Page 107 of Coyote

He pulled off and waited, one big, patient hand flat on my thigh, until I quit giving orders. Then he went lower instead of higher, took my balls into his mouth one at a time, rolled them on his tongue, and hummed, and I forgot whatever I'd been about to demand. Then his lips slid back down over me. He moved when I shut up and stopped when I didn't. So I quit ordering. I learned fast, given the right teacher and my cock down his throat.

He pulled off right when I was getting close, ringed the base of my cock with his fingers, and squeezed the finish right back down out of me.

"¡Cabrón!" The word cracked off the cave ceiling. "You son of a—"

"Not yet," he said. "My rules. Your words."

"You're a thief."

"I learned from the best." He grabbed the backs of my thighs and folded me, knees toward my chest, hips coming up off the bedroll. Cool air hit my hole, and every muscle in me knew it. He looked his fill. Any other night, I'd have run this show from start to finish. Now I hung folded in half in his hands, on display in my own cave, and my cock drooled onto my stomach.

Then his lips went where I wasn't expecting them.

The first pass of his tongue over my hole shorted out every thought I had left. My whole body locked, then melted. I whined, high and loud, and it bounced off the rock and startled Nimue. He did it again. He spat on me and worked me open with his tongue, patient and filthy and thorough. Somewhere in there he'd let my wrists go so he could hold me folded, and I pulled his hair with both hands.

"John." My heels drummed on his back. "Madre de Dios. Who taught you—where did you learn—"

He didn't answer, and he didn't hurry. His tongue breached me, and my voice cracked.

"Get up here," I managed, "or I'm finishing without you."

He lifted his head, beard slick to the jaw, breathing through his mouth. "You'll finish when I say."

God help me, my cock jumped at that. He saw it jump, and the corner of his mouth curled up.

He reached over my head and found the tin stocked and set within arm's reach of the bedroll. "Breathe."

He worked two fingers into me at once, no count, no asking, and I stopped having opinions about anything. Those same two fingers had been all over every piece of damage I'd collected this year. They moved the same way now, steady, unhurried, knowing exactly what was under them. He curled them and when he pressed up into my prostate, the jolt snapped my hips clean off the blanket. My heels came off the bedroll, and I swore at the ceiling.

"There," he said, more to himself than to me, and did it again.

"Fuck. John."

"Keep talking." He spread his fingers, stretching me open around his knuckles, the burn sliding straight over into good. "I spent weeks listening to you boss this whole ranch around. This is better."

I leaked a steady mess onto my belly and rode his hand, shameless, working myself down onto his knuckles, and he watched my face the whole time. He rubbed his fingers against my prostate until my thighs shook and my toes cramped.

"When," I clenched down around his fingers. "When, damn you? Now. Tonight!"

He pulled his fingers free, and I whimpered at the emptiness. He knelt between my legs in the firelight and slicked himself up, and I took my first proper look at what he'd been keeping to himself. His fist slid down his own cock, thick as my wrist, dark, heavy, wet at the tip. I couldn't work up any spit. My hole clenched around nothing.

He settled over me, hooked my knee up over his arm, and cracked his head on the low rock. He said fuck, once, dropped lower, and that put his weight exactly where he wanted it anyway. Then he held there, braced on one arm, the blunt heat of him lined up against me, making me wait.

"John."

"Right here."

"Get in me."

"Whose night is it?"

"Yours." I dug my heels into the bedroll. "Yours. Now."

He pushed in.

The stretch burned, then melted, then turned into a pleasant fullness. My lips opened on nothing at all. For the first time all night, I had no comment.

His forehead dropped to mine. Then he tilted down and kissed me, in no hurry about it, seated deep and going nowhere, and kept kissing me while I got used to the size of him. The brass swung off his neck and tapped my chest while the rest of him filled the inside. He was too big for this cave and too big for me, and everything fit anyway.