Page 73 of Unruly
It’s been ages since I’ve bottomed, and usually I have to date a guy for a while before I feel comfortable enough to go there, but something about Farnsworth sped up the process. I could say it’s an act of benevolence on my part to give him this experience, but I’m pretty sure it’s because I wanted to be fucked by the gorgeous man.
Without a condom between us, the experience is unique for me too. I can actually feel his cock twitching, and the heat… there’s so much more heat. It’s incredible.
I want to do so much with him and to him, and I know we have a mission, and when it’s over he’s going to disappear from my life again. I should just live in the moment, but I have toadmit I’m growing attached to him. Could he possibly feel the same or am I just another assignment to him?
He moans. “Borja… Oh, gods.”
“Good?” He nods as I drag my fingers down his chest, lightly scratching him. “More?”
“More,” he murmurs. “Please.”
I take the lube, grab his hand, and pour some into his palm. “Stroke me while you fuck me.”
Farnsworth grips my cock, lifting his gaze to check in. “Like this?”
“Just like that, babe.”
I bounce on his cock, and as he finds a rhythm to stroke me, new threads of pleasure explode inside me. He might be new at this, but he’s a natural. Sure, it’s a little awkward and he needs reassurance, but it’s damn good all the same.
My balls tighten and precum streams from my tip. “I’m close. I’m gonna come. How are you?”
He shakes his head, his brow creased, lips parted, but he keeps fisting my cock with one hand and holding my hip with the other. I’m going to assume he’s close too based on that reaction.
“Oh fuck. Farns.”
It hits all at once—no slow buildup, just a rush of heat uncoiling and shooting through me like a dam bursting. I throw my head back, unable to keep my eyes on him, but the sounds of his staggered breathing and soft moans lets me know he’s right behind me.
His cock swells inside me as he trembles. “Gods!” he roars, drawing my gaze back to his face just in time for me to witness him in the throes of his climax.
It seems to go on forever, his cock thick enough to stretch my opening even farther. I ride him slowly through it, my cum decorating his belly and chest in sticky ropes, my cock dribbling the last of my release as we come down together.
As he starts to soften and slip from my body, I roll to my side, keeping my eyes on him to catch his reaction. This is a big moment for him, and I want to make sure he feels supported.
I’m surprised when he drags his fingers through the mess on his chest and lifts them to his mouth to taste me.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” I groan.
“I always wondered what it tasted like.”
“And?”
“Mild. Sweeter than I thought.”
“Yours is dripping out of me.”
His breath catches. “Do you like that?”
“I sure the fuck do. I’ve never experienced it before. It’s nice. Intimate.”
Farnsworth searches my eyes. “I don’t know what to say, what words I can use to express what I’m feeling.”
“We don’t have to talk. We can just be.” Reaching up, I brush his hair from his forehead. “I’m here though. Whatever you want to do or say, I’m here.”
He’s quiet for a moment and I can tell he’s thinking, so I just wait for him.
“I used to think I was born in the wrong decade,” he says. “The wrong century, in fact. I wanted to live in the sixties era of the United States. I wanted to be part of that world so badly, but I knew it still wasn’t a place for men like me. It wouldn’t have mattered if I was born then instead of when I was.”
“Yeah. It still wasn’t good for queer men.”
