Page 108 of Golden

When I roll my hips, his moan of pleasure vibrates between us, and I turn my head to capture his mouth with mine. After a minute, the kiss grows frantic and I grip the armrests for leverage and start to move. Wes swears, his fingers digging into my hips as he guides me up and down on his cock, my hard dick slapping against my stomach as I ride him hard.

“Wes,” I groan, reaching for my leaking cock. “I’m close.”

“No.” He bats my hand away, sliding a little further down in the chair and tightening his grip on my hips hard enough that I grit my teeth against the pain. Then, he snaps his hips, fucking up into me relentlessly.

“Shit,” I cry out. “Fuck. Wes . . .”

“Don’t you dare come,” he growls.

“What?” I hold onto the armrests, the chair squeaking precariously as he continues to slam me down over his cock.

“I want you to come inside me,” he says, his voice breathless in a way I know will have me growing hard with every future replay in my mind.

We do swap, but rarely, and Wes’ offer has me both excited and intrigued.

Wes cries out, his fingers biting into my hips, and I know there’ll be ten small bruises there by morning. But as I feel his muscles flex and strain at my back, his cock pulsing inside me, I know it’s absolutely worth it.

Turning my face, he kisses me hard, then eases me off his lap. I hate the emptiness it leaves behind, but as he steps out of his shorts and bends over his desk, a tantalizing mass of umber skin, the feeling is forgotten.

My gaze lands on something nestled between his ass cheeks and I suck in a breath. “Fucking hell.” I push a hand through my hair. “Are you wearing a plug?”

“I told you I was waiting for you to come home,” he says, spreading his legs further apart. “Now, fuck me. Hard.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. The thought that he’s been sitting there, working at his computer with this lubed and in his ass, waiting for me, has my dick weeping. “I’m going to last all of three seconds,” I mutter. “I hope you know that.”

Reaching forward, I flick the end of the pearlescent toy, and he groans. I press a hand to his spine, the desperation for release making me unsteady. But I force myself to tease him, pulling the toy out a little and fucking him with it slowly.

“Stop it,” Wes grits out. “I want you. Need you.”

Pressing a kiss to his spine, I pull out the toy and drop it on the floor, immediately lining myself up. When I push in, his body accepts me readily, and the noise that tears from my throat, makes my ears burn. Thank fuck for hearing impaired neighbors and thick walls.

I snap my hips over and over, driving into him hard, and he grips the desk, the organizer and stacks of folders shaking with the force of my thrusts. A low moan vibrates through his body, and I reach around, pleasantly surprised to find him half hard again.

“Sol,” he grits out. “Fuck.”

I wrap myself around his body, one arm under his chest and one hand around his cock, as I work him relentlessly. Every nerve sings with pleasure as the room echoes with the sounds of our moans and sweat-slicked skin, and then my balls tighten, my limbs tingling as I empty inside him. His dick pulses in my hand, as he comes again, and I stroke him through the aftershocks before draping my body over his back, listening to the frantic pounding of his heart.

Whether it’s the lack of sleep, our anniversary, or the post orgasm high—maybe a combination of them all—my eyes sting and I wrap my arms around him tighter.

“Hey.” His deep voice reverberates against my body. “Are you okay?”

The past five years haven’t been easy. After my internship with a rehabilitation center for injured veterans using sport as therapy, I entered a three-year Doctor of Physical Therapy degree. Now, halfway through my residency, I love what I do, but sometimes the long hours and permanent state of exhaustion get me down.

I’ve worked late shifts at the hospital for the last few nights, so most of my communication with Wes has been via phone. He’s asleep when I get home and out visiting businesses when I wake up. Even though I speak to him and see him every day, I miss him. I miss this.

Standing slowly, Wes turns in my arms, and I bury my face in his neck.

“Sol?” he murmurs, his hands rubbing slow trails up and down my back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, pulling back so I can look at him. His eyes narrow as he notes the wetness in my eyes, but I smile. “I just really fucking miss you.”

His mouth twitches, likely with a snarky remark about how he’s right here, but then he sighs and pulls me against his chest, pressing kisses to my neck and shoulder. “I miss you, too. So much.”

“It’ll get easier,” I say quietly, more to myself than him. “Right?”

“Do you remember what I promised you the night you took me to the food trucks for the first time?” he asks. Drawing back and bringing his hands to my face, he brushes his thumbs along my jaw as he searches my eyes.

I blink, taking a second to recall. “Honestly? No.”

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