Page 40 of Easton
“Fuck me hard. Don’t go easy on me.”
His words scramble my head, a burst of want shooting through me. I grab ahold of his hips, let my fingers dig in, pull back, and slam my hips forward again.
“Yes!” East shouts, his desire fueling me. I do it again and again and again, railing into him, filling him the way he needs. There isn’t a thing in this world I wouldn’t give to East, and I want to make him feel that, want him to know that his body is mine to pleasure, that no one can do it better.
Our bodies slap together, the scent of sex filling my nose, the sounds of our pleasure and heavy breathing in my ears. The couch moves with each of my thrusts. The world spins round me. The tight glove of his body molding to my dick, these two pieces of a puzzle that fit together so perfectly.
“You’re being such a good boy for me. Giving me your perfect fucking hole. Jesus, you feel so damn good.”
“More.” He pushes back against me, and I take him harder, East fucking himself on my cock. Each time my dick moves against his prostate, I feel him shiver, his ass tightening and his whole body sizzling with electricity.
“I want this to last, East, but I’m gonna come. Can you be good and come for me first?”
“Already close. I’ll be good for you. Jerk me off.”
I’ll be good.
Those three words fill me, make me feel like there’s nothing I can’t do, nothing I can’t have. I spit in my hand, wrap it around his cock, jacking him while I fuck him, piston my hips like a jackhammer, my dick in this place it’s supposed to be.
A few strokes later, a few more pumps of my hips, and his ass is tightening, East’s body tensing while he arches his back and groans out his release. Cum coats my fingers as he spurts, emptying his balls, ass so tight that my nuts draw up, my dick spasming as I fill the condom with my load.
I fuck us both through it, go slow because I know he must be sensitive. But then my dick softens and eventually slips out of him. East falls to the couch, on his back, and for the first time, I notice the towels there. He’d definitely planned ahead, and I’d been too hungry for him to realize it.
His eyes flutter, a small smile on his lips that makes one tug at my own. He looks so sated, so fucking beautiful and peaceful, dick soft, cum drying on his stomach, and all those tattoos adorning his skin.
There’s never been a person in my life I wanted more than the man beneath me right now, and I feel so damn lucky that he let me have him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Easton
Imove tostand, but Archer says, “Stay there. I gotta get rid of the condom anyway, so I’ll get something to clean you up.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him no. Why does he act like he’s gotta take care of me? Like he wants to.
But I don’t tell him that. I stay right there on the couch with cum on my belly while he goes into the kitchen. A minute later, he walks out with a trash bag and a handful of wet paper towels for me.
“Thanks,” I reply without looking at him. I clean myself off, then throw the mess away.
“Where are your outside cans? Feels weird leaving a used condom in the kitchen.”
I chuckle, partly because he’s right and partly because he’s so fucking perfect, it’s ridiculous. “Around the side of the house. You walking out there naked?”
“It’s not like you have neighbors.”
I shake my head but must admit it’s kind of cute. “The key for the trash bins is on the wall by the door.” The bears are too bad around here not to keep trash in a metal, locked container.
I frown as he pushes into a pair of my slides, then takes the trash, key, and goes. It’s a silly thing to pay attention to, a silly thing to concentrate on—a man I’m fucking wearing my shoes—but it feels so intimate, so comfortable, it throws me for a loop.
“Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me?” I stand up, needing something to do, and put on my underwear. I toss the towels in the laundry, and after making sure there’s no mess on the couch,I pluck the bag of food from the small table, take it into the kitchen, and wash my hands.
Knowing that means dinnertime, Pretty Girl and Casanova come running in. “You two hungry?” I ask, as if they’re not always hungry.
I feed them first, then hear the door close when Archer comes back in. He finds his boxer briefs too, putting them on and joining us just as I finish feeding them.
“Casanova seems to be adjusting quickly,” he says.
“Yeah, it’s because of Pretty Girl. He follows her lead.”