Page 37 of Benji

“No, I only want to come with your cock in me,” I said. “You got me close already and I want you buried inside me when I come.”

He grunted and flipped me over. I was a startled mess of limbs and surprise until he gripped my hips again and tongued a stripe over my arsehole. I gripped the bed covers and yelped, but then he drove his tongue into me.

I wanted to touch my cock so badly. I wanted to ease the ache, the urgency...

But I needed him inside me first.

“Nolan,” I bit out. “Fuck. Please.”

He fucked his tongue in and out faster, deeper, his hot breath almost sending me over the edge.

He was torturing me.

It was a myriad of everything wonderful andagonising desperation. Too much yet not enough, needing it to end and needing it to never stop. Wanting more and not sure I could handle it.

I fisted the bedding and splayed my hips, giving him better access. My cock hung heavy, painfully full, leaking.

I wanted to beg him, to plead, to get mad and lash out. Instead, it came out as a sob. “Please.”

His mouth was gone then, and I wanted to wail, to yell, and to weep. But then there was the click of a lube bottle and cool liquid dripped down my crack. Clarity, at last... Until he drove a finger inside me.

Oh, fuck yes.

One step closer but not close enough.

With one hand on my hip, he pulled me backwards onto his finger. I rocked back on it, my forehead pressed into the covers. “Please, Nolan. Please.”

In all my years as a rent boy, I’d mostly had to take care of prep myself. Most johns didn’t want the hassle or the inconvenience. A slap of lube and an intruding finger was all I was usually afforded.

But Nolan was making it part of the foreplay. He was making this good for me.

He was trying to kill me.

I was strung so tight, so desperate, I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take. “Okay, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will change my mind again, so help me god, Nolan.”

He chuckled. He actually fucking chuckled, and I tried to turn around to give him a piece of my frazzledfucking mind, but he pressed my shoulder down with one hand, held my hip with his other, and the blunt head of his cock met my hole.

“You’re so impatient,” he said, like he had all the time in the world.

I tried to rear back, tried to take him inside me, but he held my hip with more force now and he leaned over me. He grunted behind my ear, his cock pressing closer, almost... so fucking close.

“You said I can fuck you how I want to fuck you,” he grit out. “And I want to fuck you slow.”

I pressed my face into the soft bed covers and sobbed. That’s how much I needed it, and that’s how much he was denying me. That I was a sobbing fucking mess resorting to begging. “Please just do it. Please. Please.”

Then he pushed into me. Slow and breaching, sliding in, all the way in, every fucking inch. “That what you wanted?” he said, voice strained.

It was sheer perfection and everything I’d needed. The intrusion, the breach. The submission of it. The weight of his body on my back, the way his fingers still bit into my hip, how his breath stuttered.

It melted away the tension, the outside world, all the worries in my mind, until all that remained was this.

Him, me, his cock buried inside me. My body, his pleasure. Giving over that part of me while knowing I was the reason he was so turned on, that I could make him come.

The seduction of it all, that’s what I craved.

“You feel so good on my bare cock,” he whispered, kissing the back of my neck. “Fuck, you’re tight. So hot.”

God, yes. He was bare, no barrier between us.

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