Page 47 of Can't Refuse Him
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he tugs the zip lower, exposing a flash of the base of his penis amongst a tuft of hair and then —FLAWP.
His dick pops out in slow motion. Like it had RSVP’d for this moment weeks ago. Thick and veiny, he pulls his foreskin back just enough to reveal his throbbing fat head and a bead of pre-cum oozing out of the tip. I want nothing more than to throat-fuck it. Worship him.
“Not wearing any underwear?” I murmur, dropping to my knees like the reformed Bin-Spirit I am.
But he stops me with a hand on my chin. He lifts me back up, eyes soft.
“No. This time, let’s take our time. I want to enjoy this. I want to enjoyyou.”
I could’ve melted. Or cummed. Or both.
I kiss him. Slow and sure. No ghosts. No grief. Just us.
He tastes of honeyed coffee and smells of citrus soap. His tongue curls into my mouth as if it is claiming back something that always belonged to him. I slide against him, hungry and ready for him to slam me into the wall and for him to enter me.Look, a bottom boy’s old habits die hard. I still like to be fucked hard. But I want the heart of that man as well.
He turns me around and gently shoves me against the shelves, right between the bin liners and the scented air fresheners.
“I used to jerk off to the smell of bin juice in here,” he says between kisses to my neck.
“I know,” I growl, bucking back against him. “Watched you from the bin, before I gained the courage to reveal myself.”
He groans in my ear as if that was the hottest thing he had heard, his hot breath turning me on even more.
The mood had flipped from tender to feral in a heartbeat. His hands are on my ass, squeezing, spreading. Swirling his spit-covered finger around my hole. “Fuck, I missed this,” he says, bending down and licking his lips.
“You’ve never done that with your finger,” I tease.
He slides a finger inside me and says, “Now I have.”
I moan—loudly. The air turns thick with heat and memory and the sharp, sour-sweet smell of cheap cleaning product and old lust.
Oscar bends me over, one hand on my lower back, the other guiding himself into me. I hear him spit into his hand, then hear the slick sounds of him coating his cock with it. His thick head rubs up against my hole. He twirls it around it, opening me slowly.
The stretch is glorious. Real.
I’m not a ghost. He’s not cursed. And I can feel the initial pain of a cock going inside of me again. This was magnificent.
We are just two men in a closet, making up for all the time we had lost.
He enters me slow at first—like he is learning my human body. The warmth of it. The resistance. I’m learning too–everything is tight, and my asshole seems resistant. But I let myself sit with the discomfort. Feel myself relax around him. As I had gotten used to him, I tell him I am ready, and he went deeper. I gasp into the wall as he goes fully in me, the base of his dick pressing against my cheeks. His balls slapping mine. He gives himself a moment to feel it, then slowly thrusts into me. As I moan louder and louder with every stroke of him, he increasesin ferocity. Faster, desperate, like he can’t get enough. My ass stretches and tightens around his length as he pumps in deeper.
“Fuck, you feel—God, Eddy, you feelalive.”
“Iamalive,” I gasp. “You brought me back. You trash-loving necromantic wonder.”
The pace gets brutal. Glorious. Our bodies slap together in a rhythm that could summon spirits. My sweaty ass cheeks smack against his waist.
The smell is intoxicating.
Shelves rattle. A mop falls. The scent of pine cleaner mingles with musk and sex and longing.
“Almost there,” he groans into my ear.
“Do it. Fucking wreck me. Make this hole yours, Janitor Boy!”
He reaches around me, shoulder over me, his biceps to my chest, and strokes me. Fast. Hard, he pulls my cock’s foreskin up and down in his fist, which is slick with my pre-cum. I’m so close to bursting. It is too much. I can’t hold it back any longer.
I come with a cry, biting into his shoulder to muffle it. He follows seconds later, hips thrusting into me, slurring my name like a prayer.
