Page 64 of Unlocked Dive
“Echo.” I tug on the forgotten restraints and curl my toes against the duvet and wonder if I’m broken.
“Turn over,” he says, and his voice does profane things to my overstimulated nerve endings.
Somehow, I manage to rally my trembling muscles and roll onto my back, squinting in the sun that streams through the skylight to paint Echo’s image in green and gold.
“Still with me?” His smile is dreams and demons, and I have no answer butplease.
He straddles my hips, a wild god with a wicked cock, and grasps the base of my erection in a vicious grip. “Show me that ‘old man’ stamina now,” he taunts and starts to lower himself onto me.
It’s rough and so, so tight—the only lubrication is what’s left on his fingers and the precum coating my crown. If he’s preppedhimself at all, I missed it in the haze, and I hiss as he works himself lower with hypnotic little rocks of his hips.
“Jesus fuckingChrist.” My hands itch to touch him, to trace the smooth planes of his chest and wrap around the proud jut of his cock. “Let me go,” I beg as his ass hits my pelvis and his head falls back with a sigh.
“Say it,” he commands, clenching around the base of my cock.
“Brat,” I groan. He shakes his head.
“Not that.” He swirls his hips, adjusting to my size, and arches impossibly backward to fit the head of my dick into that perfect spot inside him. His cock leaks on his abs, and my whole body trembles at the blaze of his beauty. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, messy and obscene, before dropping his hand to trail them up the inside of my thigh. “Bend your knees,” he purrs, “andsay it.”
“Four.” I plant my feet and tilt my hips, giving him access even as I drive my cock deeper into his tight hole.
His eyes collide with mine, and his thumb braces on my taint, the tips of his fingers teasing my entrance. I continue to thrust up into him, a fractured, frantic rhythm, as he strokes himself and slips first one, then two fingers inside me. Right before I break, he beats me to it, spraying my chest with thick ropes of cum. As his ass clamps down and a hoarse shout escapes him, he pushes the last two fingers through my ring and curls all four hard against my prostate.
I come forever.
Blink.
His lips are pressing soft kisses to the inside of my knee.
Blink.
His hair is tickling my cheek while deft fingers free my wrists.
Blink.
A warm, wet cloth trails down my ribs, caresses my exhausted cock, and dips between my shaky thighs.
Darkness.
“I love you.” A familiar body wrapped around my own.
“I love you too.”
Don’t leave me.
Fuck.
27
Byrd
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wash, but Ms. Blake’s instructions were very clear. No one is allowed in the room during the evaluation. Not even his coach.”
Griff is twenty-five, looks about seventeen, and is currently way out of his depth. Working reception at the San Francisco Circus Center is a cush job, handled in rotation by students looking for discounted classes. Angry men in dark suits are not usually part of the job description.
“That manis not his coach,” tall, dark, and scary declares, “and that particular instruction came at my request. For the protection of my son. I’m quite certain Ms. Blake did not mean to include myself in the prohibition.”
Griff’s gaze shifts to mine, and his panic turns hopeful. “I’m sure if you talk to Coach Byrd…” He trails off when the man, Echo’s father, rounds his fury my way.
