Page 87 of The Club

I keep losing the sight because my eyes keep trying to roll back in my head. Fuck, this feels good. I don’t want it to end, but Rafael is started to get distressed. He’s hovering the edge, has been for a while.

I want him to learn to come on me in this position, but he’s not there. That’s okay. We’ll work on it. For now, I’ll take over.

He makes a sound of relief when I sit up and start maneuvering him onto his back on the wide leather footstool. My cock pops free in the repositioning. I get his legs up and shove back into him.

“Yesssss,” he breathes then moans as I start fucking him. With every thrust, his cock shifts against his abdomen, leaking. The second I fist his cock and rub my thumb against his tip, he comes.

I pound into him through his orgasm, taking in every sight and sensation as his ass clenches on my dick, as he strains and shouts, as cum leaps in creamy ropes from his cock to land on his chest and neck.

It’s too much, watching that, feeling him. I wanted to make him come again, but my body takes over. I rut him hard for a few more strokes before my balls seize and pulse. I cry out as my cock pumps out my release, filling him with my cum.

I pull out, watching some of it leak from him. I grab a towel from the end table and clean him up enough that he’ll be comfortable.

Then I throw a blanket on the couch and get him settled there with me. I turn the movie back on, this time keeping the volume low. We don’t get dressed and we never stop touching. It’s not long before we’re both hard again.

I make him get on his knees on the couch, facing the back of it. I shove inside him. My cock works noisily in his cum-filled ass. I lose myself in the sloppy plunge and the slap of flesh and the way he moans.

I hold back my orgasm with an effort, but the second he seizes on me, I let go and pump another load into him. When I pull out, I pull him into my lap and let him leak there. It’s so beautifully dirty.

I breed him twice more before I decide he needs to go to bed. It’s still early for him, but something about the sex is starting to upset him. It’s subtle. He’s trying to hide it, but I can tell.

We’re in the bathroom brushing our teeth when the tears start spilling down his cheeks. I don’t think he expects them because he looks startled and tries to wipe them away like maybe I won’t notice, like I’m not watching him like a hawk.

He bends down to spit out his toothpaste and rinse his mouth. When he straightens, he ties to leave, but I grab the back of his neck. He needs to wait for me. He yields and stands there while I finish up, but he won’t meet my eyes in the mirror.

I take him to bed.

“Fuck me,” he says as soon as we lie down.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

He huffs in frustration and rolls over, pressing his ass against my semi-hard cock. I ignore my arousal and tug him against me. Tremors are shivering through his body. I rub my thumb along his collarbone.

“Tell me.”

A puff of air escapes him. I think he’s trying to talk to me but doesn’t know where to start.

I ask, “Is it because we had … sweeter sex than usual?”

He makes a small sound of distress that tells me I’ve guessed right, but it also doesn’t really tell me anything.

“You didn’t like it?” I ask.

“I …” He trails off and stays silent for a while. I just wait, and he finally says, “I do better with rough.”

“I like that too. But we don’t always have to be that way. I enjoyed making love to you tonight.”

Somehow, the fact that he’s having trouble with this makes it easier for me to talk about it. I don’t know if I could, otherwise.

Rafael tries to be quiet, but I can feel some strong emotion shake through his body. When the worst of it passes, I ask, “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why does it hurt you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you. Answer me, baby.”

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