He moans. His hips jerk, torn between the sensation in front and the one I’m building behind.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “That feels…”
“I know,” I whisper. “I know, Max.”
When I feel his body start to open, to accept me, I press a second finger in. He tenses and gasps, but I keep stroking his cock, keeping him grounded.
“Breathe, Max,” I growl. “You’re doing so fucking good.”
I thrust my fingers in slow, scissoring gently. His walls tighten, fight, then give; he lets out a sharp moan, and I feel his legs shake again. I press soft kisses down his back, mouth dragging along his skin, whispering into him between every breath.
“Let me in.”
“Let me have you.”
His body’s finally opening for me, trembling under my touch.
My fingers are deep inside him, curling and thrusting slowly. Max groans, the sound torn from his chest.
“You ready?” I whisper, mouth to his shoulder.
He nods once, muscles tight with tension.
“Need to hear you say it.”
“I’m ready.” The words are barely audible.
I pull my fingers out, slick my cock with the last of the oil, and stroke it once, twice, watching it gleam in the low light. My pulse pounds. My breath is ragged. My body’s vibrating with the need to bury myself inside him. I line up behind him and grip his hips, pressing the head against him, waiting, watching his fists clench intothe dirt.
Then I push. His whole body seizes.
“Fuck,” he gasps.
I stop. Breathe through the burn climbing up my spine. His heat’s unbearable. Tight.
“Does it hurt?” I growl, barely steady.
“A little,” he grits out, sweat rolling down his spine.
I lean over, mouth against his ear. “Imagine how I feel taking your fucking piercing every time you split me open.”
He laughs, actually fucking laughs, and I thrust deeper while his guard’s down.
“Ryker!” His voice cracks, pleasure laced with pain.
“That’s it,” I groan, hips rocking, pushing until I’m all the way in, until his ass is flush against me and he’s full, stuffed with me.
“Goddamn,” he chokes out, body shaking.
“You’re doing so fucking good,” I whisper, one hand running up his spine, the other gripping his waist so hard my knuckles go white.
I give him a second. Let him adjust. Let him feel me inside him.
Then I pull back and slam back in. His head drops. A ragged moan leaves his lips.
“You take me so well,” I grunt, pounding harder now, finding a rhythm.
He growls, but it’s lost in the way he’s falling apart beneath me, each thrust dragging a new sound from him, each stroke grinding my cock deeper, harder, rougher.
