25. Drew

Idon't know about Olivier, but I sleep like a rock. From about one in the morning until midday. When I crack my eyes open, he's lying on his back, scrolling through his phone, half a foot away from me.

My cock is hard already. Still. Again. Whatever.

I don't know if it's the forbidden fruit thing, or what, but I definitely want to squeeze all the juice out of him.

In profile, he has this straight, perfect nose that's the exact right size for his face. I have a good nose, but he's got a great nose. And the way his lips have a natural edge to them makes me fairly certain they won't lose volume as he ages like mine have. Not so much my lower lip, but my upper lip. It hasn't disappeared or anything, but it's less of a pucker, more of a pout these days. Olivier's lashes are long and dark, brushing the top of his high cheekbones when he blinks. Right now, he's got his hair shoved back and tucked behind his ears. It's cute, making him look even younger than he is.

And that's the guy who fucked me last night.

I twist my mouth as the wide variety of thoughts I have about that fact shuffle through my head. Well, those thoughts along with a type of soreness in my asshole I've never felt. As the doubts creep in, I try to head them off by reaching over and pressing a hand to his stomach.

His head turns slowly my way. "Hey," he says. "So, you're not working tonight?"

"No," I tell him, his undivided attention its own kind of reassurance. "Tomorrow night."

"Hmm…plans?"

"No." I let another pang of guilt about Jericho come and go. I'll talk to her. I will. Let her go find someone better for her, who can appreciate her in a way I don't seem to be able to anymore.

"How's your butthole?"

I snort. "Sore."

His gaze goes slightly shy. "I was the opposite of cool last night. That was like—the animal version of me. I really can do better. I wasn't thinking with the head on my shoulders if you know what I mean."

"Right." I rub my thumb back and forth over the smooth skin of his breastbone wishing it were my lips there instead.

He flops over to face me, phone carelessly discarded. "Explain to me why people have to work again."

"Have you heard of the word rent?"

"Rent?" he asks, feigning confusion.

"It's a fee some people have to pay—with money—to be able to live in a room with four walls and a roof."

"That's absurd. I have far more than four walls and a very large roof, and I've never had to pay a dime. And what does this have to do with working anyway?"

I smile because I can't help it. I like his snark and his games. "Some people have to perform services for other people in order to earn the money I mentioned, which is used to pay the rent."

"Services, huh? You mean like a job?"

"Exactly."

"I love performing job services," he says, his hand snaking beneath the covers to find my erection. "Hand jobs, blow jobs…"

"Not that kind of job, silly peach. Although there are some people who earn their money doing those jobs, too." I hiss as his fist wraps around my rigid shaft and pulls.

"Do you think I'd be good at that?" he asks.

"Mmhm."

"Is it because I can't touch your cock without drooling? Is that what would make me good at it?"

"Wouldn't hurt."

"How much would you pay?" he asks, kissing my chest and continuing to tug. His wild curls tickle my chin.

"I'm broke, so we'd probably have to work out some sort of exchange that didn't involve money."

"And what if I pay you to live here and make yourself available to me anytime I want you? What would you do with all that money?" He gathers my balls on his next upstroke.

My neck arches from the bed, and I groan.

"Guess I wouldn't need it," I manage to say.

"And then you'd just be mine."

I'm about to tell him to be careful what he wishes for, but he's making his move, putting his head under the covers and sucking my dick into his mouth, using his hand to work my nuts and my base.

"Fuck," I bite out.

Did I mention he gets better at this every time?

Because he's on his stomach, coming at me from the side, he's left his back and ass exposed, easily within reach. I run my hand down the satin skin of his back where lean muscles work to power him through his "job," and then I caress his ass in its totality before swallowing hard and sliding my fingers through his crack.

He hums around my dick, and I marvel once again at how turned on I am. At how excited he gets me with little to no effort.

At this point, I have to concede that I'm not as straight as I thought I was. I'm not saying I want to go cruising gay bars, but I'm not over here wishing Olivier didn't have a cock either. The fact that he does have one—a long, beautiful one—excites me even more. I drag two fingertips along his scrotum, pressing firmly in several spots on the way back to his hole until I find a place that makes him shudder and groan. He even pulls his mouth off my cock to gasp.

I settle in, enjoying his mouth on me while I explore his backside. Once again, I'm a passive but fully aroused recipient of all his wild sexual energy. It feels almost worshipful. And I'm not mad about it.

At some point, I whip the covers off so I can watch him deep throat me. Using my other hand, I hold him by the hair and aim myself properly to get his lips down to my pubic bone. I praise him when he takes me whole. I have an eight-inch dick when fully erect, so I realize it's no small feat, one I doubt I could accomplish with his equally impressive member, and maybe that's why I haven't tried. Fear of failure. Humiliation. Disappointment. The usual.

He makes me come too easily, and I consider what I have to offer him once I can think clearly again. He's trailing kisses up my abdomen, his mouth sticky with cum, and I can tell by the way he keeps adjusting himself against the mattress he needs to get off, too.

"You wanna fuck again, don't you?" I mumble, slurring…maybe.

"Is that a trick question?" he asks, pausing to look up at me.

"I'm offering."

"Thought you were sore."

"It's not that bad." I mean, it's not great, but it's not terrible.

Plus, like I said—it's hard to fuck up being a hole.

"I'd kill to sink my dick inside you again."

"Say less."

I turn to my side, and he adjusts to press his chest to my back. With a controlling hand he pushes my top thigh forward until my knee is close to meeting my stomach. He shifts around behind me, the bottle of lube opening and closing. The cool gel on his fingertips swirls around my hole before they both sink in, filling me with more.

I'm tender, yes, and the burn from last night reignites with his probing touch, but let's just say I'm willing to deal with it. His fingers and more.

"It's so goddamn hot, Drew."

"Yeah," I say on a long moan willing my body not to tense up too much again. The fact that I just came helps.

"Thank you for this," he murmurs, pulling up flush to me, adjusting the head of his cock to notch at my entrance and then looping an arm beneath mine to brace around my shoulder. He presses his mouth to my neck, inhaling deeply as he nudges my hole.

I'm locked tight again, and he might as well be trying to push through a concrete wall.

But he remains patient with me, giving gentle thrusts against the tight ring until, due to no intentional action of my own, I open for him. His cockhead bursts through, and I let out that long, low sound I've never heard myself make until last night.

The feeling of violation returns, but this time it comes with excitement, too. The kind of excitement that I used to get when I was a teenager and found a rare private moment in my crowded house with Porn Hub. Like I'm doing something wrong, and dirty—something to be ashamed of, but I can't help myself.

"Oh, God," he groans, sinking his teeth into the meat of my shoulder. "I fucking love this."

I shove a hand into his hair, gripping it by the roots and keeping his mouth attached to my skin. "Go slow."

"Mmhm."

He draws back slightly and then rolls forward, impaling me fully on his cock. I groan louder. His slick entrance makes a sucking sound, and my own cock threatens to fill again. Olivier finds a slow, rocking rhythm as he fucks me and leaves marks on my neck.

I lie there, eyes closed, sometimes grimacing with the intense stretch, but my efforts to relax finally bear some fruit. If I can ignore the fact that I'm letting a man put his dick in my ass and focus on Olivier getting off, it's better. If I can concentrate on the sensation of being filled and let my body bear down the way it wants to, then it doesn't hurt anymore. It's not bad at all.

And with all that out of the way, because I'm not the one that matters right now, my own nerve endings send different signals to my brain, and I say things like, "Just like that. Fuck, yeah."

"Mm…Drew…"

The continued stimulation of my prostate is intense. It's so fucking much. Making me sweat, making me pant, making me hard again.

"I'm close…too close," he whispers. "You feel so fucking good. Gonna come so goddamn hard."

I groan, letting go of his hair to fist my own cock. I don't know if I can come again, but my dick demands another shot at it. "Fuck me," I mutter, over and over. "Fuck me, fuck me…"

Not like fuck my life, but Jesus Christ—keep fucking me.

His arm tightens around my shoulder, muscles flexing, showing remarkable strength and determination. His hips keep rolling at their erotic best, but he's moving quicker, chasing his release, and it's incredible to be the one he'll find it in. I already know I want to do this again.

More than once. The thought alone comes as a relief. A relief so powerful, I relax even more and encourage him even louder. "That's so fucking good. God, you're good. Such a good boy, fuck…Olivier…"

His body tenses, his dick deep in my ass, and then he fills me, a panting moan escaping him as he shudders against my back, squeezing me even tighter. My second orgasm is surprisingly strong. Cum shoots up my abs, going as far as my chest, and I get this fleeting thought that we almost always come at the same time, but mostly I'm just feeling the overload—the wave crashing through me, the tension exploding and dissipating as I milk my dick and swallow lungfuls of air to work my way through this.

He pants against my neck, dick still twitching deep in my body. The pressure makes me bear down again and he shivers. "Holy shit…" he murmurs before he covers my neck with long, wet, open-mouthed kisses, and I respond like I've never had sex before, moaning and groaning and hissing and yessing.

Our frenzied afterglow eventually runs its course, and I don't know about him, but I'm completely spent. When he slides out, he crawls over me, taking my face in his hands to kiss me lazily and so thoroughly, I feel more wanted than I've ever felt in my life.

It's safe to say, I've officially changed my mind about The Heir.