Page 46 of Best Man
One hand holds me firmly by the hip while the other plays, adding another finger and then another, the lube making an obscene noise in the still room. Our panting breaths are loud as I start to ride his fingers, forcing them in further and crying out as he crooks them and massages my prostate.
“Oh shit,” I gasp, pressing my forehead into his shoulder. “That’s so good.” I look up at him to find him examining me. His colour is high, and his eyes are almost dazed. “Want you to fuck me, Zeb,” I whisper and his eyes flare.
He pulls his fingers out slowly and I moan at the loss. He hitches me up slightly, and I hear the snap of the rubber before he lowers me again, and his cock nudges my entrance. For a second, I blanch at the thought that it’s much bigger than his fucking fingers.
“We’ll go easy,” he says hoarsely as if he’s read my mind. “Tell me to stop and I will, darling.”
For a second we both still at the endearment. He looks shell-shocked, while I feel a wide surge of pleasure. I want him to call me that again and again in that hoarse voice. I wriggle, bringing his mind back to the task, and then I feel his cock start to enter me.
It hurts. More than usual, but then he’s big. However, I’m one of those men who love the burn. I like to feel the pain as I stretch around him because the pleasure afterwards always feels more intense.
I grit my teeth and bear down on him as he slides slowly into me until finally my backside meets his lap, and I feel the crinkle of his pubic hair.
We hang there for a second panting and twitching. I wriggle experimentally, and he groans.
“Alright?” he asks gutturally, and I nod, too overcome to find my words. Instead, I pull his head towards me and kiss him feverishly. At first, he stays still, apart from the movement of his mouth, and then gradually he starts to thrust upwards in gentle movements like the tide. I’m sitting on him, my backside tucked neatly into his lap and stuffed full of cock, and it’s almost overwhelming,
Then his cock brushes my prostate, and I shout out loud, which acts like petrol on the fire for him. He seizes my mouth in a fierce and dirty kiss, our teeth clashing. He pulls back. “Okay?” he asks through gritted teeth, and I nod furiously, starting to ride him, lifting up so that his cock almost comes out and hovering there, feeling it stretch my rim and then pushing down so it tunnels back in.
His hands bracket my hips, digging in so hard I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow, and I revel in it. He pushes upwards, a powerful movement that makes me cry out and writhe in his lap, and he begins a series of punishing thrusts. His cock feels like a steel pole in me, and my own dick lets out a spurt of liquid, painting his stomach as he hits my prostate almost continuously.
The room is full of the sounds of grunts and moans and the scent of sex is heady in the air. I grab my cock and start to jerk it, feeling the tingle in my balls. “Fuck, I’m close,” I groan. “Oh shit. I can feel it.”
I cry out as he suddenly grabs my hips and levers me up so that he slips out of me.
“What are youdoing?” I moan. “I need you in me.”
“Get up,” he grits out. His eyes are blind and sweat drips down his face. “Bend over the sofa. I need to pound that arse.”
“Oh God, yes.” I jump up frantically and bend over the sofa, burying my face in the cushions. My scream is therefore buried in them as he pushes back into me. He pistons in and out, starting up a punishing rhythm with the only goal being for us to come.
I hang over the sofa, my hair in my face and sweat stinging my eyes as the cushions rub against my cock.
“I’ve dreamt of doing this,” he whispers hoarsely. “Seeing you bent over like this.”
“Me too,” I whimper. “Oh shit, Zeb, touch me.”
He sends one arm over my chest, pulling me up and bracing me against him as he fucks into me in fierce choppy thrusts, while the other slides down and his rough hand circles my dick. I’m leaking a lot now, and he groans as the liquid coats his palm. I cry out as his fist forms a tight slippery tunnel, and he shoves into me hard.
I don’t even have time to say anything. Instead, I cry out and, feeling my balls draw up, I shoot over his hands, spurts of come filling his fingers and slicking his palm. He moans as the sharp scent rises between us and he gives one thrust, two thrusts, and a third. Then he goes rigid, pushing his cock up so far it’s like he’s trying to climb inside me. He lets loose a guttural shout, and I feel warmth flood the condom inside me.
For a few minutes, we hang over the sofa panting. His hips move in tiny thrusts, as he rides out his orgasm, and we both twitch occasionally as pleasure flares and burns away.
Eventually, he sighs. “Holy fucking shit.”
Incredibly, I start to laugh, and he grunts as it tightens my passage around his cock, probably painfully.
“You can say that again,” I mutter. “Did you pay a damage deposit? Because I think this sofa needs reupholstering now.”
He starts to laugh and we stay there for a second, his arms warm around me and his laughter like bright spangles in the dark. It’s oddly wonderful.
Eventually, we half walk and half stagger to the bed and collapse into it without saying another word, but the silence is somehow comfortable. He pulls the covers over us and I take the opportunity to snuggle into him. For a second, he’s rigid as if surprised, and then I’m gratified to feel his arms tighten around me.
He kisses the top of my head, and we lie quietly, neither of us seemingly inclined to question what just happened. Suits me because a reckoning is no doubt on the horizon.
Zeb’s phone beeps, and I groan as he removes his arm from around me and reaches for it amongst the tangle of clothing I threw by the bed. Looking at the screen, he huffs. “Jesus Christ.”
I raise my head from its spot on his hairy chest. “What?”
