Page 38 of Something Borrowed

I’m dimly aware that I’m already breaking our rule of nothing serious, but I can’t focus due to the throbbing of my cock. My need for him is like my need for air. The desperation of it should make me pull away. But I don’t.

I hear rustling, and then a packet is placed in my hand. “You deal with the lube,” he says. “I’ll get the condom.”

After pushing my jeans and briefs to my knees, I tear open the packet with my teeth and squeeze the contents into my palm.

As I warm the lube between my hands, I feel Raff step closer. I gasp sharply as he rolls the condom on me. He’s slow and teasing, like he is with so much else in life. He grips my length, holding it loosely as if prompting me. I wait for a second, then give in and arch into his knowing grip. He immediately tightens it, and I shuttle in and out, fucking his hand until it’s too much.

“This will be over before it’s even started,” I warn.

He grunts in agreement.

“Bend over the sofa,” I instruct.

There’s a rustle of movement, and I put my hand on his back to centre myself. His skin is damp with sweat and hot to the touch. I skim my hand down, admiring the wiry strength and litheness of the body under my fingertips, and then, with one hand holding his cheeks open, I find his hole and rub the lube into it, stretching him slowly and thoroughly and ignoring his whispered pleas. My heart is hammering in my chest, and my blood feels like it’s burning in my veins.

Finally, he shoves my hand away. “Now,” he orders.

I grab his cheeks, spread them, and notch my cock against his hole. I push gently inside, taking it slow as I work against the muscle. Finally, I bottom out, feeling his skin hot against mine.

We both go still and groan. My head is reeling, and I wonder if he feels the same astonishment and awe that we’re finally doing this.

I wait a few seconds for him to say something, but he’s quiet as he begins to undulate against me. Slow at first, as if testing the fullness, and then a little faster.

My cock rubs over his prostate, and he jerks in my arms. “Ah, god, yes. Shit, Stan, you feel so fucking good.”

“You do too,” I say hoarsely, both hands holding on to his hips as if supporting myself. Ineedthe support. I’m dizzy and lightheaded, all my attention on the snug, hot clasp of him around my cock.

I try a thrust, and he cries out. I slow, checking if I’ve hurt him, but his groan of pleasure is a green light.

I push at his hips, widening his stance before I pull all the way out. It takes an effort to leave the tight clasp, and he makes a disgruntled sound as I pause. Then he shouts when I shove in again. Hard.

I can go deep in this position, and the sound of his desperate cry makes me flush hot all over. “Take it,” I mutter, shuttling in and out, gripping his shoulders and feeling his buttocks bounce against me as I hit home. He moves suddenly and I realise that he’s raising his legs so the sofa’s back supports him. I grab for his thighs, holding him steady, lean back and thrust again, and he goes completely rigid, goosebumps breaking out on his skin under my fingers.

“Fuck me right there,” he begs.

I push against that sweet spot inside him, rubbing over it with the edge of my cock while he shivers and whines.

The sound of our groans and grunts echoes around me, the scent of sex and sweat filling my head. I’m holding him too tight, and I’m probably bruising him, but I can’t care, because I know he wants it. He’s pushing back at me just as hard, begging me to go faster, deeper. So I do, gripping the back of his neck as I hammer into him.

My balls tingle, and I know I’m close. I need the length of his body—all of him—tighter and closer. I clasp his midsection, raising him from the sofa. My cock goes impossibly deeper, and he jerks as if he’s been electrocuted.

I feel for his face and tug gently until he turns it to me. Then, cupping his chin with my fingers and tracing his lips, I lean in and kiss him.

Everything slows as though time is dipped in treacle. We kiss with tongues and choked groans, and I trail my fingers along hissharp jaw and down his neck. And then, with my hand over his chest, holding him firmly, I start thrusting again.

I can hear the meaty thwaps of flesh meeting flesh, and I revel in them. With Raff, I’m more free than I’ve ever been. I can be completely unrestrained with him, because he knows every sharp edge in me.

He raises his arms and I feel his hands twine around the back of my neck. His body arches, and I skim my hand down his chest, tweaking and pulling at his nipples until he cries out.

Then I lower my hand, spreading my fingers through his wiry bush. I grip his dick, and it feels like an iron bar in my hand, the tip sticky with seed. I speed up, my thrusts banging into him while I shuttle my hand over his cock, the trace of lube and precome making him slippery.

His whole body tightens against mine, and he gasps, “Coming. Fuck I’m coming.”

He gives a long, stuttered groan, and his cock pulses in my hand, coating my fingers with wetness. Bringing my hand up, I suck on the digits and groan at the taste of him. It only takes a couple more thrusts, and then my balls tighten, and I come seemingly endlessly, emptying myself into the condom.

We collapse against the sofa in a flurry of damp limbs and sighs and?—

“I’ve donethe window display, Stan.”

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