Page 60 of Oz
I move up and down, kissing him frantically and feeling his hands come down to my bum. He grabs both of my arse cheeks, squeezing them hard, lifting me and thrusting into me from underneath. I can feel the muscles in his arms shifting and bunching and I pull back enough to watch his torso move.
Sweat drips from me to him and he takes my mouth again, his hands on my arse tightening almost painfully. His cock shuttles in and out of my hole, catching on the rim, and he begins a series of short, battering thrusts that graze my prostate and make sparks dance in front of my eyes.
My cock bobs between us, rock hard with pre-come sliding steadily down it, and I lower my hand.
“Yes,” he grunts. “I’m nearly there. Do it. I want your come all over me. Squeeze that hole for me.”
I grunt and rub down in tight circles and he shouts out. His hands squeeze tight as he forces himself upwards, losing his rhythm as he gets close, and the knowledge sears through me as I jerk myself furiously, feeling myself getting close.
“Silas,” I shout, and he gives a deep guttural groan, his hips stuttering as he goes deep once, twice, and three times. The knowledge that he’s coming acts like a match and I rut down furiously. He bats my hand away from my cock, flicking it as he does, and the slight pain sets me off.
I lean back, bracing my hands on his thighs, pistoning on his dick as he jacks me. His eyes are riveted between my legs and the glaze in them makes the heat burst. I cry out and watch through slitted eyes as he angles my cock so that my spunk pumps all over his stomach and chest, droplets glistening in the hair.
Then I collapse back on him and we both sit, slumped and covered with come and sweat. After a few minutes he levers me up, holding onto the edge of the condom, and I clutch at him, muttering an obscenity. He laughs.
“I’m just going to get a towel, Pika,” he says, his voice sex-deep and hoarse. “Let me take care of you.”
He ties the condom off and chucks it into a rubbish basket and then I gasp as he lifts me up and walks me over to the bed. I cling for a second as he lowers me, and he chuckles as he drops me with a bounce. I watch as he moves towards a door which I presume is a bathroom. The moonlight limns his body, highlighting the wide shoulders and long legs and his full, tight arse.
I shudder and look around the room, trying to concentrate on that and not how my body is thrumming with a bone-deepsatisfaction that I can feel to my toes. I’ve never felt like this before. Wrung out and utterly replete.
He returns, padding across the floorboards, and I lay back into the mattress, moving my body languidly as he directs me. He cleans me with a single-minded focus and gentle hands. When he’s finished, he tosses the towel towards the bathroom and slides into bed.
“I should go,” I say slowly, suddenly aware that I’m lounging in his bed like I own the fucking thing. Any minute now he’s going to roll over and direct me to the spare room the way James did, claiming that I was too fidgety to sleep with.
I open my eyes as a sudden breeze blows around the room, ruffling the bed curtains. I sniff. “Can you smell something sweet? It’s like pipe tobacco and leather.”
He pulls me towards him. “That’s Lionel.”
I jerk. “Really?” I pause. “Oh my God, I smelt that in my room when I was–” I come to a stop and he immediately looks interested.
“Oh, do go on. This sounds interesting.”
I prod him. “I was using my dildo, okay?”
He looks like he’s had a revelation. “Was that the night I heard you shout my name?”
“Shut up.”
He laughs. “No, really. Give me the full details. I love a good bedtime story.” He pauses. “Only be really,reallymeticulous with the details.”
I shake my head, looking around the room warily, half expecting a drunken peeping tom ghost to step out. “Has that dirty old git been here all the time?”
He snorts. “Probably. And now he wants you to sleep in here with me.”
“Oh, he does, does he?” I say wryly. “Does Lionel also want me to cook breakfast in the morning and wash your clothes because his needs seem to coincide with yours?”
He laughs. “We’re kin, Oz. It’s inevitable.” He sighs heavily and manoeuvres me onto my side. He throws his arm over me and snuggles up to me. “For the record, Lionel wants bacon and eggs in the morning with orange juice.”
“You and Lionel will get a cold shoulder and a sharp tongue,” I say, using my mum’s old saying and hearing the Irish brogue in my voice.
“I’ll take anything you want to give,” he says sleepily, his voice deep and warm in the dim room.
Within minutes he’s asleep, and I lie for a few minutes, feeling the scratchiness of his chest hair rubbing down my back. His leg is pushed between my own and I send my toes exploratively down his shin, then I wriggle, feeling his cock and balls damp and soft against my bum.
“I’ll never fall asleep like this,” I whisper. “I can’t sleep with anyone. I’ll go in a minute.” I smell the tobacco and leather on the air again, mingling with the brine of the sea, and with the suddenness of a child I slip into the peaceful darkness of sleep as if someone has pressed a button.
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