Page 25 of Midsummer Phoenixes
“Let me be on my belly,” I said. “Earlier, you talked all about how you wanted to put your cock inside me.”
Soyer let me turn over, tossed the pillows away so they wouldn’t bother me, and bit my neck.
“Amory. I always want that. Hmm, let’s see.”
With one hand on my hip, he got me into position, propped up by one of the pillows he had discarded, my arms in front of me.
This, exactly this, was what I had imagined gay sex was like, back when I’d still lived at home. Back then, I couldn’t conceive of much else, just knew, deep down, that I wanted to, even if it was difficult to admit, at least early on. I’d been scared of my desires. By some miracle, I’d just been more scared of getting rid of them, and maybe, just maybe, getting kicked out had been better in the end than staying in that house longer to be told—over and over—that I was broken, dirty, aberrant.
“You think very loudly,” Soyer said, kissing a path from my neck along my spine.
“I’m just happy everything worked out. I’m happy. Though I’m also sorry about almost burning down the Moonlight, but the sum total of my life, especially including meeting you, is very positive.” Soyer bit my butt cheek. “Hey!”
“Amory, I’m about to fuck you until you cum on my pillow. Is a little bit of sexy talk too much to ask? I’ll take moaning, even. You can just be quiet and moan into the mattress while I rail you. Gently.”
I shivered. “Okay.”
“Good.”
Soyer kissed me just above my crack. I trembled while at the same time tensing, really not wanting him to kiss further south, not before I’d taken a shower and soaped that area properly.
Soyer, generally less bothered by messy things, sighed but didn’t comment nor push my comfort zone. He walked toward the side table on his knees to grab his lube. Once in position, I felt his slick fingers on me.
“You know, I could do this all day long,” he said. “Just eat and fuck, eat and fuck. Maybe it would get boring at some point, but I think I’d enjoy it for several years before then.”
“We’ve been doing that since March,” I said, just barely managing to keep my voice steady. He’d pushed his fingers inside me, and Soyer knew the pleasures touch could bring. He also knew exactly how to walk that line where the pleasure was good but not total, not enough. It was torturous.
“What, done moaning into the mattress already? Shame. And that’s just been a few weeks. Weeks of having you on your knees is nothing, Amory.”
He stretched me suddenly, and a strangled sound broke from my lips, ruining whatever other response I might have thought of.
“Yes. Those are the noises you make when you are on your knees, your ass pushed out like a present for me to claim. My Amory.”
“You’re always so…so…sooo…ah!”
“Hmm?”
“Soyer…”
“Yes, my heart?”
“P-please, you…I need…I think-k-ah!”
He leaned over, his hand landing flat on the sheets next to my face. “And why the fuck are you thinking, Amory? Should we see if my cock can fix that issue for you?”
“Yes,” I said, and very briefly, I caught the fire in his dark eyes.
His gentleness, for what followed, was acute, and yet, it was as if there wasn’t any gentleness at all, just fire, lust and desire, the need evident in how he pushed inside with his slicked cock, first slow then fast, tender always. I had to match my breathing to his rhythm, because it was punishing, the depth inside me he reached, the way in which this position made it difficult for me to really...hold on or control much of anything.
That part too was exhilarating. Something that might have been very scary with another man was bliss with Soyer.
“Yes, there you are, the bone marrow of your mind,” he said.
My body felt as if it were floating, and I didn’t mind, loved that.
Soyer tangled his fingers in my hair, thrust, and I almost came. On the next thrust, the orgasm exploded out of me, messy and good and deep, a total body high like no other.
“Yes, fuck, yes,” Soyer said, then growled and trembled above me, thrusting deep before stopping.
