“Your cock feels so good in my hand. So smooth. So hard. Begging for me to play with it. Weeping for me.”
Groaning, I let my head loll back, hitting against the shower stall with athud.
“Can’t wait to turn you around, spread you open for me, and slide my big, thick cock into that tight ass of yours. Hear those sweet little moans you make as I stretch you.”
“Oh, my God.” Every part of my body feels hypersensitive right now. Even his hot breath fanning my neck is a sensation unlike any other. “S-slow… down,” I plead. “I’m gonna… I’m…”
Words escape me. I clearly can’t speak right now, but thankfully, Shooter understands where I’m heading—or trying to—and he removes his hand from my dick. A whimper slips out of me at the loss of his touch as I try desperately to calm my body down.
“You like the idea of me fucking you, dirty boy?”
I nod, even before he has time to finish the question. I mean, why lie at this point?
Gasping when his fingers wrap around my shaft again, I let out a long, low moan, my hips thrusting into his grip of their own volition. It’s like I don’t have control over my own body when Shooter is around. What my mind knows to be true and to be right means nothing to my needy, pathetic body.
Shooter bites down on the fleshy area between my neck and shoulder. I yelp and he sniggers against my skin.
“As much as I’d love to sit here and bring you to the brink, I need inside you too much,” he growls into my ear, the words a physical touch on the most sensitive areas on my body. “I’m going to fuck you so hard and so good, you’ll never be able to forget me.”
Jesus Christ.The possessiveness in his words, while I know it’s only in the heat of the moment, does something to my insides. Something I very,verymuch like.
Shoving my head roughly to the side, he drags his tongue along my jaw before righting my face and sealing his mouth to mine. Shooter kisses like he rides—rough, dominant, and with his whole body. He owns me with this kiss. And he knows it.
He takes a step back, all contact removed from my body. His hungry eyes drag down the length of me, stopping a little longer on my red, throbbing cock, before gliding back up to meet mine. A cocky smirk plays around the corner of his lips as he reaches down, fisting himself tightly.
“Turn around, dirty boy,” he orders me, tone commanding, leaving no room for argument. “Hands on the wall.”
A violent shiver of anticipation, arousal, and nerves swirls down my spine as I do what he says. I glance over my shoulder, watching as he uncaps the soap, coating his fingers with a generous amount. Goosebumps erect all over my skin, heart racing in my chest as I feel his featherlight touch brush up and down my crease. With his other hand, he spreads me open, a single digit circling my hole.
Holy shit, this is happening.
Holy… shit.
It’s not like I’ve never had fingers in my ass before. But they’ve always been my own. His feel so different than mine. Nerves dance around my insides, my heart jackhammeringbehind my ribs. Part of me can’t believe this is happening—that it’s about to happen—but another part of me has to admit to myself in this moment that I, on some minute level, knew this was coming. Even if only subconsciously. It was always leading here, right? This push-and-pull game we’ve been playing—or, thathe’sbeen playing. But damn, I didn’t expect to feel so nervous about it.
“Relax, Addams,” he breathes into my ear. “Bear down on my finger, let me in.”
I do, and then he’s in. Just the tip of his finger, then a little more, and then even more, until it’s all the way. Breathing harshly through my nose, I let my head hang as he works the single digit in and out before sliding another one in alongside it. His lips press hot kisses along my shoulders, his breath fanning my oversensitive skin, heightening every sensation.
Turning his hand palm down, he crooks his finger, grazing my prostate, and I swear to Christ, I see stars.
“Oh, my God.”
“That’s it,” he coos. “You like when I do that?”
I nod, my brows pinched together as he keeps massaging that sweet little spot inside of me with every thrust of his fingers. “Yes… Yes,shit.”
Before I know it, he’s got a third finger into the mix, stretching me and fucking me with them in a way I’ve never done to myself. I feel so full, and he’s not even inside of me yet. The urge to touch myself is strong, so I do.
Or, at least, I try to.
Shooter reaches around me with the hand that isn’t shoved up my ass, swatting me away. “No,” he growls, giving me a few pumps himself before letting go. And then he’s gone. The heat from his body, his fingers inside of me, all gone. Watching over my shoulder, he reaches outside the stall—I’m guessing reachinginto the pocket of his pants—coming back with a gold foil packet that makes my heart pound in my chest.
This is it.
18
Shooter Graham
