Page 130 of Catcher's Lock
As the third finger breaches me, the Doppler hum of an approaching engine breaks the solitude.
“Shit.” Craning my neck, I spot a distant plume of dust. “Someone’s coming,” I warn, detangling my hand from his hair to scrabble for my pants. Without relieving the suction on my cock—or the exploration of my ass—Gem swats my hand away, then reaches up to flip the handle of the driver’s door at my side. He swings it open, and I brace my arm along the frame, holding the makeshift shield in place and shaking my head in disbelief. “They’re still gonna see us.”
His eyes are alive with mischief, brazen and unashamed, and if he could do it with a mouth full of cock, he’d be grinning at me. It’s wild and reckless and so innatelyGemthat my panic and arousal morph into something bright and nostalgic that tastes like pride.
This has always been the way of us—dangerous and beautiful and bigger than all our attempts to hide from ourselves.
The thrum of tires grows louder, mingling with the rush of adrenaline in my ears, and the man I love is on his knees, brimming with conviction so contagious that I stop caring about the passengers in the oncoming car. This moment is only ours.
I’m not ready to come—I could cling to this precipice forever—but he sucks hard on the head of my cock and shuttles his slippery hand over my length, and as the dusty sedan roars past, he pegs my prostate, and my orgasm races up my spine. Cum pulses from my slit in a never-ending stream, coating his tongue, and I sag in the open doorway as the dust settles.
Without giving me a chance to recover, he pulls his fingers free and spins me by my hips. I barely catch myself with one hand on the wheel and the other on the seat, falling half into the cab as he spreads my cheeks and uses his thumbs to pry open my hole. Then he brings his lips to my entrance and feeds the cum directly into my ass.
It’s the filthiest, most erotic thing I could have imagined, and my spent dick lurches as the last of my breath leaves me in a shocked moan.
“Thanks for the lube, baby,” he says, standing to wrap a hand around my neck. “Now give me a little more.” And he shoves three fingers into my gasping mouth, raking them over my tongue. Sucking the heady taste of myself from his skin, I draw frantic breaths through my nose as small, eager soundsvibrate from the back of my throat. “Keep whimpering like that,” he growls along my jaw. “It makes me so fucking hard for you. I’m about to give you the fuck of your life.”
He’s always been the one with the miracle refractory period, but my dick is currently taking a run at the title. When he pulls his fingers from my mouth, I drop my head on his shoulder, and when he thrusts those fingers inside me, I grind my ass against his hand. The sun sifts through the windshield, warming my already heated skin and painting the inside of my fluttering eyelids red.
“Spit,” he commands, releasing my throat to bring his palm in front of my face. I comply, half dazed, and he licks a line up my neck before leaning forward to add his own saliva to his hand. Seconds later, the unmistakable music of him stroking himself reaches my ears, accompanied by the sporadic brush of knuckles against my inner thigh.
“Yes,” I rasp, folding over the seat to brace my elbows on the center console. “Give me that cock.”
His fingers continue to work inside me, spreading cum and spit along my inner walls and teasing my prostate, but I’m past the point of patience.
“Enough, Quill. I already know you love me. Take me like you own me. Fuck me like a god.”
He answers by gripping my shoulder and pulling his fingers free to plunge his cock through all my barriers with one sure thrust. My vision whites out at the abrupt shift from full to empty toholy shit, and I fall the fuck apart.
This is only the third time I’ve had him inside me like this, and every time, it’s like relearning how to breathe. I struggle through the burn, chasing the moment whentoo muchbecomesoh godbecomesnotenoughpleasefuckpleasegivememore. He drapes his chest over my back, waiting for me to adjust, andstrokes a hand down my side.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, breath wicked in the short hairs along my nape. “Relax.”
I don’t want to relax. I want to fuck myself bloody on his cock and damn the consequences. But when I shift my hips, gritting my teeth against the rough drag, he wraps his arm around my chest and traps me against him.
“Surrender, Rocket. I promise I’m gonna give you everything you need.” The words ricochet as he sucks my pulse between his teeth, and all the fight drains out of me, some final piece—peace—slipping into place.
I amsafewith him, for the first time since he walked his bicycle into my backyard.
How long has it been since I was unafraid?
I arch into him, one hand flying to cup the back of his neck as the other clutches his ass, letting him lead us in an undulating, underwater dance. His decadently curved cock is carving out places inside me that have never been touched, making them his own.
My second climax builds in slow increments, a thing of tides and gravity. It waxes like an ache, and then an awakening, until my cock erupts untouched, and everything dissolves buthim.
“I own you, Rocket,” he whispers, then bites down on my shoulder, snapping his hips sharply now, the architect of my undoing. I’m fluttering on the far edge of euphoria by the time he unloads—each pulse of his cock in my ass a bass-beat against my clenching walls. Hot cum floods my core as I collapse, and he rides me through the comedown with long, dragging strokes, planting kisses along my sweat-soaked spine. “And you own me too.”
A contract written on our souls.
He uses my fallen shirt to clean us up, tossing it in the backseat when he’s finished before climbing up to straddle my lap. The seat is too small for the both of us, and the steering wheel must be digging into his back, but he strokes his hands through my hair with the softest expression on his face, and I wrap my arms around his waist, content.
“I’m not sure I can drive,” I admit.
He chuckles, a satisfied, masculine sound. “You can be my passenger princess. Just give me a few.”
“You can have as many as you want.”
The next kiss is languid—a leisurely swirl of soft lips and silken tongue and breathing stripped of urgency or fear of loss.
