Page 127 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

Peter humps the air, thrusting his cock into Eli’s hand, his precum leaking like a faucet. “Please,” Peter whines, as if please is the only word he can possibly think of. “Please.”

He doesn’t dare to add a third finger; he doesn’t want to overload Peter, no more than he already has. Eli knows he’s already addicted to watching Peter melt into a puddle of absolute pleasure, left as nothing but a bumbling mess as Eli works his way inside.

Eli drinks in Peter’s mewls and whimpers, searching for that spot.

And when he finds it, it’s magical.

Peter’s eyes go wide in shock as his back arches off the bed, continuing to fuck into Eli’s hand as he desperately gasps for air, like he can’t get enough of it. “Oh my God!” His words slur as he sinks into bliss, and Eli smiles.

“I’m going to show you the magic of a prostate orgasm, Peter.”

“God, fuck . . .” Peter murmurs against Eli’s skin, drooling just a bit as Eli continues to press against that precious bundle of nerves. “Okay.”

“Are you my good boy, Peter?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Peter babbles, turning his face toward Eli, the two of them so close that Eli almost meets Peter with a kiss.

“Say it.”

“I’m a good boy,” he cries, his voice cracking.

“You are,” Eli promises. “That’s right, Peter. Now . . . come for me.”

Peter continues to fuck into Eli’s hand, chasing a release. Eli bites his neck.

“Eli!” Peter calls out as he climaxes, his hand reaching for Eli’s bicep, chest heaving like he can’t possibly get enough air.

He does just that. It’s marvelous to watch Peter as his orgasm ruts through him, his eyes going wide, his legs shaking, hole twitching with Eli still inside him as he shoots far enough to decorate both his and Eli’s faces. Eli doesn’t mind; he needed to wash his hair anyway.

“I’m here,” Eli coos softly, running his hand through Peter’s soft hair, scratching softly at his scalp.

“Oh, God!”

“Was that good?”

“It was . . .” Peter huffs. “You were . . . perfect . . .”

Eli can’t help but laugh.

Peter lets out a low, exhausted laugh. “I think we made a mess?” He looks down at the milky streaks on his chest.

“Yeah . . . I’d say so.” Eli tries to catch his breath. “We should get cleaned up.”

Peter laughs and readjusts, a gasp slipping past his lips unexpectantly. “I, uh . . . I think your fingers are still inside me.”

Eli smiles, burying his face in Peter’s shoulder, listening to the sweet song of his laughter.

* * *

“I almost forgot what it was like to have hot water,” Eli says, stepping out of the bathroom dressed in the clothes that Peter offered him. He assured Peter that he could survive in the short-shorts of his costume, but the moment he slipped into the oversize sweatpants and matching hoodie, he was grateful.

“Do you not get hot water?” Peter asks, still sitting on the edge of the bed mostly naked.

“Well, I’m living with two other people, and there’s like eleven of us in the building, you have to find the perfect time. Which usually means showering at two in the morning.”

“Eleven people in a building? How many units are there?”

“Three. There’s a family of seven that lives below us, don’t ask me how they manage to fit. I’d go crazy if I had to share our apartment with one more person.”