CHAPTER FORTY-TWO Benedict

H unt was hard as a rock, his huge cock leaning toward the left, his balls hanging between his legs, and in the position that I loved seeing my man. The visual of a man lounging back on furniture like he expected servicing got me off psychologically.

My sexual brain was wired to serve my man. I wanted to please him, to be used by him. But I also had my wants and needs. I knew the impression I left in public was that I was a bit fussy, or uptight appearing. I felt sexual on the inside but lacked the same confidence out of the bedroom. I believed this was the opposite for most people.

I've never been able to explain the feeling of my sexual energy. While at once wanting to be dominated by my sexual partner, I also wanted to participate and make my own demands. Once I make a request, I then slip back into the passive role, expecting my man to lead me to the promised land.

Lazy and pathetic attempts at sex while in college dominated my experiences. Mostly guys figuring out that I'd suck them off led to friendly invites or supposed dates. None of those connections were ever about longevity or me getting the other thing that I craved. Love.

Meeting Rocco was the same in the beginning. He sensed a cocksucker and made himself available for alleyway head once a week when he picked up the garbage outside the hospital. Once I figured out his route, I was taking a break each and every time he showed up.

After several months and thinking that his willingness to visit me at my apartment was a true interest in a relationship, I'd thought he wanted me the same way I wanted him. He hadn't, but it didn't stop me from attempting to set up house with the fiercely masculine hunk.

The way Rocco acted fed into my sexual desires. He was all about me being his personal fuck doll. If he wanted head, I dropped everything there and then and sucked him dry. If he wanted to bury his cock in my ass, I dropped my pants and bent over. He used me in a way that fed into my kinky desires of being used by such a regular dude.

But Rocco never gave an inch that he couldn't keep. We were a fuck-buddy arrangement, and that was just the way it was. If I wanted a dick to sit on or suck, he could do that. But if I wanted a real connection where we celebrated things like our months together, or a birthday date outside of my place? Not a chance.

Hunter possessed that rare something Rocco also possessed. I'd spotted it nearly the second I met him. Somehow, I just knew with certainty that the Sheriff was all man and knew his way around a compliant lover. Sure, Charlie was hot as fuck and sex on a stick, but he didn't reek of the thing I craved. Quiet machismo, mixed with raw maleness.

"What's the favor?" Hunter asked, interrupting my wandering mind.

His legs were spread wide, and his arms were crossed over his chest defensively. He was the type of man that set me on fire. He had zero cares that he was exposed, his cock hanging out while he scratched his nuts. He did manly things. Said manly things. Walked and breathed manly things. Shoot me now. But he was also nice and seemed caring. He acted thoughtful and oozed kindness, like it was a natural trait. Hunter Copeland possessed the ingredients for a very dangerous recipe: lust as well as love.

"I want my ass eaten and then I want this in my ass," I stated, tugging on his fading erection. His dick jumped, and he uncrossed his arms. I squeezed his dick. "Do you need to come first, or can you last a while?" I questioned.

"You'll beg me to come by the time I'm done," he growled. "Any other questions?"

"Are you always this cocky, sheriff?"

"Only when pleasing my boy," he replied. "Any other questions?"

His attitude was gruff and direct, but his bedroom eyes and droolworthy body allowed him to do and say whatever he wanted in my book. I was clay, and he was the sculptor. Bring it on. Mold me.

He pushed the clothing around his ankles with a foot and slipped out of them, standing while keeping his hand on the top of my head. "Stay right there."

I didn't turn around while Ben left the room. After a minute of staring at the recliner in front of me, he tapped my shoulder and tossed a condom and lube on the floor beside us.

"Where do you want me?" I asked.

"Where you are, boy," he answered, repositioning me to face him while I remained on my knees. He lifted my chin and slapped his cock across my lips. "More," he demanded.

Hunt moved his feet apart, spreading his stance wider, and pulled me on his dick. His power eclipsed even my greatest fantasy. I resisted opening my mouth to test his dominance, but he pried my mouth open and shoved his cock to the back of my throat.

A rush of sexual adrenaline hit my veins and sent a five-alarm warning to the rest of me. Jackpot, Ben! This man read me like a book he'd devoured fifty times. Was I that easy to read? Or was he thinking the exact same thing? Maybe I was fulfilling the same addiction as he was filling for me. Whatever my addiction. He was fast becoming my supplier.

Hunter pulled me to my feet and smothered my mouth, tasting himself on me. He held me softly and tenderly, as if the scene just moments before hadn't existed. This was the quiet part. The love part. He had the dominate component on lockdown, but he somehow knew I needed the tenderness too. How?

"You are beautiful, boy. Every single thing about your body is perfection to me."

"Thank you," I whispered. "You make me feel incredible."

"Tell me what you need, boy."

"I already did," I reminded him.

His hands traveled to my bare ass, and he gripped each cheek roughly. "Tell me again," he insisted. "In detail. Everything that you need me to do for you, boy."

I placed my hands on his expansive chest and looked up and into his eyes. "I want you to eat my ass, sheriff."

"And then what?" he pushed. "I said to tell me everything."

I moved a hand down to his cock. He was solid and thick, precum dripping from the head of his dick. "And then I want this inside me, sheriff," I said. "As far and as deep as you can get it."

"There will be no complaining when I fuck your pretty ass—hard," he stated, sliding a finger into my crack and searching for my pucker. "And I don't want to hear you complaining about the size, boy."

"I promise," I whispered. "And I don't want a two-pump chump," I added, looking at him and grinning. He'd been warned. I spoke to what I wanted.

"Trust me, boy. I don't tap-out until my boy is limp and begging for me to stop."

I swear to God that I could've shot my load at that exact moment. His words and the way he delivered them? I believed him like I was being fed the gospel by a convention of clergymen.

"Where do you want me, sheriff?"

"Are you gonna call me sheriff often?" he asked.

"Only if you promise to wear your uniform on several occasions when we fuck," I replied. "So yeah. Definitely."

"Hang on," he spat, heading toward what I thought was his bedroom, his big man's ass bouncing as he walked away. Christ! He was such a dude.

Hunter rejoined me in a few seconds. My eyes widened and I damn near protested. "No way," I gasped, actually protesting.

He held the handcuffs up and grinned. "If you wanna act like a bad boy, you'll be treated as such." He spun me around. "Hands behind your back."

Unsure why and hopefully not going to regret the decision, I did as he said. He deftly had me cuffed in mere moments, sliding his free hand around my waist.

"What the fuc…?" I cried.

Hunter picked me up from behind and carried me to his bedroom, standing me at the foot of the bed. I looked around the room at the neat and very precise way he kept it. He was a man who enjoyed order. That much was obvious.

His uniform jacket was hanging on a hook on the closet door. The big sheriff's badge gleaming in the dim light. A handgun laid on the top of a dresser. The entire scene should've scared the shit out of me. But that wasn't my initial thought. I was in the middle of one of my hottest fantasies. But still.

"You wouldn't hurt me, would you?" I asked, feeling goosebumps creeping up my spine.

"Would you like me to?" he growled.

"I'm… umm… like… totally… exposed here, Hunt."

"Give me permission, boy. You know you want the entire experience, so just give in and go with your desires."

"You promise you won't…?" I stuttered.

Hunter's hand came to the back of my neck, halting my question. At first, a feeling of absolute alarm overcame me when he gripped my neck. Until he leaned forward and whispered in my ear.

"I will not hurt you, Ben," he stated. "Why would I fuck up the first of hopefully many repeat performances? So just say yes. Please?"

"Yes," I gasped. "Yes."

Hunt pushed on the back of my head, forcing me forward and face down on the bed. I didn't have access to my arms that were handcuffed behind my back, so I wondered how I'd manage the descent. He wrapped his other hand around my chest and assisted me until I was face down, my feet apart as I bent over, my ass squarely in the air and his target zone.

He stepped backward. "There it is," he moaned, running a finger between my ass cheeks. "Fucking perfection," he growled.

He slapped my ass, but not too hard. I wondered how this man seemed to know all my deepest sexual desires. How did he read a mind he barely knew with such effortless ability? I was about to do further analysis when I felt two hands on my cheeks. I tensed from his touch, inhaling quickly.

"Holy shit!" he snarled. "I'm gonna love this."

Hunter slid his tongue over my asshole, darting and licking around the sensitive skin. I was exposed, handcuffed, under his complete control—and I loved it. This wasn't his first tour of ass duty. That was a fact.

Each of his hands gripped a cheek and moved them further apart, exposing my hole. I held my breath in anticipation, only relaxing when the warmth of his mouth invaded my asshole again. This time he pushed against my hole and shoved his tongue as deep as he could, lapping at my hole while my cock dripped.

"Oh, God!" I moaned, sinking forward as he applied pressure, finally collapsing onto the bed.

He persisted, holding my cheeks apart and tongue fucking me with the true desire of a professional anal linguist. He could ask me to jump from The Empire State Building if he kept this up. Cuff my ankles. Zap me with a taser. Whatever he wanted, I would do it. I was completely lost in his skill set.

"Fuck me hard, sheriff!"