Page 19 of The Comfort Trap

I obey without question, crawling onto the mattress and turning to face him. He stands there for a moment, looking at me. Then he reaches down to the floor and picks up something I hadn't noticed earlier—a small bottle of lube and a condom. He tosses them onto the bed beside me.

He climbs onto the bed, straddling my thighs with a predatory grace that makes my breath catch. The weight of him settles over me, warm and solid, and I can feel the tension coiling in my muscles anticipating his next move. He kisses my neck first, making slow circles around my adam's apple with the tip of his tongue before pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down my chest. Each touch sends a jolt of electricity straight through me, and I have to fight the urge to arch into him.

He caresses my nipples with his thumbs. I try to run my fingers through his soft, red hair, craving the contact, but his hand is around my wrist in an instant, pulling my hand back down to the bed with a firm grip.

Note taken. Too sensual.

I lay flat and let him do what he wants to me, enjoying every second of the love nips and tongue dragging from my nipple up to the side of my arm. I can feel his dick, hard and hot, pressing against the side of my thigh. I try to reach for that next, but he stops me, his grip tightening on my wrist.

Okay, Lay here like a starfish. Got it.

His kisses begin to drag down the center of my stomach, each wet press against my skin that sends shivers radiating through my entire body. I can feel the slight rasp of his light stubble against my sensitive skin, making my hips twitch involuntarily. I grip the sheets under my palm for dear life, the fabric twisting in my clenched fists as he finally takes me into his warm palm. He closes around me with a confidence that takes my breath away, his grip firm but not painful, the heat of his skin against my own making me gasp.

He sits up and gazes down at me with an intensity that makes my skin flush. I'm sure I'm every shade of red known to man. The way he's looking at me—like I'm something to be savored, like he's memorizing every dip and curve of my body—makes me feel both incredibly vulnerable and overwhelmingly wanted.

"Ricardo," he says, soft and low but the sound of my name in the silence perks up my senses instantly. His voice makes the hair on my arms stand up. The way he draws out each syllable of my name feels possessive.

"Yeah," I manage to breathe out, rough and needy.

The smile creeping up on his face sends more heat up my neck, and I'm not sure at this point how I have enough blood in my body populating both ends of me. I can see the silver ring on his lip catch the dim light from the bedside lamp.

"Is this for me?" he asks, slowly moving his grip on my engorged dick up and down before squeezing out more precum and spreading it around the head with his thumb.

The motion is torturous, his thumb circling the sensitive tip with an expertise that has me arching off the bed. His grip is firm, knowing exactly how much pressure to apply to make me see stars without pushing me over the edge too quickly.

I think I respond with, "Yes," or "It's all for you," but all that comes out is a nonsensical whimper. Apparently it's good enough.

He bends down and licks up what I'm leaking, his warm tongue tracing a path from my slit down my shaft. The sensation is electric, a jolt of pure pleasure that shoots straight through my spine. His eyes never leave mine as he tastes me, his pupils blown wide.

He moves up and down the base with a steady, maddening rhythm, and I have to break eye contact to lean my head back and let out a groan that's swallowed by the shadows of the room. He groans back in response, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through my entire body, sucking in my balls gently and rolling them in his hot mouth with a skill that makes my toes curl. I grip the sheets tighter, the fabric twisting in my fists as I fight to hold on, to not lose myself completely yet.

I spread my legs wider, a silent invitation that he accepts without hesitating, and he leans down further, his free hand gripping the inside of my thigh so hard it might leave a mark. I hope it does. I want to wake up tomorrow and see the evidence of this, of him, imprinted on my skin.

He lifts my leg higher and over his shoulder, the new angle opening me up completely, exposing every part of me to him. He starts lapping up and down my length with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, the rough texture sending electric currents racing up my spine. Each movement is calculated, designed to drive me to the edge of madness without quite pushing me over. He takes his time, savoring every inch of me like he’s committing it to memory. Then he goes face first, burying himself between my legs and massaging my hole with his tongue, sending sparks through every nerve ending in my body all at once. The sensation is overwhelming, a white-hot flash of pleasure that threatens to consume me whole.

"Oh fuck," I let out, breaking the silence again. "Fuck— Please don't stop."

He doesn't. He dives deeper, his other hand working my dick with slow, steady strokes while he slowly works me open with his tongue. The dual stimulation is almost too much to bear, pushing me closer and closer to the precipice with every passing second. Every piercing on his beautiful face electrifies my skin as they brush against me, adding an extra layer of sensation that makes my toes curl and my back arch.

Right when I think I can't stand anymore, he stops. I feel his thumb tracing the wetness around my hole, the light touch sending shivers down my spine despite the intensity of what came before.

"Ricardo," he says again. I whip my head up so fast I see stars, the sudden movement making me dizzy with need.

"What about this?" he asks.

"Yes."

He grins, his gorgeous teeth doing something stupid to my insides, making my stomach flip with anticipation. He pours some of the lube onto his fingers, the cool liquid a stark contrast to the heat of our bodies, and starts stretching me, taking his time to prepare me.

The feeling of him working me open is intense, stretching me slowly, driving me insane with need. He's so careful, watching my every reaction, making sure I'm comfortable even as he's pushing me to my limits.

Finally, when I'm practically begging for him to fuck me, he reaches for the condom. He tears open the packet and rolls it on, still watching me.

When he lines himself up with my entrance, the head of his dick pressing against me, I feel like I might explode right then and there. He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, "I've got you."

The first push inside is a slow burn, a delicious stretch that makes me gasp. He's careful, giving me time to adjust, but theneed in his movement is unmistakable. I want to tell him to go faster, to take me harder, but the words get stuck in my throat. Instead, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on.

He takes the hint, his hips snapping forward with a controlled force that makes me see stars, the sudden intensity stealing the air from my lungs.