24. Olivier

For the record, I've had better sex, and it's myself I'm judging on a scale of how well I think I performed. Off the record—I've never come that hard in my entire life.

I've never had anal sex before, so maybe it always feels like that, but somehow, I doubt it. The women I've been with over the last few years have all been experienced lays. They know exactly how to work their cunts to yield maximum pleasure, some better than others—hell, Elodie could teach a master class—but there's a performative aspect to sex with women that was not happening in my bed tonight.

First, because my need to fuck Drew was so ferocious, I didn't even have time to think about finessing it, and second, he just bent over and took it. He was barely even trying. And yet, whatever he was doing, whether it was purposeful or not, got me off harder and faster than any penetrative sex I've ever had—and I'm including my first few times here, too.

I have a go at slowing down my breathing as I look down at where my raw cock is still planted in his ass, and the image burns itself instantly into my long-term memory. Spreading his cheeks, I watch with fascination as my slick reddened dick slides out of him, reappearing an inch at a time until the tip bumps out of his hole. He lets out a harsh breath.

Pearly white cum drips from his puckered opening, sliding down his taint and onto his heavy sac. My gaze follows its path as it pools on the comforter beneath us.

My mouth is hanging open, and my eyes go hazy with a mixture of lust and satisfaction. Lifting my gaze again, I watch as even more of my cum trickles out before his hole shutters closed, looking raw and abused.

Something, I don't know what, has me bending down to press a kiss to it.

He startles, but when I lick a stripe through his crack to soothe whatever ache he might have, he sighs.

I don't press the issue, although that small taste has me nearly feral. I guess I do taste a little like caviar.

I sit back. Waiting for the moment I get to see his face, and terrified of what I might find there. I act casual, climbing out from between his legs and lying back on the mound of pillows while he sits back on his heels. His hand is covering his cock. Without a word or a glance my way, he gets off the bed and heads for the bathroom, hand on himself the whole time.

I look down at my utterly spent dick and notice in an offhand way that I'm trembling. Adrenaline plays a part, but there's something more insidious at the forefront—shame.

Shame is a relatively new feeling for me. I never knew the meaning of it until I'd faced my parents that day at our last brunch with the lawyer. That was the first time I'd felt the slime of it coating me, and the wish to take a pencil and erase myself, or hit some sort of universal delete button on my existence.

I suppose there comes a point in every man's life where one realizes that "fun" has a timestamp on it. That shit happens to everyone, not just poor people and the middle class. It's like that old song—No one here gets out alive.

I admit, I used to think Jim Morrison meant death. He was lowkey obsessed with death, after all. But now I think he also meant that we're all fucked over by life at some point. And then we die. But also to like—have fun?

I don't know anything anymore. The things I now know for sure about myself I wouldn't even need a whole hand to count. The shame is uncomfortable, though. I don't feel like I've done anything to be ashamed of, and yet, there's no one here to reassure me I haven't.

I hold my breath when the bathroom door opens and Drew appears with a towel around his waist. But like—what is he covering up? His own shame?

It would be a clown show if I tried to dig the edge of my comforter out from under all these pillows to try and cover myself, too, so I try to act as nonchalant as possible, crossing my feet at the ankles and casting a glance his way.

Not one to let myself stew, or God forbid, let anything percolate when the quickest way to solve my problem is standing right in front of me, I ask, "Well?"

Drew's cheeks are slightly flushed, and his lower lip is swollen, but I don't know if it's from my kissing or his biting while I was fucking him, which he bore with grunts of hard labor and the occasional lewd groan.

But right now, he looks like a wet dream—if I'd ever had a wet dream about a man. I greedily take in the sight of his upper body, all tattooed and glistening, his hair sweaty and pushed away from his face, his blue eyes even brighter than normal. I have to remind myself he invited himself over. He wanted to be here. He might not have wanted that, but he did say he wanted me, and that was about the rawest, most elemental version of me he could have gotten.

"We're gonna analyze this?" he asks. "Now?"

"I didn't ask you to analyze it. I said ‘Well.'"

"Well…it was different."

"And?"

"Dude," he sighs.

"Because I can do better."

He lifts his brows. "You're worried about your technique right now?"

"What should I be worried about?"

"I don't know. Whether my asshole is bleeding?"

My eyes fly open. "Is it?"

"No. But I thought you were expressing concern for my well-being. Should have known better." Despite the words and their pouting nature, he starts tossing pillows from the bed, drops the towel, and then crawls under the covers.

"Must not have been that bad if you're not leaving."

"I'm sure you did fine. I wouldn't really know. No frame of reference. Whatsoever," he adds.

The lone remaining pillow he's fighting finally submits to him, and he turns to his side, facing me. His arm stretches beneath the pillow, and his body curls toward mine.

"You came, right?" I ask.

"Yeah."

This is probably too big of a relief. I sigh, letting that worry go. "You can try it on me if you want."

His gaze narrows. "I'll think about it. Not tonight."

"Okay." My hands twist anxiously, but I pull them apart the second I notice.

"So let me ask you the same thing," he says. "Well…?"

I give him half a grin. "Your ass is fucking amazing."

That pulls a miraculous smile from him. A small one, but still.

"I came so fucking hard, Drew."

"Good," he murmurs, his eyes sliding closed sleepily before he blinks them open again. "You gonna sleep like that?"

I don't answer him, but I do start tossing pillows. I should probably shower, but I'm not sure I'd be able to hold myself up that long, such was the draining power of the orgasm I had in his ass. Once I'm under the covers, he uses his long, strong arm to urge me closer to him.

Before I have a chance to wonder what he has in mind, his mouth is moving on mine—offering me more reassurance than I could have ever asked for. His tongue licks into my mouth, and my entire body is clenching to avoid wrapping myself around him like a needy koala.

Kissing him is beyond bliss, but having his bare chest pressed to mine and his hand running down the back of my thigh to pull it over his hip is sending me to another stratosphere. "Unh," I grunt when our cocks smash together.

He's half hard, and I'm all the way there again. More. I want more. Still more.

He moves to kiss my face, whispering near my ear. "I'd let you do it again if you wanted."

"Really?" I whisper, shifting my hips up to give us both some friction to rut against. "So you liked it?"

"It had its moments. I'll try it again."

That like—means something to me. That I might have not been the best thing that's ever happened to him, but I get another chance. I find his mouth and try to swallow those words—draw him further into me. I honestly can't get enough.

Holding his face in my hands, I kiss him for as long as I possibly can, and then I kiss him again. I'm painfully hard, and we're practically fucking again. His hand slips from my shoulder to encircle my throat, and the physical reminder of how this all began between us has precum pulsing from me in time with my rapid heartbeats.

"Do it," I say against his hot mouth.

"Why?"

"Because it's fucking amazing."

His hand tightens—not like the first time or even the third or fourth, but enough. Enough to leave a bruise, enough to make me dizzy as I suck his lips and rub my tongue needily against his. My pulse pounds, and I feel every rapid, thready thrum of it.

"A little more," I tell him.

He does what I ask, applying more pressure, but it's not quite enough. He's being careful. I appreciate it, but fuck…

After two additional requests for a tougher squeeze and his subsequent compliance, I nod and groan, sliding a hand down his back, gripping his ass and pressing our cocks together so hard we'll chafe if one of us doesn't come soon. He nearly chokes my breath from me, and my kiss goes from goal-directed to wet, mouthy, and chaotic.

"Such a pretty boy," he murmurs through the cotton in my ears, and my balls set to detonate. "Tell me when you're right there—tell me exactly when you can't hold it in a second longer."

I lick my lips, and he gnaws on my chin. His ass flexes in my hand, fucking me back, and it's so depraved and desperate—both of us with need bleeding from our pores.

"Mmm…" he groans. "Shit… Good fucking boy. Dirty, greedy…oh fuck…"

Wet heat slickens the glide of my cock, and vaguely I realize it's because he just came on my abs. It's too much—it's more than enough to push me to the point of no return, and I get that telltale clench. "Drew—" I rasp. "Coming—gonna?—"

The pressure on my throat lets up, one ton at a time, and as blood rushes to my head, and my orgasm spurts up my shaft, my body lights up like a beacon. My release is so intense—so painful almost—it has me seeing stars—or more like fireworks. I come and come, and I keep coming, my body contracting, convulsing, and I keep shouting, "God, oh God, oh God…"

It's a whole thing while he kisses the places on my neck where he was pressing the hardest, and I'm still unloading cum between us in sporadic bursts. Making a huge mess. His mouth hovers near my ear. "I did my research."

A strong, final shudder wracks me, and then my entire body goes limp in his strong arms. My face is buried in his neck, and I breathe the faint scent of what's left of his cologne, but mostly it's the warm scent of his skin. Like salt and snow. The city and the sea.

Fuck, I've got it bad for him. I hope like hell the feeling's mutual. If he tries to ghost me after this, I'll raise holy hell. I wouldn't put it past me to try and get him fired.

"Shower?" he asks after a few minutes.

"No, I couldn't possibly. Just bring a damp towel."

"Yes, sir." He says it so unironically, I smile.