Page 11 of Challenge Me

He shook his head, then looked at me over his shoulder. There was a small smile on his face, almost like a taunt. I brought my palm down on his ass.

“Holy shit,” he gasped. “What was that for?”

I smacked the other cheek, and even though he made a frustrated growl, he pushed his ass backward. Taking that as an invitation, I streamed spit onto his asshole and went straight for it with my finger.

“Remi.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t break you.”

“Swear?”

“Yeah, if that’ll make you feel better.”

“Coming from you, not really.”

“How sad.” I squeezed my finger into his ass, and his face dropped to the table. “Damn, baby, relax. Breathe for me.”

With my other hand, I stroked his skin in languid circles. Even though he was a little tense, he rocked back against me. I let him control the movement as he adjusted, slowly taking my finger further. When I was far enough in, I changed the angle so I could find that sweet spot to help get him going.

A soft keening sound came from his throat. Since he seemed to need more time, I kissed his back while I stuck with the one finger. I sped up my movements, then slowed to a torturous pace, focusing on his prostate before I changed the rhythm again.

“You know, gentle isn’t my typical style,” I said against the small of his back. “But you’re just so lovely, you know?”

“You can do . . .” He took a couple of shaky breaths as I changed the movements again. “Whatever you want to me.”

I paused. “You really shouldn’t tell that to a guy like me.” When I bit his ass cheek, he yelped.

I shed my cautious cloak and wiggled my second finger inside of him. I only went slow until I’d reached the first knuckle, then I sank it the rest of the way. With heat enveloping them both, my dick throbbed.

I pulled my fingers free. “Turn around.”

He did so without argument. On his knees, he looked at me, as if waiting for me to speak again. I used the same two fingers to stroke his jaw, then ran my thumb over his lower lip.

“Keep my dick warm for me while I finger you,” I said.

He stared at my straining dick with dilated eyes, then dropped to his elbows and reached for it. His tongue flicked the tip a couple of times and drew a hum from my lips.

“Try your hardest to make me cum while I stretch your ass, baby.”

I returned my fingers to his hole and sank them in without warning. He grunted, but he didn’t pause as he licked the underside of my shaft. When he took it into his mouth, I squeezed his ass cheek hard enough to make imprints in his skin.

After adding lube, I stretched him with my third finger. I felt a sound come from his throat more than I heard it. He’d been going slow, taking only half of me, so I went for his prostate at the same time that I thrust into his throat. He gagged around me, his fingers digging into the edge of the table. But he’d said I could do whatever I wanted with him, and from the way he continued to rock against my fingers, I knew he meant it.

“You’re doing so good for me,” I groaned.

As I fucked his throat, I fought against the need to cum. It wasn’t time for that yet. The best part was the control, the denial of the reward until I had no more power to hold it back. For me, there wasn’t enjoyment in a brief, carnal urge. I wanted to master it, to hold it in my palm and make it submit to me.

To that end, I added a fourth finger. What came from his lips might’ve been a whimper or a sob. It didn’t really matter because he bobbed his head faster, chasing the goal I’d given him. He wouldn’t reach it. Not until I’d had my fill of him and stripped him of his own control. Not until he was a trembling mess of a man beneath me.

“You should see your ass, baby. So fucking perfect.”

Amir’s fingers played with my balls, heightening the pleasure unbearably. His mouth was impossibly wet as he moaned around me. No matter how hard I fucked his throat, he didn’t stop me or pull back. He continued to impale himself on my fingers while he drooled on my floors and his dick leaked on my pool table.

I removed my pinky to give me better movement. His ass was open for me, swallowing my fingers down to their furthest point. And he was relentless. When I slowed my thrusts, he kept going, taking my dick down to the base with more enthusiasm than I’d ever seen. While he continued to play with my balls, he shifted forward as far as he could without taking his elbows off of the table’s edge. He used his other hand to grip my shaft so tightly at the root that my knees nearly buckled.

“Amir,” I gasped. I wanted to pull back but was unable to find the will to stop him.

His hips thrust backward, then circled, taking full control of his own pleasure. Relentless sounds came from his throat—long ones, short ones, whimpers, moans, grunts. It was a fucking symphony that threatened the insanity I lived by and fractured my composure.