Page 26 of Breakaway
"You take them off," he says, grinning up at me.
I pull them down. His cock is hard against his stomach and he watches me looking at him. His thighs fall open and his hand goes to the cushion beside his hip and grips it.
"You're staring," he says.
"I'm looking."
"What's the difference?"
"Weeks of self-control."
I strip off the rest of my clothes and settle between his legs on the couch.
"Tell me how you like it. How you want it."
"Slow. I want it slow." He pauses. "I want to feel you."
I slick my fingers and press one inside him. His eyes close and his mouth opens and I hold still and let him adjust. I lean down and take the head of his cock in my mouth, taste the salt leaking from him. I run my tongue around the head and note the sound that escapes him. I want that sound only for me.
My other hand is on his thigh, my thumb stroking the muscle, and I watch his face the way I have been watching his face for weeks. In the kitchen. At the table. On the balcony. The way his jaw loosens. The way his brow pulls together and then smooths.
"Okay?" I say, pulling off of him.
"Yeah. More."
A second finger. Slow. His hand finds my forearm and grips it and holds on.
"Wes. Keep doing that."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I know. I know. Just. That. Keep doing that."
A third finger and I curl and his back arches off the cushion and the sound he makes is sharp and raw. His cock is leaking against his stomach, a slick line from the head to his navel, and his hips are rocking onto my hand. The light from the kitchen falls in a long line across his ribs and I could stay here for hours, watching him like this, the flush spreading across his chest like weather moving in.
"Now," he says. "Wes, now. Please."
I pull my fingers out and slick myself and move up over him. The couch is narrow. His body is warm underneath me and the ocean is steady through the open door. I watch his face as I line myself up to his hole and press in. Slow, the way he asked for it. His body opens for me and his hands come up to my shoulders and I feel him adjusting, taking me in. The sound he makes is quiet and low and raw and I stop halfway and wait.
"Don't stop," he says.
"Just checking."
"I'm good. Don't stop."
I push in the rest of the way. His legs wrap around my hips. His heels press against my lower back and I hold still, all the way inside him. His eyes are open and on me.
I start to move. Slow, steady. He is hot and tight around me. I can feel his nails drag when I angle right and hit the spot that makes his breath stutter. His cock is between us, hard against my stomach. I feel him leaking against me. I reach between us and wrap my hand around him and stroke in time with my hips.
"Fuck," he says, arching his head back. "Wes. Fuck."
"I've got you."
I lower my mouth to his neck. I kiss the line of his throat and taste the salt on his skin and he is making sounds under me now that are not words. Just breath and heat and the involuntary register of a body being fucked the way he asked to be fucked. His hand comes up to the back of my head and his fingers curl into my hair and hold.
"Harder," he says.
I give him harder. I am watching his face and his face is the only thing in the world.
