Page 87 of Matlock
“Stay there,” I ordered.
I stepped back just long enough to grab the lube I’d been carrying for days from my pocket, hoping for a moment just like this, and slicked my fingers. I pressed one against his hole, and he gasped, his body tensing.
“Relax,” I murmured, leaning forward to kiss his shoulder. “Let me in, baby.”
He took a shaky breath and relaxed as I pushed my finger inside. He was tight and hot, and I groaned at the feel of him.
“More,” he gasped. “Please, more—”
I added a second finger, stretching him, working him open, and he moaned again, low and desperate, his hips rocking back against my hand.
“That’s it,” I crooned. “Take it. Take what I give you.”
“Tony,” he whimpered. “Please, I’m ready. I need...”
I pulled my fingers out and slicked my cock, positioning myself at his entrance. I gripped his hips, holding him steady, and pushed inside in one slow, relentless thrust.
He cried out, his back arching, his hands scrabbling against the door.
“Fuck,” I groaned. “Fuck, Simon, you feel so good.”
He was tight and hot and perfect, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from coming right then and there. I held still, giving him time to adjust, my hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise.
“Move,” he gasped. “Please, Tony, move...”
I pulled back and slammed into him, and he shouted, his whole body shuddering.
I fucked him hard and fast, my hips snapping forward, driving into him over and over. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixed with his moans and my grunts and the desperate, frantic rhythm of our bodies.
“Mine,” I growled, leaning forward to bite his shoulder. “You’re mine, Simon. Say it.”
“Yours,” he gasped. “I’m yours, Tony.”
My left hand slammed against the door near his head. With my right hand, I reached over and wrapped it around his cock, stroking him in time with my thrusts. He was leaking, dripping, and I used it to slick my hand, jerking him harder.
“Come for me,” I ordered. “Come on my cock, baby.”
He cried out, his body going rigid, and he came hard, his cock pulsing in my hand, his ass clenching around me. The feeling of him tightening around me was too much. I thrust into him one more time and came with a shout, my vision whiting out, my whole body shaking with the force of it.
I collapsed against his back, both of us panting, trembling, our bodies slick with sweat.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice hoarse.
I pulled out slowly, and he whimpered. I turned him around and kissed him, soft this time, gentle, my hands cupping his face.
I pulled him close, wrapping my arms around him, holding him against my chest. His heart hammered against mine, and I buried my face in his hair, breathing him in. We stood there in the entryway, naked and spent, his body trembling slightly ashe clung to me.
He tilted his head up, searching my face, and I saw the question in his eyes, the vulnerability, the need for reassurance. I couldn’t give him the words. Not yet. But I could give him this: my arms around him, my body shielding his, my presence solid and real.
I kissed his forehead, lingering there, and felt him relax against me.
“Come on,” I murmured against his hair. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I guided him toward the bathroom, my hand never leaving the small of his back. The shower was warm when we stepped inside, steam rising around us like a cocoon. Simon leaned against the tiled wall, his eyes half-closed, and I grabbed the washcloth, soaping it slowly.
I started with his shoulders, my movements deliberate and gentle. The frantic urgency from moments before had evaporated, replaced by something quieter, more reverent. I washed his arms, his chest, watching the soap suds slide down his skin. When I reached his ribs, he shuddered, and I paused.
