Page 32 of Playing with Fire

The request sent another aftershock of pleasure through me. Trembling, I squeezed some more lube on my fingers and carefully slid them back into the tight heat of his body. His cock jerked hard at the sensation, another surge of pre-cum spilling onto his stomach.

"God, Xavier," I whispered, awestruck by the intimacy of the act.

Through the haze of my release, I somehow managed to keep my fingers moving inside Xavier, targeting that spot that made his cock jerk and leak.

When my vision cleared, Xavier was watching me with hungry eyes, his own arousal evident in the flush spreading across his chest, the hard length of his cock against his stomach. I curled my fingers deliberately against his prostate, watching as his cock twitched and leaked.

Xavier's breathing had become ragged, his usual control slipping slightly as I continued to work that sensitive spot inside him.

"Keep your fingers right there," he commanded, voice tight with restrained pleasure. "Don't move them. Just press hard when I tell you to."

I nodded, watching in fascination as he wrapped his own hand around his cock. The sight of Xavier Laskin taking control of his own pleasure while using my fingers as a tool sent heat rushing through me all over again.

“Fuck, I’m going to come so hard…” His cock looked impossibly hard in his grip, flushed a deep red at the head, veins standing out prominently along the shaft. "Now," he ordered suddenly, his eyes locking with mine. "Press hard. Right there."

I pushed firmly against his prostate, exactly where he'd shown me earlier. Xavier's back arched, a low groan escaping him as his hand sped up. His muscles clenched tight around my fingers as he worked himself closer to the edge.

"Harder," he gasped. "Milk it out of me."

I increased the pressure, massaging the sensitive spot with firm, circular motions. The crude command coming from Xavier's usually precise mouth sent another jolt of arousal through my spent body.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hips lifting off the bed. "Right there. Don't stop. Oh, fuck. Leo…”

He groaned, my name sounding like both a command and a plea on his lips. Then he was coming, thick white ropes shooting up his stomach and chest, some reaching as high as his collarbone. I'd never seen so much cum from one person before—the evidence of how rarely he allowed himself this release. Each pulse seemed to draw more out as I continued massaging his prostate, his body clenching rhythmically around my fingers.

The intensity of his orgasm left him breathless, his chest heaving as the last tremors subsided. When I started to withdraw my fingers, his hand shot out to grip my wrist.

"Not yet," he said, voice hoarse. "Just hold still for a moment."

I did as instructed, watching in awe as he slowly came back to himself, his breathing evening out, the flush gradually receding from his chest. Only when he gave a slight nod did I carefully withdraw my fingers.

He reached up and pulled me down until our foreheads touched, his hand cupping the back of my neck.

A knock at the door froze us both.

"Xavier? Leo? I made nachos if you boys are hungry!"

Xavier's head dropped back against the headboard with a frustrated groan, his entire body tensing. "Not now, Mom!"

"Are you sure? They're still hot and I got that good queso you like..."

"We're busy!" Xavier's voice had a dangerous edge that would have terrified anyone who knew him well.

There was a pause, then: "Oh! Oh, gotcha. Well, there are condoms and lube in the bathroom cabinet. The good stuff, water-based. And remember, consent is sexy!"

I froze, mortified. The heat of embarrassment spread through me like wildfire, clashing violently with the intimacy of moments before.

"Mom. Jesus Christ. Go away."

"I'm going! Just stay hydrated! And maybe put a sock on the door next time?"

I couldn't help it. The laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest, hysteria mixing with relief. The absurdity of the situation—of being caught like this, of Xavier's mom offering sex advice through the door—broke through the tension like a sledgehammer.

"Not funny," Xavier growled, but I could feel him fighting back a smile, the muscles of his jaw working against my temple.

"It's kinda funny," I whispered, pressing a kiss to his neck. His skin tasted like salt and smoke, a flavor I was quickly becoming addicted to.

I carefully set about cleaning us both up. Xavier looked equal parts frustrated and amused.

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