Page 18 of The Last Dance

I resisted the urge to break him right there.

Instead, I grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, caught himself, and stood waiting, hard and beautiful and a little unsteady. I wanted him. Every inch, every cell, every insolent flicker in his green eyes.

The next move was mine.

I didn’t give him a chance to steady himself.

The second he was upright, I fisted his hair and pulled him into my lap. He landed with a surprised yelp, knees bracketing my thighs, hands instinctively gripping my shoulders.

I wrapped one arm around his lower back, pinning him, and with the other I reached down and stripped the mesh shorts off him in a single, practiced motion. The waistband caught for a fraction of a second on the curve of his ass, then surrendered, leaving him bare and already half-hard.

He squirmed, but it wasn’t resistance.

I gripped his hip and forced him back against my chest, settling him with his legs splayed wide and his arms hooked behind my neck like a human harness. His ribs flexed under my palm, soft but unbreakable. His heartbeat was fast enough to register in the hollow of my own chest.

I ran my hands everywhere. Up his spine, thumbs pressing each vertebra into memory. Over his nipples, which were already sensitive enough that the lightest touch made him gasp.

I pinched one, rolled it, watched him arch against my hold. The other hand traced the sharp line of his jaw, the column of his throat, the fragile shape of his clavicle.

He was saying things now, none of it words. Just noises. Little whimpers that started as protests and ended in broken pleas. I ignored all of it. I was more interested in how his body refused to lie. How his cock was already leaking onto my stomach, how his whole body trembled every time I bit down on his shoulder or dragged a palm across his belly.

I squeezed his nipple harder. He moaned, full and desperate, rolling his hips in helpless little circles. I let him for a moment, enjoying the friction, then locked him down with one arm and reached between his legs.

His hole was tight, almost prim, and it clenched around the tip of my finger as I pressed in. No resistance, only heat. He shivered, head lolling back against my shoulder. I bit his ear, just enough to make him squeak, then licked the skin clean.

I reached into my pocket for a condom and a single packet of lube, dropping them both on the side table. I grabbed the lube, and tore it open with my teeth.

I squeezed a dollop onto my fingers, cold enough that he flinched, and then worked it into him in slow, deliberate circles. First one finger, then two. He gripped my forearm with both hands, panting into the crook of my neck, eyes screwed shut.

I pressed in a third finger and felt him go rigid in my lap. “Breathe,” I said, low in his ear.

He did. It took effort, but he did. The ring yielded, inch by inch, until I had him open enough to take anything I wanted.

His cock was purple at the tip, drooling onto my thigh. I let go of his hip and stroked him with my slicked hand, matching the thrust of my fingers inside him. He keened, a noise so sharp I felt it in my teeth.

“Please,” he managed, voice hoarse.

I didn’t reply. I fucked him open until he was making those high, desperate sounds, until his hips were jerking in time with my hand and his ass was swallowing my fingers to the root.

I slowed, pulled out, and wiped my hand on his thigh. He made a noise of protest, but I shut him up by wrapping a hand around his jaw and forcing him to look at me. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, sweat slick on his temples.

“You want it?” I asked.

He nodded, mute.

I slapped his cheek, not hard, but enough to bring him back. “Say it.”

He hesitated, then, “I want it.”

I smiled, small and private. I made a show of tearing open the condom, rolling it down over my cock. I slicked it with more lube, just to see his eyes go wide again. I lined him up, using both hands to steady him.

He was ready. More than ready.

I wanted to see if he’d break.

I let him try to take it slow.

He lined himself up, hands braced on my chest, knees shaking. The tip pressed against his hole, and he paused there, trying to steady his breath. I held his hips, just barely, letting him set the angle. I wanted to see if he’d take me without being told.