Page 44 of Rent: Paid in Full

“Widen your stance,” I say as I part his cheeks again. He does, spreading his legs wider than his shoulders and leaning forward to brace himself against the sink. It almost undoes me. I’m on my knees. My dick is struggling against the confines of soaking-wet jeans, kneeling in a puddle of water. I haven’t even lickedhim yet, and my balls are already pulled up tightly against my body.

I rectify that quickly, licking a thick stripe from as low on his taint as I can reach, traveling up the middle of him, lifting at the last moment to narrowly miss his hole. I do it again. And again, waiting until his back arches and my view of his ass changes from spectacular to life-changing. His hole tightens, a little star trying to make itself disappear, and then it relaxes. Winking at me. Inviting me in.

I dive in.

I smash my face into the soft heaven that is his ass and frantically tongue him. Quick, desperate strokes that gradually slow when I hear his first moan. It’s soft, strangled and strained, spilling through gritted teeth.

I knead his cheeks again, harder and rougher this time, parting him firmly, opening him for my assault. He gasps and whips his head up and then drops it down again. It’s the last thing I see before I sink in. I lathe him with my tongue, nudging and pushing, exploring, finding the point of least resistance, and worming my tongue into it. The sound he makes now is different. It’s loud. Almost angry. It’s beautiful. Hoarse and hungry and mine.

It’s mine.

I made it, so it’s mine.

All mine.

I paw him and lick him and fuck his ass with my tongue, thrusting in and out until his knees give way, and he’s left dancing on the spot, legs quivering, moaning his ass off. I’m moaning too. Puffed, frantic sounds that mingle with his, both of us saying exactly the same thing.

I need to come!

“Can I touch it?” I groan. “Your dick. Please. I want it.”

“No,” he says, and then a long, pained whine leaves him.

“Unggg,” I choke out, drunk, almost blind with lust. I struggle to open my fly. Sopping wet fabric sticks to my skin and obstructs my path. I spit loudly into my palm as soon as I have my dick out and start stroking, vision flickering and fading the second I touch myself. “Reach back,” I slur. “Hold yourself open.”

He takes a second or two to respond. Reeling, chest heaving, fighting a cruel internal battle, and then finally relenting. He takes a cheek in both hands and pries them open, offering me his slick, shiny hole. I tongue-fuck him again. Shoving my tongue as deep into him as I possibly can. It’s not pretty or controlled this time. It’s wild and lustful and filthy. My mouth is wide open, sucking and kissing, licking every part of him I can reach.

My hips rock, jerking and making me moan into the middle of him as my pleasure builds and builds. It’s thick and heavy. Dense and unstoppable. It fills me, stretching and thickening me until I feel like I’m going to explode.

And then I do.

I nut so hard come sprays all over the floor. Between his legs. On his feet. And all over me. Pleasure grips me and shakes me, leaving me spasming and helpless, crying out loudly with each surge.

When it’s over, I’m shocked. My balls ache, and my dick is wildly oversensitive. Ryan is still bent over and doesn’t move for several long seconds. His forehead is still leaning against the mirror above the sink. He’s still holding his cheeks open. He lets go at last and straightens himself up. I look up and see him take in his reflection. He looks haunted and lost. Horny and angry about it. Lips thick with arousal, eyes black with frustration.

I cup his ass cheek gently, tentatively at first, waiting to see if he’ll slap me away. When he doesn’t, I lean in and kiss his cheek softly. Then harder. Then, a little harder. My jaw tenses from thesight, sound, and smell of him. Tan mounds of flesh, loud raspy breaths, my soap, his skin, and his own sultry musk.

The idea comes to me in waves, none of them totally conscious, but they drive me forward. I open my mouth and take in as much of his smooth flesh as I can. I feel the firmness of it in my mouth, and I sigh in pleasure.

Then I bite down.

He cries out, arching forward and jumping away with a hand clamped tightly over the marks my teeth left on his skin. He looks down at me, eyes blazing, as his cry bounces off mirror and tile.

He looks as surprised as I am because, yeah, sure, there was pain in his cry. I’m not saying there wasn’t. What I am saying is that there was pleasure too. Raw, rampant pleasure that’s so real and so close I can feel it as if it is my own.

“You’re so horny,” I say sympathetically.

“No, I’m not!”

“‘Course you’re horny. Look how hard you are.”

“I’mnothorny. I’m humiliated.”

“You like being humiliated, huh?”

“No,” he says as if that’s the most implausible thing he’s heard yet. “No,Idon’t fucking well like it. My dick does.”

“Mmph,” I say. “Looks like your dick and I have yet another common interest.”