Page 66 of Full Split
Like he’s weighing the consequences. Like he knows exactly what’s about to happen and doesn’t want to be the one responsible for letting it.
Then he exhales and steps aside. The moment the door clicks shut behind me, I’m not wasting a single second of the time we have.
My fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers as I push him back against the wall. His back hits it with a quiet thud. I kiss him. Hard. Desperate. His hands shake when they land on my hips, then slide up my back, pulling me closer.
He lets me kiss him the way I need to, and he kisses me back with equal fervor.
“I need you,” I whisper.
A sound rips out of his throat. Something rough and vulnerable that tells me he needs me just as much as I need him.
We stumble towards the bed, but don’t make it before we’re already pulling at each other’s clothes. He keeps kissing me like he needs my mouth to breathe, like he can’t stop. But it’s deep and gentle rather than frantic like when I first came in.
When we finally fall into bed, he climbs over me carefully. Nothing is rushed. This isn’t something I’m compelling him to do, or something he’s not in control of. Every movement is careful.
His hands find my hips. My ribs. My neck. His lips ghost over my skin. His body presses against mine, steady and solid and warm.
I shake under him.
Not because I’m afraid. Because it feels like I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life. For someone—him, specifically—to touch me like I’m something precious. Not something twisted or a novelty. Not just a toy to play with.
He touches me like he cares about me. Like my pleasure is his only goal in life. Like making me come is an act of worship, and drinking it down is communion.
Like he loves me.
“Wyatt,” I whisper. “I love you.”
In the dim light of the room, I can’t see his expression, but I can feel it. I can feel it in the thickness of the night air, in the way his breath catches. In the way he cups my face, whispers he loves me, and kisses me like he means it. Like all those other kisses before were practice for this main event. He trails those kisses from my lips and down my body, and worships me until I’m dizzy and trembling.
Tasting my pleasure on his lips is more intoxicating than all the beer in Belgium. It makes me breathless and needy and buzzes through my veins. I bring one hand down between us and grip his cock, hard against the inside of my thigh. I stroke him as we kiss, until he’s leaking pre-cum and moaning into my mouth.
Then I aim him at my core and guide him inside.
He freezes. “Niles, are you?—”
“I’m sure, Wyatt. I want you. I need you inside me. Please.”
He’s practically trembling as I reach behind him and grip his ass, encouraging him forward. Inch by inch, he sinks inside, careful not to hurt me. It’s been a long time, but I’m soft and pliant from his mouth and fingers, and slick from how hard he made me come. It makes it easier to take him with very little discomfort as my body stretches to accommodate him.
I smile against his lips when I realize he’s doing the same things to me that I did the first time I took his ass. He’s pausing to letme relax, then pulling out and sinking a little deeper with each thrust. He’s gentler even than I was, though he doesn’t need to be quite so worried. It’s sweet though. Makes me feel cherished.
By the time he’s all the way inside, my hips are rocking against him, desperate for the friction of his body against my cock.
“I’m okay,” I assure him. “You can move.”
His body shakes.Is he laughing?
“I’m doing this for me,” he says, face muffled in the crook of my neck. “I’m afraid if I move too soon I’ll embarrass myself.”
I laugh, too.
“My pussy can’t bethatgood,” I tease.
“Mmpf.You ever been inside your own pussy?”
I mean, technically I can push my dick inside myself, but only a little bit. And it’s not the kind of party trick you pull out during a somewhat serious moment like this.
Wyatt pulls out and then sinks back in slowly. He sighs and his eyes roll back, and fuck me if I’ve ever felt so fucking good during sex. So fucking alive. So loved.
