Page 41 of Locked & Loaded

“Jesus Christ,” I breathe.

His cock hits deeper like this, and my head falls back against his shoulder. He kisses my cheek, his mouth hot and desperate against my skin.

“Does it feel good?” he murmurs.

I laugh, the sound cracked and breathless. “Yes. Fuck. Yes.”

His hips speed up, driving into me from behind, and a few seconds later I'm reduced to nothing but sensation and sound. His mouth finds mine over my shoulder, and the kiss is messy, hungry, his tongue in my mouth while his cock fucks me deep.

Then he pulls away.

Before I can protest, his hands are turning me, guiding me onto my back. He follows me down, covering me with his body, pinning my wrists above my head, and the new position changes everything. His weight over me, his chest pressed to mine, his cock sliding back inside—it’s too intimate, almost too much.

His forehead drops against mine. Our breaths mingle, hot and ragged, and his eyes are so close I can see every fleck of gray in the blue.

“Chris,” he says.

I kiss him.

I kiss him because I need to, because if I don’t, I might say something I can’t take back. His mouth opens under mine, and he fucks me through the kiss, his hips rolling in slow, deep strokes that make me see stars.

This isn’t just sex.

For the first time in my entire fucking life, I understand why some people call it making love. I could swear that’s exactly what we’re doing right now.

Maybe that should terrify me. Instead, it only makes me want him closer, deeper, everywhere at once.

Mads releases one of my wrists, his hand sliding down my stomach before wrapping around my cock.

The touch makes me gasp into his mouth. His hand strokes me in time with his thrusts, and the combined sensation is too much. My hips buck into his fist, my ass pushing back against his cock, and I’m so close my whole body is shaking.

His pace builds, his rhythm losing its careful control, and I can feel him getting close too. His breathing is ragged over me, his thrusts turning uneven.

“Fuck,” he gasps against my mouth. “Fuck, Chris—”

His voice cracks on my name, and that’s all it takes.

My orgasm hits me like a freight train.

I come with a shout I don’t bother trying to muffle, my cock pulsing in his fist, hot streaks painting our bodies. The pleasure tears through me in waves, blinding and endless, until I’m trembling under him, gasping into his mouth.

Mads doesn’t stop. His hand keeps stroking me through it, pulling every last pulse from my cock, and his hips keep driving into me, his rhythm falling apart as he chases his own release.

“Chris,” he moans. “I’m going to—fuck, I’m—”

His hips slam into me, and then he freezes. His cock pulses inside me, and even through the condom, I feel every throb of it. His body goes rigid above me, a broken, ragged sound tearing from his throat as he comes.

A second later, he starts moving again, fucking into me through the orgasm, messy now, helpless, chasing every last second of it. When his strength gives out, he collapses on top of me, his chest pressed to mine, his arms locking around my waist as we sink into the mattress in a sweaty heap. He stays buried inside me, holding me under him, and neither of us moves.

For a long time, we just lie there. His breath is warm on my neck, his heartbeat hammering against my chest, and my own pulse is still racing so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.

Eventually, he shifts. His cock slips out of me, and the emptiness is sudden enough to make me let out a small, involuntary sound.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, rolling onto his side to deal with the condom.

I nod, still catching my breath, a smile spreading across my face for the absurdly simple reason that I was just fucked so well I’m not sure my bones work right anymore.

It’s been a while.