Page 46 of Wild Obsession

“What are you— Ah!” he yelps as I lick my way down him.

My tongue explores his hard work, licking the delicate skin of his sac, his taint, his hole. His knees come up around me, caging me in, and his breaths scratch the stagnant, recycled hotel room air.

“Shit, that feels good,” he groans as I circle his rim. “God, that feels so fucking good.”

I know, but I’m not here merely for his pleasure. I also want to feel how he reacts. I want to test his resistance, see what happens when I push. I prod with my tongue, trying to get inside him, and Tim moans. I cling to his thighs as hearches, writhing in my hold.

He really does want this.

I keep expecting him to balk, but he’s dived into everything I’ve hit him with during this tour. He’s never once run, even here at the ultimate test of his desire.

I pull back enough to replace my tongue with my finger. Saliva gets the digit inside Tim easily, and those noises he makes certainly don’t sound like noises of complaint.

Soon, it’s me, not him, aching with impatience. I pull out of him, settling back so I can dump supplies out of my hoodie’s pocket, then discarding the whole garment as well as the shirt beneath it. It’s getting stifling in here, especially when Tim watches me stripping with glazed over, bluntly hungry eyes. His gaze traces every motion as I slick my fingers up properly and return to touching him. This time, I plant one hand on the bed so I can watch him react as my fingers squeeze into him. He takes the first one, but on the second one, he screws his eyes shut and arches on the mattress.

“You’re going to have to take a lot more than that tonight,” I say. “Still think you can handle it?”

“Yes,” he gasps, rocking his hips on my hand. “Yes, please, I can take more. Want more.”

Well, who am I to say no to that? I give him another finger, and while he winces, he doesn’t complain as it stretches him open. His body is hot around my fingers, his cock jutting at his belly as he squirms with desire. He pantsfor breath, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, those stupid freckles of his like starlight across his cheeks.

I pull my hand free and go for the supplies again. Tim sits up, and a brief flicker of worry streaks through me, but then he strips off his shirt and lies back down.

“Turn over,” I say.

“I want to look at you,” Tim says.

That does something weird to me, something I’m not willing to think about right now. “No,” I say instead. “Turn over or it’s not happening. It’ll be better for you this way.”

Tim’s eyebrows go up, and I realize what I just said. “Better for him,” as though I care. Well, maybe I do, at least insofar as I’m not a complete dickhead who wants to simply get my orgasm and bounce.

“Just do it,” I snap.

Tim finally responds, clambering up and getting on his hands and knees. I strip off my pants, working fast, trying to hold onto the frenzy enabling this ill-advised night, the frenzy papering over all the things I’m trying not to think about. I stand up on my knees behind him, taking him by the hips to position him how I want. Tim doesn’t resist, doesn’t even do the nervous thing of looking behind him. He simply … gives himself to me, utterly trusting.

I can’t stand it.

I have to steady myself more than I have to steady Tim when I stroke lube onto my cock and press the head against him. He sucks in a breath, but doesn’t squirm away, lettingme test this final boundary. He stretches open around me, surprisingly receptive for a guy doing this for the first time. I marvel as his body relents to let the head inside, his tight hole squeezed around me.

And then I pause, and both of us simply breathe.

My head is spinning. I set out to mess with this guy, and now I’m inside him, and he’s hot and tight and wanting and it already feels incredible. I give him more, perhaps not waiting as long as I should, but Tim just groans and groans as more of me pushes in. I pause when he has most of me, overcome by the heat, the pressure, the reality of the moment.

“Christ,” I breathe. Then I realize how fond that might sound, so I add, “This virgin hole is so fucking tight.”

Tim moans, clutching at the comforter. He’s hard, which I have to admit is impressive. Some guys don’t get hard from bottoming, but we are evidently unlocking something deep and primal within Tim tonight. And it isn’t only him. I haven’t been worked up like this in a long damn time. Sex is often quick and necessary and mercenary for me, but I could stay like this, clutched inside his body, so warm and held, for the rest of the night. All the hard edges between us have fallen away, leaving us stripped down to our most blunt humanity.

“Move,” he groans. The words don’t register at first, so unexpected, so needy. “Move,” he pleads again. “Please, Keannen, this is torture.”

Torture. It’s torture not to have my cock fucking him. My hands grip his hips tighter as a spasm of desire flickers through me — then I give him what he wants.

He moans as I drag back, but the cry he lets out when I push in is worth every second of that eight-year-long silence I endured. I go slow, working against the tightness of his body, but he cries out every time all the same. The pressure yields inch by inch. I watch my cock disappear more deeply and swiftly inside him, his greedy hole taking me in so eagerly.

“God, God, shit,” he chants like some sort of choir boy gone tragically wrong.

He starts moving his hips, workingwithme to get more of me pounding into him, and my mind goes blank at the sight. I could be the virgin here with how vertigo swirls through my head as Tim gleefully works himself along my cock instead of merely taking me.

“Greedy,” I snarl, fighting for some semblance of control.

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