Page 20 of Billion Dollar Love: Manlove Edition

“Carlos, you’re not gonna come before I get a chance to fuck you, right?”

“N-no.” He doesn’t sound confident.

I ease off and smile up at him. I delicately unbutton his shirt with one hand, accenting the roughness of my grip on his cock. “You do want me to fuck you, right, Sweetness?”

He nods carefully.

“Good.” I jerk him away from the door. He’s only worked his way out of one of his shoes, but I don’t care.

He sits in the chair where I push him, meekly offering his chest when I sit on his lap and tear at the buttons on his shirt. I kiss him, and he absorbs the attack with a frantic gasp and a helpless surrender. He tentatively touches my thighs, his fingers brushing too lightly. He wants to move them to my ass, but he’s afraid.

He needs to be gently caressed. He deserves a slow tasting and extended foreplay. But I’ve got to push him harder. The limit to his compliance can’t be far now. He’ll buck under this assault, soon. He’s too skittish.

After I expose his chest, I squeeze hard at his nipples, and he jolts underneath me, nearly throwing me. He mumbles an apology into my mouth and braces himself in the chair. I laugh at him and do it again, harder. He hisses at the pain and looks up at me, startled and blushing.

Don’t let him recover. Push him harder.

I lift out of his lap, grinding my cock against his chest. Then grab his hair and bring his mouth into my crotch. He moans and obediently tongues at the bulge in my jeans, caving in his broad chest to better service me.

Between my spread thighs, I can see his cock straining against his jeans. He wants me. Christ, he wants me.

I see suddenly how Mr. Ito does it. It’s in that pause, that small, “Okay?” He acknowledges the unwillingness, the boundary he’s pushing. But his casual request for consent forces his lover to reconsider. It says: if this is okay, sex will continue. If it’s not, you’re alone with your maddening lust. His lovers surrender all control because of that terrible loneliness. His lovers deny their own humanity, become objects only for his pleasure. He can do it because he doesn’t permit the softness of compromise, only offers a lonely retreat.

I can do that to Carlos. With the right words, I can make him my slave, but I … I don’t want that. Do I?

I pull him out of my crotch and stand, holding his hair and give him the slightest tug. If he doesn’t move with me, his hair will slip through my fingers.

Just how Mr. Ito does it.

But like in the improv games we play, Carlos comes easily. No pain, only subjugation. I propel him toward the bed, push him to his knees before the mattress.

Don’t give him time to think. Make him bolt.

When I follow him down, he gives a little cry and resists—God, he’s so strong—then collapses face first to the mattress. The position sticks his plump ass in the air, even more so when I rake my nails over his back—God, he’s been working out. I tug his shirt over his head. I bow over him, grind over his ass, suck on his neck.

Carlos pants and stiffens and shrinks under the burning heat of this lust.

I bite his ear. He flinches off the mattress, then braces himself. I wrap my hand around his tie, choking him, and he bucks back to loosen my hold. I grip tighter, fighting the instinct to release him and apologize.

He’s close to running. Don’t give him an out, and he’ll have no choice.

Has any Dom ever been so driven to force resistance? With my free hand, I pull his jeans and his boxers off his ass. His skin is lighter here than the rest of him, but still with the soft tan as if the sun kissed him all over at birth and permanently touched even the parts where it would never see again. His cheeks flex tightly, afraid of this imminent invasion. I squeeze hard, enjoying the give of flesh that’s impossibly sexy to me because it’s so foreign to my own skinny body.

He wriggles away from my fierce grip.

Soon. Break soon, Sweetness, or you’re gonna break me.

I resist the impulse to turn the grope into a caress by grinding my cock against his leg. He doesn’t fight.

Moment of truth.

I slip back and unzip my pants.

He freezes at the sound.

I pull out my cock and stroke it loudly, watching him intently.

His cheeks are clenched tight, his shoulders tensed, his hands fisted. He’s holding his breath. So afraid of me. But his cock—Jesus Christ—he’s so hard.

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