Page 122 of Jackrabbit

“Tight.” Beau's hips ground forward, a slow circle like he couldn't quite help himself as he grabbed the back of Colt's shirt—oh fuck he was still wearing the shirt—and gathered it up into one fist. “Ready?”

“Yes, fuck, fuck me, fuck me, fu—uuu—”

Beau pulled halfway out and slammed back in, and Colt forgot how to use words. The hand buried in his shirt tightened as Beau pulled back out, further this time, before yanking Colt back with the fabric as he thrust forward. It was rough and filthy, and Colt was so sensitive he screamed, hands digging into the bedding.

“Yeah, boy, let me hear you,” Beau growled as he did it again, and again, and again. “You're taking me so good. Such—such a good boy. Fuck.”

Colt's mouth was open against the comforter as Beau fucked him. He panted and moaned andtook it, growing hard again, dizzy with it.

Letting go of Colt's hip, Beau reached between his legs and palmed Colt’s dick, wrapped his fingers around it and slid up to the head. “Hard for me again. You gonna give me another one, Colt? I want you to. Want to feel you come on my cock.”

Oh, shit. Beau was so fucking filthy, wasn't he? Filthy enough to match Colt, maybe, and as he angled his hips so he was dragging against Colt's prostate with every thrust, Colt knew he might never get enough of this. The thought was wiped from his frantic, blissed-out mind almost quicker than it appeared when Beau pressed against him from chest to groin, panting against Colt's throat as he stripped himself and battered his prostate and Colt wasgonna—

“That’s right.” Beau licked the salt from Colt's neck. “I can feel you. Come on, darlin’, give it to me. Let—let me—fuck. Let me feel you. Good boy.”

Colt’s second orgasm ripped through him lightning-quick, tears streaming as he dripped onto the bed, as Beau fucked him through it and kept going.

“Mine,” Beau growled against Colt's neck, his hips stuttering, losing his rhythm. “Say it again. Tell me. Shit. Tell me who you belong to, boy.”

“You,” Colt whined, overstimulated to the point of near-pain, his tongue thick, head spinning. “I'm yours. Yours, yours, yours.”

Beau came with a gravel-rough moan that was going to haunt Colt’s best dreams, pulsing deep inside and digging his fingers into Colt's skin. His chest heaved against Colt's back as he ground himself into Colt's body, savoring it.

Seconds or minutes later, Beau kissed the back of Colt's neck and nuzzled his hair with his nose, still inside him. Colt was crying, rubbing his face into the sheets and ready to collapse.

“Alright,” Beau soothed as he ran his hand up Colt's spine. “Hold on.”

He pulled himself out of Colt with a soft grunt, and Colt whimpered.

“It's okay.” Hands lowered him down, angling him away from his mess, and Beau kissed his shoulder. “Wait, okay? I'll be right back.”

Beau left, and Colt dragged a hand across his face. He hadn't cried during sex since he was sixteen. But he couldn't seem to stop.

A hand slid gently up his leg, and Beau turned Colt’s hips so he could clean him with a warm, wet washcloth. Then the hands disappeared again for just a second before returning to help him sit up.

“C'mere,” Beau murmured after he’d pulled the shirt Colt was wearing over his head and tossed it across the room in the general direction of the laundry basket.

Colt blinked at him, tears sticking to his lashes, and Beau swiped them away with his thumb. “You okay? I didn't mean to—”

Shaking his head, Colt swiped at his eyes again. “S'good. M'good.”

Beau watched him for a moment before nodding and fitting another shirt onto Colt’s body. He squeezed Colt’s shoulders and guided him back against the pillows so he could pull the dirty comforter and top sheet off the bed and drop them on the floor.

By the time Beau was spreading a new top sheet and a midnight blue comforter over Colt’s legs, Colt had finally stopped crying. He sagged against the headboard, eyes lazily tracking Beau while he gathered up the bedding. He was wearing new pants, black ones.

“Don't sleep yet, alright?” Beau said over his armful. “I'll be right back.”

Colt nodded and closed his eyes as Beau hurried toward the hall. The door clicked open, and Colt was alone. He was shaky—loose-limbed, melty, the kind of feeling he'd heard about and given to other people, but had never really felt himself. More, actually. Kind of floaty and distant. Like his body was here but his brain was somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.

His thoughts moved slowly, like honey. Everything was soft. Warm. The sheets against his skin, the faint smell of Beau on the pillow, the weight of his own limbs.

For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—his mind was silent. No spiraling thoughts about Charlotte. No anxiety loop about failing. Just... nothing. Peaceful nothing.

He should probably be concerned about that. Should probably wonder what Beau had just done to him.

But he couldn't quite grab hold of the worry. It slipped away like water.

The bed dipped, and Colt cracked an eye open as Toast flicked his tail. He wandered up and crawled into Colt's lap, where he twisted in a circle and flopped onto his side to start purring against Colt's thigh.