40. Alex

CHAPTER 40

ALEX

I went into the playroom and waited for Dylan to clean up after himself. He went to the bedroom first, footfalls thumping soft against the landing when he reversed course and headed for the playroom. Dylan was naked when he appeared in the doorway, flushed from the tips of his ears to the middle of his chest. His long erection jutted out from between his legs, proud and wet.

“You’re making assumptions,” I said, pulling down the fly of my pants and taking my cock out for him to see.

“Am I?”

I arched a brow. “Getting bold?”

“Getting smart,” he countered, taking a step into the room. “I understand you better than before.”

Rubbing my lips together, I swallowed down a lump of unexpected emotion. “And what is it that you think you know, Dylan?”

He took another step toward me, then another, stopping inches away from me.

“I know that you give me everything I need.”

“I’ve hurt you plenty in this room,” I reminded him. “I’ve bruised your ass nearly black and made you cry so hard you lost the ability to speak.”

My cock twitched at the memory, and I gave my length a slow overhand stroke from root to tip.

“I needed that,” he whispered, “every time.”

“And what do you need now?”

“You.”

“You have me,” I said.

Dylan’s lips lifted into a small smile, the pink tip of his tongue barely visible between the sharp edges of his teeth.

“I want you to fuck me like you’re paying me for it.” He pressed the side of his thumb into the slit of his dick, eyes rolling back as a full-body shiver rushed over him.

Without thinking, I surged forward and grabbed him by the wrist. I had his arm twisted up and his back against the wall so fast, he didn’t even have time to whimper. I leaned in close, dragging my nose up the burning hot slope of his neck.

“No touching my toys without permission,” I warned, nipping his earlobe.

Dylan shivered against me. “Yes, Sir.”

It was so rare for him to call me Sir, every time it happened was like opening the best kind of present on Christmas morning. I’d never been one of the kinds of men who demanded it of partners. I didn’t want the honorific if it felt disingenuous, and so often I found the whole yes sir, no sir game to be entirely too performative for my tastes, but with Dylan…

He meant it down to the marrow of his bones.

“What’s your safe word?” I asked.

“Juilliard.”

“What’s your color?”

“I’m so fucking gr?—”

Before he could finish, I crashed our mouths together, fucking my tongue past his teeth so I could swallow his consent into the most depraved part of me. Tightening my grip on his wrist, I notched my knee between his legs and gave him another rough shove against the wall, hard enough to push the breath out of his lungs so he needed the air from my mouth to breathe. Against my hip, Dylan’s dick spasmed and leaked, already so close to spilling over.

With our mouths still sealed together, deepening the kiss with every swipe of my tongue against his, I reached down and took his cock in hand, stroking him with short and rough twists of my wrist until he thrashed against the wall, against my chest.

“It hurts,” he whined. “So tight.”

I hummed, releasing not just his cock, but my hold on his wrist. Stepping back, I scrubbed a hand down my face to steady myself. The sight of him leaning away from the wall to chase after me was as much of an aphrodisiac as the desperate little sound that fell out of his mouth when he realized the kiss had ended.

“Why did you stop?” he asked, panting, hand still twisted up the wall even though I no longer held him there.

“You complained.”

“It hurt.”

I gestured toward his violently red erection. “That looks like it hurts too.”

“It does.”

“Which is worse?” I asked, licking my hand and making a fist around my own dick.

He thrust his hips away from the wall. “This.”

“Good.” I nodded. “Get on your knees and thread your fingers together at the back of your head.”

Dylan’s shoulders sagged on the exhale, but his knees hit the floor without an audible protest. He lifted his arms and wove his fingers together, strands of his hair sticking out from between his knuckles.

“How’s your shoulder?” I asked, stepping closer to him.

“Hurts less than my dick.”

“I bet a lot of things hurt less than your dick,” I said, tracing the slick tip of my cock across his lips. “But your jaw isn’t going to be on that list for long. Now open.”

Staring up at me through the dark fan of his lashes, Dylan opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, groaning when I slapped my dick against it. I eased an inch in, making sure his teeth didn’t scrape my shaft as I made my way inside. I fucked him like that for a minute with his mouth wide open and spit running down his chin, then I stepped into him, pushing the thickest part of my cock past his teeth. To stop him from running, I covered his tangled fingers with my hand, holding him steady as I pushed the rest of the way into his mouth.

Dylan gagged around my thickness, the muscles of his throat convulsing around the head of my cock. Gritting through the waves of pleasure his mouth gave me, I waited for his gagging to settle down, then I pumped my hips forward, getting another half inch into him.

“You’re such a good listener, pet,” I praised him, pushing him forward until his nose was buried in the trimmed hairs at the base of my dick. His breath puffed hot and urgent against me, and I groaned, a pulse of precum spurting straight into the back of his mouth.

He choked as the small breaths through his nose quickly became not enough to sustain his breathing in the way his brain preferred.

“This is where I always want to be, Dylan. The deepest and darkest parts of you. I want to be under your skin, in your bones.”

He blinked hard, tears leaking from the corners of both eyes, racing down his cheeks and mixing with the spit on his chin.

“Make me come,” I told him next, letting my hands fall to my sides. “Make me come so I can make you scream.”

Dylan’s nostrils flared and he tried to close his lips around my cock, pulling back enough to bob up and down my thick length. His mouth was a mess, jaw stretched as far open as it had ever been before. Saliva flying and tears flowing, Dylan curled both of his hands around my thighs. He didn’t have to tell me it was to stop him from touching himself—I knew it wasn’t for balance.

Closing my eyes, I dropped my head back and moaned, giving myself over to the heat of his mouth, the presence of his body. The man on his knees in front of me was the man of my dreams, of that I had no doubt. He’d somehow been built just for me, to scare me, to test me…to love me.

And for me to love in return.

“I’m coming,” I warned, pulling out enough so I could watch cum shoot out of my cock and paint his tongue a creamy white. It was hard to keep my eyes open, heat igniting my spine and setting my legs on fire, but the sight of my cum on his tongue, the tears and spit on his face, the sated happiness of being used clear on his face, it was all worth the struggle.

Before he could swallow, I pulled out of his mouth and pinched his cheeks together, puckering his face like a fish. Dylan panted, body swaying, hands still held behind his head. I knocked them down to his sides, noticing the slightest twitch in the corner of his left eye when his shoulder fell back to its normal positioning. He was out of therapy and well on the road to recovery, but it was clear he still needed a little special handling.

“Spit it out,” I told him, smirking at the disgruntled expression that flashed across his eyes.

“Where?” he asked, the word garbled.

“Onto the floor.”

Dylan made a sound of protest, and I gripped his face tighter, yanking him away from the wall. He fell forward, catching himself on his hands before landing flat on the ground. Cum trickled out of his mouth, and I let go of him so he could spit the rest of it into a puddle beneath him.

“Was that so hard?” I asked.

“It’s a waste,” he complained.

“You’ll thank me before you’re finished,” I warned, fisting his hair and pulling him forward a few feet. Dylan yelped, my hand too tight in his hair, and then I shoved him flat onto the floor, his cock caught between his stomach and the pool of my cum he’d left on the floor.

I shoved my pants down to my ankles and stepped out of them, kicking them out of the way as I searched the room for a bottle of lube. My cock was empty but still hard, and Dylan’s ass was still bruised from the last time we’d played, a dangerous combination for him…not me.

I found the lube by the spanking bench, and I put more on my shaft than he deserved before sinking to my knees behind him and spreading his ass open with one hand.

“Make this easier for me,” I told him, and he reached back, pulling his ass apart and showing me his hole. “Green?”

He tested the stretch on his shoulder before answering, “Green.”

“The only part of you that you can move without permission is your left arm, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Smoothing my hand down the slope of his arched back, I pushed my cock against his hole. I wasn’t going to go in without prep, even though the thought of it excited me.

“You’re perfect for me,” I told him softly, teasing my finger around his rim, pressing the tip inside.

“Sir.”

I pressed in up to my last knuckle, not delaying in adding a second finger and a third. The need to get my cock inside of him was out of my control, and watching Dylan fuck a puddle of my cum on the floor while I fucked his ass with my fingers wasn’t helping the situation at all. He moaned and lifted his hips, chasing more of my hand and then more of my spend, humping the air when I pulled my fingers free of his hole.

When I pressed my cock into him, he shouted out in relief, the cry turning into a sob as I sank into him fully. With my fingers spread around his hips, I yanked him back the rest of the way onto my shaft, grunting low in my throat when his muscles flexed around me. It was over quick after that. I fucked him hard and fast, pressing him into the floor so his cock dragged through the mess from my first orgasm, pounding him harder when he screamed through his own release.

I’d have to get the floor refinished by the time I was done with him.

I was out of breath by the time my second orgasm found me, Dylan already reduced to nothing but tears and cum and bones beneath me. His legs were splayed wide like a frog, and I hoisted him into the air, fucking him down into the floor. The bow of his back was a work of art, and I came so hard in him, I imagined it shot straight into his guts.

My cock thickened and pulsed as I poured myself out inside of him, and Dylan sobbed, thanking me over and over again. The aftershocks of my orgasm still rippled through me when I grabbed his thigh and spun him onto his back. I thrust into him two more times, falling forward overtop of him and sinking my teeth into his neck like a wild animal claiming a mate.

He found his strength after that, wrapping his arms and legs around me, neck arched as if to give me better access to the sensitive skin I was so fascinated with bruising. Biting, I twisted my teeth then licked the bruises and divots left by my mouth. Dylan’s fingers scrabbled against my back, hole tightening around my shaft as a burst of heat leaked out of his cock and smeared my stomach.

“I love you so fucking much,” I whispered, licking his ear, his temple, the tears from beneath his eyelashes.

“I love you.” His words were watery, but clear. “Oh, fuck. I love you. I love this. Thank you. Thank you, thank you .”

I loved Dylan Rivers.

I wanted to marry him.

And there was no way I would ever allow him to be part of the first failure of my life.

Swallowing down the promise to myself, I rubbed my cheek against his, then I gently slanted our mouths together and kissed him until we were both hard again, ready for more.