Page 55 of Getting It Twisted

I grab both his ass cheeks, kneading them as he grinds down on me. “At the very least, you’re my hole. My slut.”

He’s hard already, and his small, desperate whimper makes my own cock twitch and swell. He gets hold of the bottle of lube on the nightstand and squeezes a dollop onto his fingers. Then he reaches behind himself, and . . .

“Shit.” It’s my turn to hiss as he pushes his fingers inside himself. I’m rock-hard in seconds as he looks down at me, cheeks flushed, wanton need written all over his features.

He seems desperate to do it—desperate to get my cock inside him. He ruts against me, whining and gasping. Then he pulls his fingers out and grabs the base of my cock, sliding the sensitive crown along his tight, puckered hole.

“Condom,” I grit out.

He shakes his head. “Want you to fuck me raw. Wanna feel your cum inside me.”

“We can’t. It’s not . . . it’s not safe.”

“Why, you think I’m some disease-ridden whore?”

I try to scoff, but it comes out more of a groan as the tip of my cock nudges against his opening. Given his recklessness when it comes to . . . well, everything, a lack of protection would hardly be the worst of his missteps.

“For your information,” he says, “I tested myself before I came here.”

“And?”

“AndI’m fine.” He lines himself up and bears down.

“But I haven’t . . . ,” I say, teeth gritted, having to muster up all my self-control not to grind upward, “. . . gotten tested.” I had it done before Lydia and I got together, but since then I’ve lackedboth the time and the headspace. Because of . . . reasons. The reasons being mostly Nathan.

“I don’t care. Fuck me. Now.” The words are raw in his throat, teetering on the edge between a command and a plea. He aligns our bodies, breaching himself on the head of my cock. Eyes closed, he ruts his hips, burying my cock inside him. He seems lost in another world—a perfect world of blissful pleasure. His mouth falls open, and his eyebrows pinch, the tousled locks of his hair bouncing as he moves.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers.

It’s done. There’s no more use in acting prim and proper, because apparently Nathan is depraved enough to override all semblance of safety, and with the next rut of his hips, he snaps the already thin thread of my sanity as well.

I grip his buttocks harder, kneading them in the back-and-forth motion. “You like my cock that much, huh?”

“Like it? I fucking love it. Love everything you do to me.”

“Oh yeah?” In one swift motion, I flip him over, and he lands on his back with a huff. With my knees under his thighs and my hands on his hips, I gain a better position to really hammer into him. Slow and deep at first, making him moan. Then fast and rough, my balls slapping against his quivering ass. I want to stretch him wide open, fuck him so hard he’ll always feel me.

Arm muscles straining as I pull him back and forth on my cock, I shift my hips, trying to hit his prostate.

His eyes widen as his cock twitches and dribbles with precum. “Oh god.”

“Yeah, there you go.”

“Wanna come,” he whines, meeting my thrusts so desperately our skin slaps with obscene sounds.

“Go ahead, baby.” The term of endearment comes out without warning, and why did it feel so right?

I want to see just how much his pretty little ass can take. I want to fuck him until he’s a ruined, sweaty mess, until he’s covered in my nail and bite marks. I want to fuck him until he’s too exhausted to string two words together.

And I want to fuck him until he’s mine, through and through.

But my what?

My friend? Well, we’re way past that. Boyfriend? I don’t know. All I know is I want him to stay, and I don’t want him to suffer except by my hand.

I don’t want to find him on the kitchen floor again. I need to make sure he’s safe, away from this haunted, horrible house where he endured so many horrible things.

He needs someone to take care of him. He should be in my bed, in my arms, where no one can harm him and none of our pasts can come back to haunt us.

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