Page 15 of Mixed Motives

“I can’t wait,” I mutter, standing long enough to undo my pants and let them fall to the floor. My hard cock juts up proudly, and when I stroke myself, I see Henry lick his lips.

On my way back to the bed, I grab the lube and a condom. Slicking up my fingers, I make my way behind him, kissing my way down his spine as I start to prep him. He whines shamelessly as I work to get him loose. While an evil part of my brain wonders how many times he’s done this with someone else—including, cringe, my own son—I squish that thought like a spider.

Nope.

I’m here with him now, and this is what we’re doing. While I open him up, I murmur to him: how gorgeous he is and how lucky I am to be with him. How much I need to be inside him and how good he feels.

Another finger, and another, until he hisses, “Goddammit, Keane, fuck me already.”

I chuckle, then spank his ass. “Be a good boy,” I mock scold.

He gives me a bratty sigh—I never knew Henry had that in him, or how endearing I’d find it—and I suit up with the condom. Positioning myself behind him, I begin to press into his hole, and the tight grip has my eyes rolling back in my head.

“Henry,” I whisper. “Oh, God. You feel so. Fucking. Good.”

Steadily I go, little by little, inch by inch, until his body lets me in and my pelvis is pressed flush against his cute ass.

I may die from the pleasure.

He’s moaning, and I’m listening to make sure the sounds indicate pleasure and not pain—or at least not the bad kind of pain. Fullness and pressure and that just-too-much feeling, fine. But actual pain, no.

“You good?” I whisper when he settles a little bit, and he bites his lip and nods.

“So good. Please fuck my ass.”

Again, I chuckle. “Well, since you’re so polite.” I pull out and thrust in, starting a slow rocking that I didn’t think I was capable of, since what I really want to do is rut into him until he screams.

But I’m taking it slow, and it’s killing me in the best way possible. As I mount him, my cock spearing him and then withdrawing again and again, I find myself in a mindless state of bliss. Where I’m focusing on his body, on my own. On his pleasure, on mine. And on the connection. Oh, the connection with him, and it’s not just physical.

I’m watching the way his shoulders flex and his biceps bulge. How his hair is getting messier and messier, his skin more flushed.

“You’re the most tempting fucking thing,” I mutter. “I can’t believe I get to have you.”

“You do have me. You can always have me. Always,” Henry says, and it feels like he means more than sex.

In response, I haul him up so we’re both on our knees and lean around to kiss him savagely. Our tongues tangle as I continue to move in and out of his ass, and when we break apart, I think: Mine.

He’s mine.

I fuck into him, and he cries out, then starts stroking his cock.

“Yeah, baby. Get yourself ready. I want you to spill again. I want you to come,” I say.

Henry nods seriously, which is adorable. Like he wants to be good for me.

“So fucking cute,” I mutter. “You getting close?” Because I know I am.

“Yeah,” he grits out. “Oh, God. Please. Yes. Please keep fucking me. Please.”

I do.

I bounce him on my cock, and he’s so light-limbed that I can pretty much have my way with him. That thought makes me groan even more, and the pressure around my cock is almost too much.

Changing the angle of my thrusts, I find the spot that makes him whimper anew, and then I rail him. “You’re fucking mine,” I growl. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he whispers. “I’m yours.”

And I can see the moment he starts flying, his orgasm taking over. He shakes and shudders, the come he has left spurting over his hand.

---