Page 100 of King of Hollywood
“Fuck.” I hadn’t thought I did.
But apparently I’d been wrong.
Crowding overtop him again, my dick was honestly a little sore—it’d been used so much. But…the little bite of pain only made the pleasure sweeter as I lined the fat crown of my cock up with his hole and fumbled around the bed for another lube packet. Once slicked, I pressed in, slow and easy.
Felix half-dozed beneath me, muffled little gasps and groans escaping him as I bracketed his lovely broad shoulders with my arms.
“Arch your back,” I murmured, fingers digging into his ass, pulling his cheeks apart so I could stare at where my cock kept disappearing inside it. It was ridiculous how sexy it was—his tiny little hole giving for the thick length of my dick. It should not have fit inside him—but it did.
I came with a grunt when he did as he was told, staring in fascination as my own cum slicked the last few thrusts inside him.
We slept again, my spent cock drooling against his hip, our legs tangled.
A few hours later my alarm went off—the one I’d set for later than usual, as I had anticipated spending the night. Felix was still sleepy soft—as it was his bedtime now that the sun was up. But that didn’t stop him from disappearing under the covers to clean my dick with his rather dexterous tongue.
He only licked it once—and we’d both gone…
A little feral.
When I was forced to retreat to my house to get ready for work, visions of long, pale muscles assaulted my senses every time I closed my eyes. My smile refused to die. And my sore cock became—officially—my favorite body part.
I couldn’t wait to use it again.
I couldn’t wait to see Felix again.
Perhaps I had finally sated him? Perhaps he would no longer have his nighttime visitors. Maybe his beast had settled, the way mine had.
Maybe.
Chapter nineteen
Hope was a cruel, heartless bitch. I know this because after Felix and I shared a perfect wonderful, amazing night together, reality—of course—came crashing down. Though not before I had some sweaty, dirty, amazing sex. For the remaining few weeks before Barry’s party, I spent as much time as I possibly could inside Felix.
I neglected my laundry, and instead, fucked Felix over the dryer.
I neglected my dishes, and instead, rutted into him over the sink.
I didn’t have him on his front porch like I’d pictured—but I did push him to the floor in his front hallway one night and eat his ass till he cried.
I fucked him on every possible surface I could, in every possible combination I could think of. And when I wasn’t humping Felix’s ass, my dick somehow always found its way inside the wet, slurping cavern of his throat. He liked it when I choked him. He liked it even more when his little spiky teeth nicked my cock and he could suck the blood at the same time he fed on my cum.
He’d sucked my dick so many times I almost forgot what it felt like to not have my cock buried inside him in some way or another.
And every single time he was a bossy little bastard. Climbing on top of me. Biting me. Scratching me. Leaving hickeys and bruises. Commanding me to “go faster, Marshall.” “To the left, Marshall.” “That’s it, my good boy. Fuck me harder, big shot.” “Come inside me—I want to feel it.” “God, you’re so big. Fucking bruise me, Marshall. That’s it. Yes, yes, yes.”
We never did watch the movies he’d told me would be “enlightening.” But I figured there was time.
Felix was as insatiable as I was—but even we eventually…reached a limit.
It took several weeks to get there, yes, but it happened.
I was nearly forty, goddammit. I should’ve been surprised it didn’t happen earlier. I’d been spending my nights frolicking around both our houses like I was learning how my dick worked for the first time.
Like all good things, the manic sex-fest came to an end.
There was a moment, two days before Barry’s party, that Felix and I were making out in my kitchen while I meal-prepped. For the first time since I’d lost my virginity neither of us pushed for more. Our tongues danced, playing, searching, rubbing. And then the kisses petered off, slow and sweet. Immediately, a comfortable warmth filled the room.
Warmer even, than the oven’s heat, or the tray I’d just pulled out of it.
