Page 62 of The Prodigal Son

Climbing over me, he takes my mouth roughly, and I moan against his lips. “I want to be close to you,” he says as he rolls me to my side. Then he settles his body behind mine, my back flush with his chest.

With one arm under my head, he grabs his cock with the other and guides the warm, blunt tip to my hole. Sliding his hand up my hip, he grips me tightly as he presses himself inside.

The moment his cock breaches the tight ring of muscle, I let out a husky groan of relief, the burn familiar and delicious. He slides in deep before freezing so we can both savor the feeling as he holds me close, an arm across my chest.

“You feel incredible,” he whispers against my ear. “Your ass is so fucking tight. It’s like heaven.”

“I need it rough,” I mutter as I squeeze his hand with mine. “Please fuck me hard.”

His mouth traces warm kisses along my neck and ear. Then, his free hand grasps my throat and forces my face toward him. Our tongues tangle as he pulls out to the tip and thrusts back in. He swallows my cries of pleasure.

Picking up speed, he holds me tight in an intimate embrace. Placing a foot on the bed for leverage, his movements grow harder and faster, and it’s like I’m being swept up in a storm with him.

“Harder,” I cry.

His hand is still around my throat as he thrusts relentlessly, still going slow to savor the sensation. We are gripping each other so tight I don’t know where I end and he begins. Hands, arms, legs, mouths, breaths. We are a mingled, sensual mix of sex, desire and pleasure. He continues his unhurried movement, letting seconds stretch into minutes, and I love every delicate,perfect moment of having him inside me. The sensation is like nothing I’ve felt before. Gripping the bedsheets, I thrust my ass back toward him, matching the jacking motion of his hips.

My heart swells in my chest for him because this is about so much more than fucking. It’s about our souls meeting in this intimate, safe place together.

When he tilts his hips, almost fucking me down into the mattress, his cock hits my prostate, and my cock leaks at the tip.

“Like that. More,” I plead, my mind unable to put together more than one or two words at a time. It’s all moving a lot faster than I think either of us meant for it to. We’re no longer savoring—we’re indulging.

“Like that?” he grits through his teeth. “Fuck, baby. I’m not going to last much longer. I wanted to take my time with you, but I can’t.”

“I need to come, Jensen,” I beg. When I reach for myself again, he swats me away.

Then his hand wraps around my length, stroking me in time with his thrusts.

“Yes, God, please,” I shout.

“Don’t scream for God, Isaac. Scream for me,” he mutters in my ear.

“Yes. Jensen, please. Make me come. I’m so close.”

His hand picks up speed as his cock continues to peg the spot that makes my eyes flutter. Then I’m swept away with an orgasm so fast I stop breathing. My own cum lands on the mattress and my chest while the pleasure sparks like fire in my bloodstream.

My muscles are still shuddering as Jensen comes. The moaning, groaning sound of his orgasm is so fantastic I could write songs about it. The melodic feel of his cock. The symphonic way he draws a hand up my side and clutches my throat possessively.

Everything about what we just did is like a song—sung in perfect harmony.

Eighteen

Jensen

After discarding the condom in the garbage, Isaac and I take another quick shower together. Every time he presses his head to my shoulder, I wrap my arms around him and hold him close. He does this a lot. It’s almost as if he’s starved for affection. When was the last time someone held him and made him feel comforted?

He gives me a spare toothbrush to use, and we both get ready for bed together. When I eventually emerge from the bathroom, he’s already under the covers in his bed, and I look at the opposite side where it sits empty as if it’s waiting for me.

Isaac grins softly from the pillow, and I crawl in behind him, giving him my arm to lie on. His damp hair keeps falling in his face, so I tenderly brush it back.

“This is nice,” he whispers.

I nod with my lips against his head. It is nice. And he seems so at ease, which is what I want.

If only my head could feel that relaxed, but there is some mental block for me that never allows me to fully release the tension in moments like this.

“What are you doing next weekend?” he asks.

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