30. Alex

CHAPTER 30

ALEX

Even while Dylan’s fingers stuttered through the notes, mine held steady around his cock. Sweat beaded on his temples and his entire body trembled as I wrung a second orgasm out of him. My own dick ached for attention, pressing hard enough against the fly of my jeans to bruise. In front of me, Dylan mumbled something mindlessly, shoving his hair away from his face and readying his fingers once again on the keys.

“Can you play standing?” I asked.

“Yes,” he rasped.

“Good.”

I kicked my chair back toward the bed, flung the piano bench toward the wall, and went to my knees behind him. Releasing his cock, I spread his ass apart and speared my tongue straight into his asshole. Dylan cried out, dragging his fingers against the keys in a loud smash of noise that sounded nothing like the song he’d been playing.

“If you stop, I stop,” I whispered, returning my mouth to his hole only after his fingers returned to the keys.

Above me, Dylan groaned, legs shifting awkwardly as he tried to keep his balance, to keep playing. When I pushed a finger into him, his fingers splayed across the keys, he cursed under his breath and started over.

“Good pet,” I whispered against his dripping asshole, adding a second finger when he’d nearly made it through the song.

The wail he let out drowned any sound his fingers would have made, and then the piano went quiet. Dylan whimpered and panted, and I pulled my fingers out of him entirely, rocking back onto my heels and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Green?” I asked, when he hadn’t moved for nearly a minute.

“My dick is so fucking hard, I want to cry,” he said, dropping his chin toward his chest and letting out a shaking exhale. “I’m green.”

“I won’t stop if you cry,” I warned him.

“I know.”

And he started to play again.

When I’d sent Dylan upstairs ahead of me, I’d had the foresight to stop in my bedroom and get a bottle of lube, which I pulled out of my pocket and flipped open. I squirted a fair amount onto my fingers, then wrestled my throbbing erection out of my pants and slicked some more down my length. Pushing forward, I shoved two fingers back into him with so much force he rocked up onto his toes, barely missing the key his right ring finger had been aiming for.

He cursed under his breath, the words trailing off into a whimper when I pulled my fingers out of him and stood, pressing my chest against his back.

“Why did you stop?” I asked, banding an arm around the front of his chest. He was short enough that I had to bend my knees to get my cock between his cheeks, and I didn’t bother waiting for him to answer before impaling him with my dick.

Dylan shouted my name, right arm flying out to brace himself against the body of the piano as I seated myself inside of him. My right hand curled around his hip, pulling him down against me until it was hard for me to breathe for how overwhelming the feel of him was. Sweat trickled down my spine, my breath skittering out of my lungs as I accustomed myself to the too-tight grip of his body.

“Play it,” I whispered into his ear, fighting myself to stay still.

I needed Dylan to get through the song as much as he could because I was seconds away from shooting my load deeper than any man ever had or would again. His muscles fluttered and gripped me like butterfly wings made of iron, pulsing in time with my own heartbeat, which I could feel in every part of my body.

I’d listened to Dylan masterfully play his way through the Chopin piece more times than I could count, and when he neared the end without a mistake, I gave in to the thing both of us wanted the most. Pulling out so the tip of my cock teased his rim, I shoved back inside with so much strength it picked him up off the floor entirely.

Dylan cried out, scrabbling against the piano to steady himself, but not lost enough to pleasure to trust the strength of his injured arm to give him balance. Realizing I couldn’t fuck him the way I wanted, I pulled out and stepped back.

“No!” he shouted, turning toward me just as I spun him around and grabbed him underneath his legs. Lifting him from the backs of his thighs, I dropped his ass onto the keys and pushed back into him.

“No, what?” I asked, leveraging his weight against the piano so I could rut into him. The keys smashed beneath him, the tune just as gorgeous as it had been when he played Chopin for me.

“No, don’t stop,” he whispered, dropping his forehead against my shoulder.

“I should have made you play all day,” I said, thrusting my hips upward. My legs burned from the angle and the bend, but I was less than a breath away from coming anyway.

I could handle it.

I would handle it.

“I would have,” Dylan said, mouthing the promise against my collarbone, his teeth gnashing against it.

We were so unsteady, so off-balance.

“Hold on,” I said, grabbing him under his legs again and lifting him off the piano. Dylan wrapped his arms around my neck, mouth still hot on my collar as I carried him to the bed and laid him down as gently as his shoulder needed and as rough as I wanted.

“Please,” he pleaded, lips moving against my skin.

“I’ve got you,” I promised, using my hips to spread his legs wider. My jeans were still on, but I wasn’t going to deal with getting them off now that I was already buried inside of him.

“I know.”

“Mark me there,” I told him, curling my fingers around the top of Dylan’s head to hold him in place so I could fuck him deeper. “Make it hurt.”

Dylan groaned, closing his lips around my collarbone and biting down hard with his teeth. The shock of pain rippled through me like I’d touched a live wire, and I pumped my hips into him two more times before my cock thickened and emptied. I fucked him so hard, Dylan’s ass was lifted off the bed, my balls hot against his skin as I filled him. He thrashed beneath me, spreading his legs wider like it would let me deeper, and I reached between us to stroke his cock through another orgasm.

He yelled at me, cursed and writhed. He had to be so tired, so oversensitive, but he didn’t ever ask me to stop. After he let out his pretend protests, he sealed his lips around the spot on my collarbone again, bearing down even harder when I finally managed to draw another orgasm out of him.

He burst into tears at the release, his legs unwrapping from around my waist, his arms from around my neck. Against the white bedding, Dylan went absolutely slack. The rapid strum of his pulse against my fingers was the only sign he was alive at all, that and the way his cock thickened and pulsed as trickles of cum leaked out of his slit. As my wits came back to me, the marks from his teeth turned from pleasure to actual pain, and I was careful to disentangle myself from him before rolling over onto my back.

“Dylan.” I pressed my fingers over the divots from his teeth, shivering at the way the mark of his mouth against my skin had me feeling.

“Hmn?”

He was going to hate me.

“Go play it again,” I said, forcing myself up and out of the bed.

I dragged the piano bench back into place and reset the chair in the corner of the room. The last thing I needed was for him to come again, so I sat down in the chair and finally kicked my pants off.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked, eyes closed and limbs splayed like a starfish. Even his left arm was stretched more than I’d seen it since the accident.

“Very.”

Dylan sat up, his body swaying. He slid off the bed, made his way to the bench, and sat down. With his eyes still closed, he set his fingers on the keys, then he played me the most beautiful version of Nocturne that I’d ever heard. When he finished, he exhaled softly, shoulders sagging as he dropped his hands into his lap.

“How was it?” he asked.

“If I didn’t love you before, I would love you now,” I said.

He turned his head to the side, lashes still fanned out across his cheeks. “Because of the song or the sex?”

“Because of you.”

Dylan licked his lips and turned his face back toward the piano.

“Do you want to clean up first or eat?” I asked him.

“Eat,” he said softly.

“Alright.” I was still hard and I took my cock into my fist, pointing it toward his back. “Come here, then.”

Dylan spun around on the bench, rolling his eyes when he saw what I had in mind for him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” I said. “Now come here.”

He closed the space between us, sinking down to his knees in front of me and taking my cock into his mouth without being told again. Threading my fingers through his hair, I lifted off my seat, pushing all the way into his throat on the first thrust.

“Oh, fuck, pet. Dylan. Jesus. Your mouth.”

He’d sucked a bruise into me during sex, and he set to work on my cock with the same level of intensity, bobbing up and down my shaft, all the while leaking spit down my balls and licking it up with his tongue. Dylan made an absolute mess of me, and I loved him even more for it.

“Can I come in your mouth?” I asked, the end very close.

In response, he reached behind his head and covered my hand with his own, pushing himself deeper down my shaft.

I groaned his name, told him I loved him, and cursed him…all in the same breath, then I spilled onto the back of his tongue. My hips jerked and I fucked my cum down into his throat, into his stomach, relishing the way he smiled around my shaft while he cried. After the tremors of my orgasm rolled through me, I wanted nothing more than to haul him onto my lap and hold him until we both fell asleep, but the chair was uncomfortable and we were both covered in sweat, cum, and dirt from the ride.

“Eating,” I said, pulling my cock out of my his mouth and tracing the tip across the outline of his swollen lips.

“I just did,” he murmured, falling onto the side of his legs and resting his head against my thigh.

I carded my fingers through his hair, wondering if there would be any real harm in rearranging the aftercare and letting him nap awhile first.

“Do you need water?” I asked.

He licked his lips and nodded.

I helped Dylan into the guest bed and went to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and the newspaper. By the time I made it back to the guest room, he was sound asleep on his back, spread across the whole bed like he had been after he came. I set the water on the nightstand beside him, then settled into the chair with my crossword.

The newspaper remained folded in my lap, pen clutched in my hand, because as much as I’d planned otherwise, in this and in so many other ways, I couldn’t tear myself away from Dylan Rivers.

And I was surprised to find I no longer wanted to.