed my hair back from my forehead. His hooded dark eyes searching my face, silentlychecking all was well. His mouth, tasting every crevice of mine, his tongue, running along my jaw.

I came quietly—we both did, his release tipping me into mine. And then I was swept up in his arms, still panting, still hot and sweaty, still with him inside me.

“I’m making you better,” said Max quietly after we’d peeled ourselves apart and he’d disposed of the condom.

Snuggled against him once more, I gave an abbreviated laugh. “It doesn’t work like that, unfortunately.”

“But you feel better,” he insisted.

Loose-limbed, I stretched. A tugging ache down below reminded me it had been a while. “Well, yes, but… “

---