Page 43 of Once a Gentleman
Kit wanted to retort that Andrew had made other promises, and that this one, like the others, was one he couldn’t keep—that Kit had already been hurt, deeply and unreasonably, just by the presence of that little bottle of oil in his bedchamber. That some hurts ran deeper than bodily injury.
But Andrew had already poured some of the glistening stuff over his cock and fingers, coating his length and then reaching his hand down between Kit’s legs. Those strong, callused fingers, all slippery and sliding over Kit’s hole, drove out every other thought—and then Andrew pushed one of them in, firmly, all the way to the last knuckle, and any thought at all became impossible.
“Oh,” Kit gasped, arching up, as everything in the world narrowed down to that soft, stretched flesh at the center of him. And then, “Oh!” as Andrew crooked his finger, twisted his wrist, and pressed against—something—that had him shaking, clenching his muscles, scrabbling at the coverlet for something to hold onto.
“I’m going to make you scream for me,” Andrew growled, and pulled back, only to thrust in a second finger, leaning down and suckling the head of Kit’s still-soft cock into his mouth.
It went on and on, and Kit shoved his own wrist into his mouth to try to stifle the cries Andrew did indeed wring out of him, and as he thought he might spend a second time, oh God, so quickly—Andrew stopped, again, leaving Kit empty and bewildered and desperate. As he started to protest, Andrew seized him around the waist and tossed him toward the head of the bed.
He landed with anoof, his head on his pillow, and Andrew was between his legs again in an instant, the head of his cock nudging against Kit’s hole.
“Don’t you want me to—like this?” Kit gasped. Didn’t one need to be bent over, for this?
Apparently not, because Andrew simply took one of Kit’s legs, draped it over his shoulder, and thrust inside.
Hard, and so much thicker than his fingers, and what felt like all at once, stuffing Kit so full he could only stare up at Andrew’s face, wide-eyed and rigid with shock.
“Easy, love,” Andrew gritted out. His flushed face bore the signs of the same strain that Kit felt, perhaps for an equal but opposite reason; Kit could feel how he’d tightened down on Andrew’s prick, and it must be like fucking a vise. “I’ll go slowly.”
“You call that slow—oh,” he breathed, as Andrew pulled back a little and then thrust in again, more gently this time, and going deeper. And again, and deeper again, and still Kit couldn’t feel him bottoming out…until at last he did, his hips digging into Kit’s inner thighs, and his cock filling Kit to bursting.
“As I said.” Andrew leaned down, breathing hard, and took Kit’s mouth in a swift kiss, stealing what little breath he had. “Slowly. And then in a moment, not so slowly, if you please. Take hold of my shoulders.” He waited for Kit to reach up, gripping his shoulders too tightly, bruisingly. But Andrew only smiled and bent his head to press his lips to Kit’s knuckles. “Just like that.”
And he began to move—slowly at first, indeed, but faster with every thrust, shifting his hips to drive up into Kit’s body so that he shoved every inch of him against that same spot he’d found with his fingers, each motion sending waves of pleasure through Kit’s torso, tightening his bollocks and pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
He clenched around Andrew’s cock, deep inside, a pressure so intensely sweet it bordered on pain, and still he thrust deeper and harder, until Kit’s every exhale came out a sharp, short, punched-out moan.
Andrew gazed down at him, never looking away, his lips parted and his eyes gleaming. It was too much, and Kit tried to turn his head—but Andrew buried a hand in his curls, pinning him in place, forcing him to look back at him.
“Put a hand on your prick, Kit. Spend for me, before I spill every drop in you.” Andrew’s command nearly made him spend without the benefit of his hand, and he was all but sobbing with the urgency of it as he fumbled one hand from Andrew’s shoulder and wrapped it around his leaking cock.
Two strokes, and the nearly-painful tug on his hair of Andrew holding him steady, and the wild, intent look in Andrew’s eyes, and the stabbing slide of Andrew’s cock turning him inside out…Kit spent for him, arching up and crying out.
Andrew groaned, shook, and filled him, the sensation startling and perfect in its utter wrongness, another man’s spend heating and slicking him on the inside.
Kit slumped back on the pillow, blinking, everything gone hazy: Andrew’s bent dark-blond head, the lines of his broad shoulders and strong arms enclosing him, the bed canopy above, the very air split into two in his blurred vision. His heart thrummed, the beats indistinguishable, his body shaking with it.
He let his eyelids droop; his arms fell to the bed, and he drifted.
