23. Drew

I'm surprised, too. I blame it on the kiss. It was hands down the most erotic kiss I've ever experienced. He dominated my mouth. Olivier's lips and tongue were demanding, bossy even. Controlling. And so unbelievably greedy, there was a minute when I thought I might pass out from losing all my blood to my cock.

My erection's barely flagged during this whole awkward, miserable conversation because every time I speak, I feel him in my mouth, wanting more, penetrating me repeatedly, and it was a total mindfuck.

If I'd thought his humping my hip was the horniest thing that had ever happened to me, that kiss surpassed it by a mile. What ultimately pulled me out of it was I felt myself caving to it, melting and wanting to lie down so I wouldn't pass out, and then let him keep doing it.

I would have come.

Being wanted is its own kind of drug, but being wanted like that?

Shit. And don't get me wrong, I want him too—badly, so much, like I said, but I'm still more confused than I want to be, and my uncertainty is paralyzing.

I thought—when and if we ever got around to it, I'd be the one in control. I'd be the one fucking him, sticking my cock in his ass. I don't know why. Maybe because I'm older. I'm bigger. I'm the one who forced myself on him in the first place. I'm the one who does the choking.

But the last thing I want right now—tonight—is control. Not if it means I have to think about one more goddamned thing. Add one more worry to my plate.

But I am worried. I don't think I'm going to like this.

I don't think I want a man's dick in my ass—not even Olivier's, but I do want something.I want to figure out what this is between us that burns so hot it blots out my vision. But for me, for tonight, I'll be with him in whatever way he'll have me. That's what I need. I'm past caring whether I'll like it or not. If he'll take me, I'll give him anything.

The only thing I know for sure I want—the one thing I can't stop wanting—is to slide that sweater over his head, watch his curls fall wildly around his face, and have him look at me with that heavy, heady, profoundly stirring gaze he gives me when he's turned on.

That's it. As for the rest, he can take what he wants, as long as I get to feel his skin on mine. Feel his desire for me.

It's vanity, really. A bandage over the gaping gash that's disfigured me since being in a town that deemed me not good enough.

So, if all I am is a warm place for Olivier to stick his cock, well then, I guess I'm good enough for something.

Maybe that's actually all I'm good for. All I have to do is lie down and bear it.

I remove my unbuttoned shirt and drop it on the floor before I cross the room to get to him. He scans my inked arms, my pecs, my face, and then I've got my hands on the hem of his sweater, and I'm working it up his sides. "This is the sexiest thing you've ever worn."

"Really?" he asks, playing nice now that he's getting his way.

"Insanely fucking hot," I affirm.

"I went back and forth about it a lot."

He's got goosebumps, and when he raises his arms, and I lift the cashmere and the silk-blend t-shirt beneath it over his head, I find his nipples pebble-hard.

Instead of tossing the sweater to the floor like I did with my shirt, I lay it on the bench at the foot of the bed before turning back to him and running my hands through his hair.

His head tilts back, lips parting as my fingers snag momentarily in his dark, tousled curls. He's so goddamn beautiful. So perfectly suited to his life, this city. And maybe that's why I've always hated him so much—because he fits so effortlessly, and I've nearly killed myself trying.

I kiss him, my fear of his mouth touching mine effectively eradicated. His lips are soft and plush like his ass, but instead of muscle providing the firmness behind them, it's his will. His want. His tongue rushes to meet mine, and I'm quickly overtaken again.

His hands grasp at my face, and he adjusts his mouth to consume me as deeply and thoroughly as possible. He's got me backed up to the bed in no time, and then I'm collapsing onto it, and he's crawling over me, refusing to be parted from my mouth for more than half a breath.

I fumble with my fly, desperate to relieve the intense pressure on my dick, and he does the same with his own. He works his voracious mouth down my neck, murmuring things like, "Don't worry, I have plenty of lube. I'll wear a condom. Fuck, I need to fucking fuck you."

"Are you negative for everything?" I manage to ask.

"Everything," he says, sitting back to shove his pants down past his hips. His long cock springs out, hard as a pole, pointing straight to the ceiling.

In a move I'd call very smooth, he hovers on his arms and works his jeans off his legs in a maneuver reminiscent of a mountain climber. It's sexy as hell. Well-practiced. I'm guessing he's had a lot more sex in the last few years than I've had. I shove my pants off in a more conventional way while he waits for me to be naked beneath him before coming back for another feeding from my mouth.

I touch every part of him I can get to. Starting with his arms, then his shoulders, his ribcage and waist, his flexing ass, the backs of his thighs. Every inch of him is firm and smooth, hairless except for his forearms and thighs. I bring our hips together, wanting his cock against mine. Needing the relief only friction can provide.

Fuck, it feels good. I could come like this too, especially considering the way I'm being tongue fucked at the same time. It's a lot—and his greedy kiss is the one thing intense enough to overwhelm all the storms in my mind. The clouds clear, and there's just him and the way he's digging into me like I've been cooked in lemon butter.

"I need inside you, Drew. Let me put my cock inside you."

"I already said you could."

"Condom?"

"No, fuck it. Give me everything. Show me all your tricks."

A soft huff and a bite of my jaw is what I get for my weak attempt at cleverness.

For his first trick, he scoots low between my thighs and takes my cock to the back of his throat. Up until we'd kissed, I thought it might be the only thing he could do particularly well, but he's proven he's got prowess, and I'm here for it. I choke on a sudden groan when he swallows me deeper. How the fuck does he do that?

Maybe he's read me too well. Maybe I'm meant to just lie here, because I don't think I'm half as good in bed as he is.

He licks and wets me with his mouth, sliding up and down my cock with speed and power until I'm so close, I almost tell him I'm gonna come, but before the words have a chance to form on my lips, he pulls off with a resounding pop and reaches for his nightstand. He pats my hip once he's holding the tube of lube. "Turn over. I need to be able to see what I'm doing."

I gulp.

I don't know which visual I hate more. Me ass up on my hands and knees, or me with my legs in the air.

Don't think about it, I remind myself firmly. Just do what he tells you.

I flip onto my stomach, trying to see if anything comes naturally to me after that.

It does not.

The position I wind up in is on my knees, but I fold my elbows onto the bed and put my face in my hands. My ass is available, but at least I'm not arching my back like a chick in a porn getting railed from behind. Also, I feel the need to fold into myself. Allow myself to disassociate from the whole situation as needed.

I hiss at how cold the lube is when he squirts it directly into my crack. I can safely say I've never felt this exposed. Humiliated, even. It's basically the physical manifestation of the last several years of trying and failing at everything. I've felt like this city's had me bent over for a while now.

But all he has to say about me in this position is, "This is beyond hot. I'm so fucking hard, Drew. Shit. I'm trying not to come before I'm inside you, but fuck."

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" I ask.

"You tell me." His hand runs up and down my crack, and then one fingertip presses against my uncooperative hole.

"Your turn to relax, Jack."

"Fuck…" I squeeze my eyes shut and try to unclench. Whatever I do is enough that his finger slides in. I shout like he just shoved a torch up my ass. "God," I yell, the guttural boom so deep, I'm surprised the windows don't rattle.

I hear him chuckle and then moan a soft, low, "Mmm…" His finger moves back and forth, in and out, and I attempt to adjust to the invasive feeling. I don't take any pleasure from it—it feels like a cavity search—but I like that he likes it. His obvious excitement, which is telegraphed by all the satisfied sounds he's making, keeps me very, very hard.

"Good?" he asks.

"Sure," I lie. What am I supposed to say? No? That it feels like a dirty version of a prostate exam?

"It's crazy," he says, words soft and entranced. "It's like you're sucking me inside. Swallowing me up. I've never felt anything like it." With that, he adds a second finger, and I react violently.

My ass clenches tight, and I shout again. "Fuck!" I'm stuffed and stretched and so uncomfortable with how it makes me feel, I'm sweating from the suppressed urge to get away.

He fucks me slowly with those two fingers three or four times before asking, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," I grunt. I can take it. Might as well. I'm here, aren't I? I put myself here.

"So tight… Drew…fuck." He's breathing heavy and stretching me with spreading fingers. My asshole feels like a ring of fire. "I wish you could see this. It's so hot. So fucking hot…"

I don't want to see it. It's hard enough to bear it—the suffocating sense of how far I've fallen that I would let this man debase me like this. Defile me. And yet, my dick doesn't seem to mind. It's so hard it's stretched to its own limits, thick and pulsing on my abs, precum wetting me while I pant with the effort it takes to accommodate this finger fucking, wondering why people enjoy this—wondering if there's something I'm missing or not allowing myself to feel.

When he slides those two slick fingers down the seam of my taint and cups my balls a moment before pushing back in, though, my cock throbs hard. Something different happens. Something I don't hate quite so much, and a groan issues from my mouth, because while the burn is still there, it now feels like it's supposed to be. When he stuffs me full, I don't feel quite as empty.

I'm not going to say it feels good, but it stops feeling bad.

I guess I'd say it feels exactly how I thought it would when I strip all my preconceived notions surrounding what it means away.

Which I take to mean I'm ready for the rest.

"Fuck me," I tell him. "Just do it."

Silently, with only our heavy breaths filling the air, he slides his fingers out and replaces them with the smooth, slick head of his cock. The silk of it against my burning hole reminds me it's about twice as thick as what was just inside me, and I could barely take that without wanting to wrestle him off me.

I seriously don't know how I'm going to do this.

He meets resistance on his first press forward. I'm clenched tight again, not on purpose, but because my ass is clearly terrified. But as he continues to nudge, I spill more precum. He's not being too forceful. He's waiting for me. He's got his hand on my hips, and his tip is knocking gently on the door, asking me to open up and let him in.

I hold my breath, straining. With his next nudge, and with the help of an ungodly amount of lube, his cock breaches my stinging outer ring. I grunt loudly—very loudly. It's brutally uncomfortable, but the sound he makes is a shuddering gasp. A breath that catches a dozen times on its way in. "Oh Jesus," he moans. "Fuck it's so tight… Oh my fucking God. I'm not gonna last Drew," he says to me as if in apology.

I bite the meat of my hand between my thumb and wrist to try and stifle the scream my throat strangles on the way out. A sound I've never heard comes out of me instead. Like a wounded animal. Like someone begging for their life.

"Fuck," he hisses, and he slides in deeper. "Oh shit, I'm sorry—you're fucking swallowing me." He makes an attempt to pull back, but he comes right back in, deeper. So deep, I swear if I touched my belly, I'd feel the tip of him there. "Shit. Drew. Fuck. I've never been this deep."

His thrusts feel purposeless. Out of his control. Instinctual. "This is so fucking good." One of his hands smooths down my spine, sending electric pulses across the surface of my skin, over-sensitized and sweating. His words have a persuasive effect, at least on my cock.

It's convinced it likes this. I'm hard as a rock and ready to blow even though the rest of my body and my mind continue to focus on all the bad—the overwhelming pressure. The utter intrusion, the sense of wrongness.

But then he's letting out soft whimpers. Like it feels so good to him, he's on the verge of weeping. And when he digs his nails into my shoulder blades and his thrusts tighten up, all my resistance shatters.

"Fuck," I grunt, finally lifting my head from the safety of my hands so I can turn to the side and breathe. I reach down to fist my cock, and that's when everything changes.

It's like all at once my mind and body align, and as I pump my dick to the thudding rhythm he's found in my ass, sensation floods me, and very little of it is bad. And what bad there is of it is bad in the best way. Filthy. "Goddamnit," I groan. "Just like that."

"Mmph." He sounds like he's on the edge of insanity—moan pitched high and helpless.

I wouldn't go so far as to say I read the pain as pleasure. It's still uncomfortable. It's still the same violating sense of having a foreign object shoved deeper and deeper into my body, but the pain and the intrusion themselves become—pleasurable isn't the right word—arousing is too mild, too. What I'm feeling as we both get closer to climax might be something there's not a word for. Except that it's dirty and obscene as fuck, and it's going to make me come ridiculously hard.

"Fuck, I'm too close… your ass is breaking my dick. I'm about to come. Oh, God, I'm gonna fucking come…" His words are barely out before heat burns deep in my gut, and between his pulsing cock, the warmth of his balls on mine, and the groans he's unleashing, I'm covering my own cock so I don't destroy his comforter with the amount of jizz I spray, my own jagged groan long and low as tears spring to my eyes with how close to death I feel—like my life has been brought to the very edge of existence and then spared, but not before this wave of gut-wrenching ecstasy courses through me. And then another, and another as we both continue to spill our releases and try our best to survive them.