Page 18 of For Your Heart
“Yes,” I moan as I drop to my pillows.
He moves between my legs, pushing them up so my knees are at my armpits. He moves my arms so that they basically tie me into a pretzel with my ass on full display for him. At his complete mercy.
Damon doesn’t prep me since I said he didn’t need to, but he does make sure I have some lube in my ass, which he gets there by shoving his finger inside me. He doesn’t play fair though, because he makes frequent passes against my prostate, making my eyes roll and me jerk and squirm.
“I’m going to have to tie you up, aren’t I?” he asks, almost as if he’s sad about it.
I don’t answer. Too afraid I’ll let him see how hard that makes me. The idea of being at his complete mercy so he can do whatever it is he wants to my body. Fuck, I’m going to make myself come just thinking about it.
He lines up. As the tip of him puts pressure at my entrance, I try my best to keep still for him. “Can I come?” I ask. “I’m on your dick now, so I can come, right?”
Damon’s chuckle makes me weak. “For today, yes. You can come as many times as you want on my dick.”
Then he shoves inside me. Deep. One solid push and I’m crying out as the sudden invasion of his perfect dick demanding room inside me. When I don’t allow him in easily, he takes more. It takes only three thrusts of him slamming into my prostate before I come all over myself.
I never stop panting through my orgasm or after. Damon keeps going. He’s not fast or particularly hard, but he keeps going in deep, making sure I feel every perfect inch of him. And he always slams my prostate and makes me see painful stars as my body tries to readjust to being overly sensitive now that I’ve already come.
It knows what to expect now. My body knows that he won’t take mercy on me because we lost it too soon. He’s going to make me come again.
Because he’s hovering over me, I can see his face. I can see the moment he’s no longer there. He’s not seeing me anymore. He’s not with me. His dick might physically be inside my body, but he’s not having sex with me anymore.
If I wasn’t so wrung out underneath him, I might have been upset about it. If he didn’t deliver me the best damn orgasms I’ve ever felt, I might be offended.
But I asked for sex. Just sex. He can fuck me as often as he wants, give me all the orgasms, and work out some of his anger while doing so. I said nothing about him being invested in me. That’s fine. This is all I need.
I completely lose myself in how he uses my body, stirring up another orgasm that sways at the edges until I can’t take it anymore. The second is just as blissful as the first, but my body is hypersensitive from being shoved back into arousal so soon that there’s a thrill of pain that goes with it.
Damon empties inside my ass shortly after. Another dozen thrusts and he’s done, filling the condom.
Then he stills, panting. His eyes are closed and lips parted as he composes himself. It’s several long minutes until he finally pulls back.
Once again, he doesn’t look at me. Not as he pulls out of my body or leaves to the bathroom, removing the condom as he does. Nor when he comes back and cleans me up. Not when he dresses. Only when he stands at the door and looks at me, telling me he’ll see me tomorrow.
Maybe I should feel used. Dirty. Like I’m not good enough for him to admit he’s having sex with. All of that should sting but with the way my body aches in the most delicious way, I just don’t care. Not today, anyway.
This becomes the pattern for the next few weeks. He’s here three or four nights a week; sometimes more, but never less. He delivers me euphoric orgasms, cleans me up, and then leaves without much else.
I’m waiting for the moment I fall for him. It’s coming. I can feel it.
It’s going to be a disaster.
Seven
DAMON
We’ve been kissingSimon since we were kids. Well, younger kids. Our parents would say that we’re still kids. Just because we’re teenagers doesn’t mean we’re kids. Try telling that to a freshman, though. We just roll our eyes.
We’re not kids. It’s been a long time since we were kids.
It’s summer, and the sun beats down on us in the backyard while we lay squished together on a lounge chair by the pool. This is the first summer with the big pool and I think we’ve spent forty hours in it over the last two weeks since school got out. It’s by far the best investment our parents ever made!
Simon sighs, his arm shifting on my skin. The sun is too hot and we’re already dry. Not our bathing suits, but the droplets that had been on us are.
Simon tans nicely, like his skin is programmed to take it in and reflect it back in the most gorgeous bronze. Declan and I… not so much. We go from white to red, then back to white. And we burn stupidly easy. We spend a lot of time making sure we have sunscreen on.
It’s the only time Simon rubs his hands all over us with intention. I mean, we lotion each other too. We don’t always ask Simon to. We’ve never wanted him to feel uncomfortable. Two gay kids asking their straight best friend to rub their bodies can be a little assholish, no? But he doesn’t mind. Never complains, or even gives us a look.
Simon also doesn't seem to care if we want to put sunscreen on him. He lets us. He doesn’t hate our hands on him. Sometimes he even asks when he feels he’s gotten enough sun for the day.
