Page 155 of The Lineman

I was bobbing so fast, I was sure he would come, sure this would end. I didn’t want it to end. I never wanted it to end.

His body tensed.

It was happening.

I was sure.

That’s when his hands gripped my head and pulled me off. I looked up, baffled.

“I want you inside me.”

Well, all righty then.

“Condom?” He always had them.

He hesitated.

My brow quirked.

“What would you say if I told you I didn’t want one tonight?”

My heart was a timpani, an orchestra of percussion, an entire ocean of beating and battering and . . . holy fuck.

“I’m negative and on PrEP,” I said, suddenly very self-conscious.

“And I haven’t had sex since the eighties,” Mike replied, an awkward chuckle escaping. “Seriously, it’s been . . . well . . . a really long time.”

“I knew you were tight before, but—”

His eye shrug said it all.

I lifted his legs.

His breath hitched.

We were so slick, so well oiled, so fucking hard and ready, I slipped inside him without even trying. Unlike our first time, he opened for me, welcomed me, practically sucked me in like a black hole swallowing a planet.

“Oh, shit,” I said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up and fuck your boyfriend, Elliot. I want you to pound the ever-loving life out of my ass. Make me walk bowlegged. Make me feel you next week. Make me lose my ability to stand or think or—”

That’s when I pulled back and shoved all my weight into him.

He gasped, and his head slammed back, his fist pounding the wall again.

Something snapped inside me.

I grabbed his wrists, pinning them above his head, pressing him down into the mattress.

Mike shuddered.

“You love this, don’t you?” I murmured against his jaw.

His breath was shaky. “Yes.”

“You love knowing how much I want you?”

His fingers curled against my grip. “Yes.”

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