Page 61 of Iron

He comes, stepping between my knees. My arms wrap around his waist and tug him flush to me, fist his hair, then I mash my lips to his. His mouth opens against mine, my hand bunching in his hair as want races over me, my cock aching. That will just have to wait. He shudders and wraps his arms around me. I fall back onto the stupid queen bed, taking him with me.

“God, I love you,” I murmur against his mouth, and I feel him smile.

I strip us both down and press him against the pillows, wrapping him in my arms.

“Sleep,” I demand. He snuggles into me.

We’ve taken some short walks around his neighborhood, first just up the street and back, stopping at a coffee shop halfway where they greet him as only locals can. We visited a local doctor who gave us activity timelines and restrictions. TJ chafes at “no golf until week four, at the earliest,” but concedes he doesn’t have the stamina for even two holes, let alone eighteen.

When he finally gets the ok for gentle exercise, and sex, he’s almost rabid. He tears at my belt, my shoes, my pants, strips them off me, and I raise my hips to help him. My cock flops onto my belly, hard and swollen, and he pounces on me, sucking me into his mouth. I grunt in surprise, thrusting up without thought, and he swallows around me.

“God,” I manage.

“Need you in me so bad,” he moans around my cock. “Been so long.”

“Want to rim you first,” I growl.

He nods and rises off my cock, letting go with a pop.

I drag him up my body until I can push him onto the mattress, facedown, and yank his pants and boxer briefs down and off him, shoving my face between his cheeks and opening that tight little ass with my tongue. He squeals in surprise, then moans as his body opens for my tongue spearing into him.

“This ok?” I growl against his body.

“God, yes, more please,” he replies on a moan.

I suck and lick and tongue-fuck until he is soft and begging, then I grab the lube I found on his bedside table and squeeze it into my palm. I touch his hole and it quivers under my finger.

“More what? Finger?” I ask.

“Yessss,” he wails.

“Push against me, baby,” I growl, “let me in.”

I slide a single finger into him. He is incoherent, babbling words that don’t really make any sense except “oh, god, please.”

I work him open with my fingers, checking in after each one.

“Good baby? Am I hurting you?”

His head tosses back and forth, begging. “Feels good. Stretchy but good. More, please.”

I add another, reining in my desire to pound the fuck out of him. Gentle sex, Gavin. The residual frustration of that sex toy is still thrumming in the back of my head. I will not hurt my boy.

Finally, a fourth, scissoring until I know I can take him without pain, checking in one last time.

“Ready?”

“Please, Gavin, please. Feels so good. Fill me up, please.”

I shudder and give in to the growl that has been simmering since I found that damned toy. “Mine.”

The shudder over his body sends a spike down my spine. I roll him onto his back, raising his knees, then press my cock into him slowly, watching his face closely until I’m fully engulfed, then stop, balls-deep.

He groans.

I pull back and thrust deep. “Am I yours? You mine? You my boy?”

“Yours,” he manages, nodding weakly. “Mine.”