Page 63 of Game Night: Truth or Dare

So I moved, and he moved, and while we were negotiating into place, our cocks hit each other like we were sword fighting, which made us laugh but was also kind of sexy. I liked being stupid with him. I liked how we played with each other.

Once I was down on my ass, legs splayed out, dick pointing skyward, Ben shifted on top of me, letting his knees grip my hips. He wrapped his left arm around my shoulders and leaned in, his chest so close to my face I could have almost touched it with my tongue. Then he spit in his right hand, reached behind him, and re-slicked the lube I’d smeared on my condom. Slowly, with his fist gripping the base of my cock, he lowered himself onto me.

Stars. I fucking saw stars. Like, everything about the moment was so unimaginably good—the heat and tightness of his body clenching around my dick, the smell of his skin, the weight of him as he sank lower and lower. He bit his lip and huffed a soft breath through his nose once the head was inside him, then tightened his grip on my torso as he slid down my shaft. Once he’d let me all the way inside, he lowered his forehead, resting it on mine. We sat there for a moment, still, as close as two people can be.

“You feel really nice,” he said.

I opened my mouth to thank him, but before the words could escape me, he started rocking.

Not hard. Not fast. Just this deep, gentle rolling back and forth, grinding his ass against my thighs, not so much driving me inside him as holding me in place. Whatever sweet things I’d been planning on saying just sort of evaporated, replaced by a jagged “Holy shit.”

He chuckled, and his breath was hot on my face. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Really fucking good.”

“Your dick is perfect.”

It’s a joke, right? The stupidest, most stereotypical thing in the world. Some guy being, like, “proud” of his dick? You don’t have to tell me how dumb it is. But when a guy like Ben Quinn is sitting on you, making you feel as good as he was making me feel, maybe that makes you susceptible to flattery. I felt myself beam. That dumb little compliment had me feeling like an all-star. “You’re perfect,” I said, dopey with lust and togetherness, repeating his cadence and the strain in his voice, and then I started moving against him, pushing into him as he pressed against me.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, then leaned in. His nipple, pink and erect, was so close to my face. I strained to kiss it. I touched it with the tip of my tongue, and he did that sweet little humming thing that meant that I was doing something right. With my hand on his back, I pulled him in closer to me and sealed my lips around the pebbled skin.

“Yeah. Fuck, Ol. Do that.”

I obliged, getting it wet in my mouth, then sucking on it. Gently at first, then harder, then harder. I wondered if we were still twelve miles away from “too hard,” and how close I could get. I didn’t want to hurt him, obviously, but if I’d figured out anything since the party, it was that Ben didn’t need to be handled with kid gloves.

He got rougher, riding me rather than just rolling on top of me, raising his body up with those tree-trunk thighs and then driving me into him. The movement had his cock slapping me in the stomach, an inch or two above my navel. The rhythm of the slaps got faster and faster, and our breathing got more and more jagged. I sucked on his left pec, then his right, then kissed his hungry mouth. At one point, his fist curled in my hair and tugged it hard, jerking my face toward the ceiling. “No fair,” I grunted, knowing I couldn’t retaliate with his own brush-short cut, but the sharp burst of pain threw all the good stuff that was happening to my body into relief, making it feel even better.

“I’m really close,” I said a few seconds later. He’d had me on edge for a while now, and the sweat and the scents and his moans and the way our bodies fit into each other had me ready to tip over.

“Good,” he said, then, “Should I speed up, or…”

“This is great,” I said. “This is fucking perfect.”

We locked lips one final time. He sucked my tongue into his mouth and pulled it, pulled it hard, almost like he wanted to eat me from the inside out. I heard myself moan, but it was all sort of disconnected, like someone was moaning in a movie. And while all that was happening, every muscle in my body tensed, and I came.

It was insane.

I’ve had a lot of orgasms—even if most of them have been self-service type situations—and I had never come as hard as I did with my dick clutched deep inside Ben.

While I was still spasming, he stopped supporting his own weight, fully sitting on my lap. He clutched my ribs with his knees and leaned back as far as he dared, past the edge of his narrow bed. Planting his left hand on the mattress, he grabbed his cock with his right and started working it, going at it like he was mad at it. It was kind of amazing, actually—all night long, I’d been taking notice of his cool confidence and his silly sense of humor. Now, with his face blushing red, his jaw hard-set, his arm furiously pumping, I saw an intensity that…well, it thrilled me. This was the Ben I’d been afraid of, back before I’d gotten to know him—the guy who could have beaten my ass if I stepped wrong, if I talked shit too often or too loudly. Seeing him like this, chasing an orgasm this hard while skewered on my still-pulsing dick? There was something raw about it, primal in a way that made all the purrs and whispers he’d just given me feel even more special.

And then he painted my chest, hot and sticky, the force of his climax surprising me. A single speck landed on my chin. I let it rest there for a second, savoring the feeling of being marked, of being covered in him, before wiping it away. Curious, I tasted it. He was muskier than I was, but I liked it.

We took a few seconds to catch our breaths. Finally, though, he looked at me. His face was placid again, but that wicked gleam was still there in his eyes. “Goddamn,” he said.

“Yeah. Agreed. One hundred per cent.”

That set us laughing again.

He got to his knees, pulling off me. With a funny little backwards step, he managed to get one foot on the floor, then straightened up. He walked to his closet—he had a great ass, I noticed, tight and high, but with a little jiggle—where he pulled out a couple of hand towels.

“Here. Catch.” He tossed one to me, then started swabbing himself off.

Still splayed out on his bed, I snapped the condom off my dick. I didn’t see a garbage can, so I just tied it and set it on my thigh, then began cleaning myself. The room was heavy with the smell of us. I hadn’t noticed while we were messing around, but it was undeniable now that I didn’t have all that other fun stuff distracting me. I liked it.

And then I realized the night was probably over.

---