Page 82 of Built To Perform

Jefferson twisted his hand, grinning at my gasp. “I’m in you now. Be specific, lil bro.”

“Your cock.” The words almost lost in my grunt of pleasure. “I want your cock in me. P-please.”

He brushed his nose against mine, the sense of intimacy almost scalding.

“Always so polite, lil bro,” he said, softly.

And then I felt his fingers pull out of me, and the fat, blunt head of Jefferson’s dick push where they’d just been digging.

He was big, but my need for him was bigger.

Squeezing him closer, my heels against his muscled ass. Doing my best - with the quads, and hamstrings, and calves that he himself had helped me build: long nights in the weights room, counting off the reps and goading me into lifting just a little more - to speed the process, fast-forward to the part I knew was inevitable. Where Jefferson’s body was heavy atop me, a blanket of heat, and musk, and dizzying familiarity, and his cock skewering me deep.

Wrapped in him, inside and out. So that when his slow, taunting strokes started, the edges between us would blur in my brain.

No hiding the hiss, the way my jaw clenched, as he pushed into me. Ambition always at odds with reality, even if pride and hunger refused to even consider the concept of tapping out. Jefferson’s frown of concern filling my vision, and his smirk that came right after as I urged him on with my heels.

His breath was hot on my neck as he pressed his face to me. Dredging images of Brayden and Adam from my bubbling mind, the way the senior had marked my roommate with a constellation of hickeys that’d lingered long after their fuck. Only Jefferson was licking, now, not sucking: his tongue tracing the taut curve from shoulder up to jawline, and beyond that to the whorls of my ear. Tasting me, a steady exploration as his crotch pressed tightly to my cheeks.

“I love the way you feel, lil bro.”

My fingers traced tiny circles across his broad shoulders. Following the swell of his traps, up to the nape of his neck. Emboldened, somehow, by the latent strength in him: the promise of ferocity somehow tamed, even if only briefly.

“Just the way I feel?” I teased.

He caught my earlobe between his teeth; pinched, gently but pointedly.

“Careful what you wish for, Eoin.”

There was barely room to shiver beneath him, but my body attempted it anyway. A thrill that suffused me from head to toe.

“When have I ever needed to be afraid of you?”

Jefferson chuckled. A sensation as much as a sound, reverberating through me as though in harmony with the churning of my insides.

“Different people are afraid of different things, lil bro. And they’re not always ready to hear them.”

Both hands cradling his head, I pushed him back from me. Enough distance that I could just about focus on his face.

“Always so patient,” I told him.

Jefferson grinned. “Some times it’s more of a struggle than others.” The confession punctuated with a stab of his hips, setting me writhing beneath him.

“A-again,” I gasped out.

The second stroke felt deeper, even though a moment before I would’ve doubted that was physically possible. His stare intent, like he was mapping the topography of my face as it shifted with waves of pleasure and surprise. Gauging his thrusts by my gasps, and whimpers, and the slackness of my jaw as he steadily pounded me into jellied compliance. A fate I’d wished for - demanded, no less - even though I knew it would ruin me.

He rolled us easily, handling my weight as if it was nothing. Leaving me crouched atop him, his arms wrapping my torso as his hips drove against me. No hesitation as I pressed my numb lips against his.

“You gonna ride me, lil bro?” The question almost lost in our kiss.

I groaned as I pushed myself upright. His hands on my chest, steadying me; grin wide as he pawed at my sweat-sheened pecs. I’d done the same to him, before, after practice. Reveled in the dense potency of his muscles, and equally at the liberty I’d somehow earned to grope at them so freely. Jefferson patient as I traced the contours of his well-honed body with reverent fingertips.

As I settled back, sitting astride him and feeling him slide into me in new and glorious angles, I realized I was nowhere near so patient now.

Flexing my thighs dragged me up, off of him. Barely an inch or two, but it was enough: for the broad, heavy flare of his cockhead to pull at my insides; for the burr of friction as my stretched flesh clung to his. And then the rush of air that escaped me, as I sank back down to feel the heat of Jefferson’s hips beneath my cheeks.

“Show me those biceps, lil bro,” he murmured. Pupils wide as he stared up at me; watched my self-conscious compliance. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot.”