Page 15 of Dirty Rotten Love

“Good boy. You’ve taken all of me.”

He holds motionless over me. His cock buried deep in my ass. Both of his hands are by my head now, caging me in.

Strange sensations are happening in my guts. The burn and sting are easing. He didn’t look that big, but he definitely feels it. I like the feeling. It is very satisfying.

My hips twitch. My throat makes a primal noise. My hands twist on the headboard.

MacLeod makes a sound. Our eyes meet. The almost-smirk is now a fully-fledged smirk.

“There you are. You’re ready now.”

He rocks against me, and I fly among the stars. He fucks me. Not roughly, but not gently either. Steadily. Competently. Decisively. Expertly, methodically working towards making both of us shoot our loads.

I have never felt anything like this. It is incredible. My whole body is tingling. Now it is sparking and…

I cum. Hard. So hard I don’t only see stars, I see the Big Bang and the beginning of creation.

MacLeod groans, his hips fall into a frantic, unsteady rhythm. Then he shudders and falls still, head hanging, lungs heaving.

We freeze into a tableau of breathless wantonness.

Time slowly starts ticking again. The universe reforms into a new reality. One where I let my boss fuck me and I loved every second of it.

“Let’s get you in the shower. I want to soap you up and play with your cock,” he says. “You’re young enough to cum again.”

“Okay,” I squeak.

Because MacLeod says, and I do. It is the new way of things.

Chapter six

Rory

The alarm goes off like a personal attack. It’s not my first alarm or even my second. No, this particular shrill sound is my third alarm.

I surface from the deepest sleep I have ever had in my entire life, with all the grace and coordination of a man who has been hit by a bus. Both of my eyes open approximately halfway and then stage a protest. Every muscle I own has filed a formal complaint. I am warm and horizontal, and my body is making a very compelling case for staying exactly where I am for the next several years.

Then I become aware of two things simultaneously.

The first is that I am in my own bunk. I have absolutely no memory of getting here. The last thing I remember is. Well. The last thing I remember is not something I am going to think about right now because if I start thinking about it I might actually combust.

The second thing is Tam, who is already half dressed and looking at me with the expression of a man who has been waiting for this moment since approximately eleven fifteen last night and has prepared extensively.

“Morning,” says Tam.

“Morning,” I say.

There is a pause.

“So…” says Tam.

“We’re going to be late,” I say.

I’m going to be late because I needed my third alarm. Tam is going to be late because he wasted time lingering for an opportunity to thoroughly question me about every second of my life that has passed since I last saw him in the mess hall.

Tam looks at his watch. His expression does something complicated. Something that reflects his inner battle between his desire to be the first to hear everything, and his desire to not be late for Macleod’s briefing.

“Aye,” he says, after a moment. “We are.”