Page 257 of Coach
A calloused hand planted itself between my shoulder blades as its twin wrapped around and held my stomach. Then he shoved, bending me over. My arms flew out and braced against the back of the couch. “Uh, Shane—”
Whatever I was going to say choked out, as the hand gripping and pressing me vanished, only toappear a heartbeat later, spreading my cheeks apart.
“Oh, fuck—” was all I could say before Shane’s face was buried inside my butt, his tongue spearing with the force of a Spartan spear, swirling and licking and lapping and . . .
“Jesus fucking Christ,” whooshed out of me as his tongue somehow found Stephen Tyler proportions, tickling my lungs or some other organ accessible via the asshole.
His hands squeezed, fingers dug. I could feel the marks forming on my skin, knew they would linger long after this moment—and the thought of wearing his marks sent another uncontrollable shiver up my spine.
Then he sat back, the warmth of his tongue slipping away.
I heard him spit.
Then his tongue returned, hungry and teasing and determined . . .
As his hand, now coated in saliva, reached around and gripped my pulsing shaft.
“Oh, fuck, Shane.”
He stroked slowly, teasing my head, making sure it was coated thoroughly with his spit. Shock waves of pleasure drove through me as the stroking and spearing and teasing wrapped me in a host of sensations and clouded my rational mind.
Shane let go and stood. “Don’t turn around,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”
I stared out the crack in the curtains covering his living room window. There were no neighbors near enough to see or hear a thing. Glimpsing his front yard and the workshop barely visible in the corner of his property, I saw a thick forest bordered the far end of his land, and the nearest home was several acres away and separated by tall wooden privacy fencing. I realized we could dance naked in the field out back and there wouldn’t be another person within a mile to see it.
That thought, pleasant as it might’ve been, would have to wait, as Shane’s presence filled the space behind me. I made to turn, but his hand gripped the back of my head, forcing me to continue facing away.
“You’re mine, Mateo Ricci, all mine.”
“I like the sound of that.”
He grunted in a way that told me he wasn’t smiling, at least not physically, though I was fairly certain he shared the excitement thrumming through me at what we were about to do.
And then he slipped his cock into my ass.
“Oh, mother fucking holy shit!”
It was just the tip, covered in a thin layer of rubber or latex or whatever the fuck dick gloves were made of. He didn’t shove it all in, but neither had heprepared me—not at all. And fuck, if the tip of his dick didn’t feel like sliding an aircraft carrier into my body.
“Breathe,” the word whispered into my ear, his hot breath a caress across my skin. “Relax and give yourself to me.”
I tried.
I really tried.
He squirted lube—the lube I hadn’t been able to see him carry into the room—and I felt wetness dribble down onto his cock and across my ass.
“Mmm,” he crooned. “So slick and hot.”
Okay, that rumble made my dick twitch so hard I thought it might try to break free and race through his yard.
Then he pushed.
“Oh, hell!”
Ever so slowly, more of him edged inside me. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me toward him. All the while, the man who rarely spoke guided us together with his voice.
“Let me inside you, Mateo.”
