Page 86 of Puck the Coach's Son
I breathe. I wait for the pressure to become something else. It becomes something else fast. It becomes a deep, warm pulse that runs up my spine and under my skull and out through my hands.
“Now.”
He starts to move.
He moves slow. Long strokes. Nearly all the way out, all the way in, and every time he bottoms out, he hits something inside me I didn't know existed and my cock jumps against his stomach.
“There?”
“There.”
His jaw works. He adjusts the angle by a fraction.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah... yeah...”
He angles and he hits it again and I cry out and he does it again and again, and I am unraveling under him. I say his name,Mad Dog, Mad Dog, mindlessly as I clutch his shoulders. Suddenly, without warning, I’m clenching around him and I’m coming. I am coming untouched with his cock inside me and his mouth on my throat and I have never come like this.
He fucks me through it. He doesn't slow. He rides the clench and the shudder and the wet on his stomach, and he leans down and whispers into my ear—you're mine, you're mine, I've got you, good boy, that's my good boy, and I am nodding against his throat; I am, yes, I am his.
He comes inside me with a sound I've never heard out of a man. A low broken rough sound. His hips stutter. He bites the skin where my neck meets my shoulder and holds it in his teeth, and I feel him pulse and pulse and pulse.
We don't move for a minute.
He is still inside me. His body is heavy on me. His breath is in my ear.
“That's two,” he whispers.
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“I...”
“Give me ten minutes.”
Ten minutes.
He pulls out slow. He ties the condom off. He gets up and he comes back with a warm cloth and he cleans me, carefully, patiently, and I lie there and let him; I feel wrecked and I feel new. He gets back in the bed. He pulls me in against his chest. His hand is in my hair.
Ten minutes.
True to his word, in ten minutes he's hard again. Surprising myself, I'm hard again. He rolls me onto my stomach and takes his time again, working me open, and he fucks me again, slowerthis time, deeper, his chest against my back and his hand flat against my stomach holding me tight against him, and he makes me come before he lets himself go. I'm sobbing into his pillow from how good it is, from how much, from the fact that this is happening to me, that it's him, that he chose me, that I chose him back.
The next time is mine.
I don't know where I find the courage. Curled against him with his arm under my head, I put my hand on his stomach, slide it down, and wrap my fingers around him. He makes a surprised sound, a half-laugh, and says, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Show me.”
I slide down his body and I put my mouth on him like he did with me, slow, patient, all the way in. He groans. His hand finds the back of my head and he doesn't push, he just rests it there. I do to him what he did to me for as long as I can and then I speed it up, squeezing his balls, and sucking him harder into my mouth.
His voice breaks above me as he encourages me to keep the pace.
Just like that. Take it. You have such a good mouth, baby.
