Page 97 of Puck Struck
I back him against the arm of the couch, grinding against him, my cock straining against my pants. He thrusts his hips against mine, his dick so thick and hard. Tingles dance in my groin, my balls aching for this man. He's real. And now he knows all my broken pieces but he's still fucking here. With me. By my side.
His hands slide under my shirt, demanding fingertips tracing the cuts of muscle, and I groan into his mouth.
"We should—" I start to say, but he cuts me off.
"Don't think," he says, pulling my shirt over my head. "For once in your life, don't fucking think."
So I don't. I don’t worry that someone will walk past my office. I don’t worry that my heart feels damn close to exploding because I’m so crazy about him and I don’t know where all of this will lead. I forget about all of it, let him strip off my shirt, and run his hands over my chest and my shoulders. When he touches the scar from my past shoulder surgery, I stiffen, but he just presses his lips to it.
"It's okay," he murmurs. "I've got scars too."
He pulls off his own shirt, and in the soft glow of light, I see the cigarette burns on his chest, old belt marks across his ribs. The evidence of a childhood that should have broken him. Things I didn’t catch the first time we were together. Things he might not have even told me about then.
But everything is different now.
I trace the scars with my fingertips, and he shivers beneath my touch. "Bastard," I growl.
"Eh. Fuck him. He's dead," Cam says with a shrug before pressing his lips to mine again.
We fumble with the rest of our clothes, tearing open belt buckles, pulling off pants, stripping each other down, hands shaking with need and a surge of emotion. When I finally havehim naked against me, his skin flush against mine, I take a breath. His heart races, beating in time with mine.
"You okay?" he asks, bringing his hand to his lips. He runs his tongue over his palm and reaches for my cock.
I groan at the carnal sparks that shoot straight to my balls as he strokes my length. "Just... fuck, Cam. You're beautiful."
He laughs breathlessly, but it comes out shaky. "You're the first person to ever say that and mean it."
"Then everyone else was fucking blind."
I reach around him, then slide two fingers into his ass. His muscles tense and tighten as I work him open. We rock together against the soft leather, our mouths voracious, hands frenzied. He squeezes my cock then teases my slit as my fingers work him deeper. He trembles, gritting his teeth as he thrust backward against my hand.
But I don’t have his control. My dick throbs, precum pooling at the tip, and I let out a moan.
"Quiet," he whispers, grinning. "Your family's upstairs."
"Then you better not make me scream," I mutter, and his laugh turns into a groan when I pump him harder.
“Not so easy, is it?” I say, pulling my fingers out. I flip him around so we’re on our knees and he’s bent over the arm of the couch. I line my cock up with his tight hole and push into his heat. Christ, he feels so good. So right. I wrap one arm around his torso and pound into him with a fervor that even shocks me.
It's desperate and raw and nothing like controlled sex. This is messy and real and full of emotions I don't know how to handle.
"Please," he gasps. "Logan, please. Make me come."
I've never heard him beg, and the sounds he makes are so fucking erotic, they almost make me lose it right then. We move together with a growing urgency, connected on a levelI’ve never known before. My blood burns, white noise filling my ears as he pulls me deep. He throws his head back and bites his lip to keep from crying out when I hit his spot.
"Fuck," I breathe, overwhelmed by the heat of him. His ass squeezes me tight, like he’s trying to milk me of all the cum rushing to the top of my dick, and I stop, trying to hold it together for him. "Cam."
"Move," he demands, rolling his hips. "Please, just move."
So I do. I move like my life depends on it, like this might be the only time I get to have him like this. Every thrust is an apology for the years we both spent alone, every kiss a promise that we don't have to be alone anymore.
He quivers and stills, ropes of cum spilling over the sides of my hand. It’s only then that I let go and fill him with everything I have.
We fall against the couch, lying tangled together, sweaty and breathing hard. Cam traces lazy patterns on my chest while I play with his hair.
"That was..." he starts, then trails off.
"Yeah."
