Page 86 of A Boy Called Lovesong

Then almost all the way out again…

Then in all the way once more…

Again and again.

I kissed him hard, biting his lower lip and drawing blood which ran away in trickles of rain.

Lovesong didn’t even register the bite as he thrust his cock in and out, building up a pounding rhythm.

The rain pummeled down.

It cascaded over our shoulders and coursed over our heaving chests.

Lovesong’s stomach muscles flexed as he pushed himself inside me time and again.

I grunted with bliss as my body slid up and down on Lovesong’s shaft, his manhood filling me, the two of us becoming one.

My back rubbed against the mossy tree, my thigh muscles burning as my legs tightened their grip around Lovesong’s waist.

When his lips left mine, we both knew we were about to come.

The grinding of his hips against my ass—the thrust and lunge of his large cock swelling inside me—took me swiftly toward the brink of orgasm.

It was enough to make me quake with rapture.

Thunder rumbled and I threw my head back against the tree, gripping Lovesong as tight as I could as cum launched from my cock and splashed over his muscled, rain-soaked abs.

At the same time, Lovesong whispered against my cheek, “I’m coming… I’m coming…”

He followed those words with a short, sharp cry.

A moment later, I felt a rush of heat inside me as Lovesong clenched his jaw, pushed himself high onto his toes, and unleashed a flood of cum into the condom.

He hunched his shoulders into me.

His entire frame quivered.

And as the rain washed over us, we let the throes of ecstasy ripple through our entwined bodies.

When the rain dissipated and the crickets began chirping, Lovesong dressed himself then me, pulling on my pants and feeling his way up my shirt, buttoning it back up, his fingers taking care to get each button in the right hole.

His own shirt hung loose, wet and open over his muscled frame, having lost all of its own buttons.

But Lovesong didn’t seem to give a damn at all.

Through the parting clouds the moon revealed itself, its pale blue light peering at us through the trees.

I watched Lovesong’s handsome face as he concentrated on the buttons, his eyes unseeing, his perceptive fingers doing all the work.

“How does it feel?” I asked, my voice gentle, curious.

“How does what feel? Your shirt? It’s kinda swampy if I’m honest.”

I laughed. “Not the shirt. How does it feel, not being able to see.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I ain’t ever been able to see, so I guess it don’t feel any different to everything I’ve always known.”

“Whatdoyou see?” I suddenly realized how intrusive that question sounded. “I’m sorry. That’s rude of me, I shouldn’t—”

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