Page 57 of Newly Tied

“Tell me when you want me to⁠—”

“Move,” he pleaded, and I had never heard his voice sound like that, sweet and scary at the same time. “Now.”

I didn’t move a muscle other than my dick throbbing inside him.

“Del, your body is strong and powerful, so please, let me feel that. I would never let you hurt me. You know better. So you gotta…oh,” he moaned, letting his head fall forward as I slid back, barely, then snapped my hips forward.

He felt so good. Beyond good. Incredible. “Your ass is perfect outside and in,” I told him, hands on his back, then his sides, touching his skin, loving the feel of him, savoring the goose bumps, gasping as his muscles rippled around my length. “You’re so tight and hot and I never want to move.”

“You need to move right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, sounding almost angry.

I pulled back further, then drove forward faster, harder, and that action was greeted with a whole-body shiver and a moan of loud, carnal pleasure.

He wanted me.

“Don’t stop. Have me.”

And I more than wanted him.

I lost myself in seconds. What began tentatively, hesitantly, became me hammering inside him, pounding deep and hard, holding on to his shoulder and his hip, anchoring him to me so I could thrust and retreat in an endless loop of pleasure.

When he looked over his shoulder, needing me closer, wanting to see me, I slipped free, rolled him quickly to his back, curling him up, lifting his legs over my shoulders before I sank down into him, a moan of happiness crawling out of my throat.

“You want me,” he murmured, one hand sliding up my bicep to my shoulder, the other gripping my thigh tight.

“Always, but it’s so much more than that.”

“You want to keep me,” he said under his breath.

His eyes were wet with tears, and as I’d wiped my own away with the back of my hand, I knew I probably looked the same. Sometimes absolute happiness was euphoric and heart-wrenching at the same time. At the moment, we were both emotionally annihilated. That’s what came from epiphanies. I knew, without question, what I was supposed to be doing for the rest of my life, and that was loving Langston Ross. That included pistoning inside of him, not stopping until his muscles clenched around me so tight I nearly howled, the line between pleasure and pain razor thin.

My name sounded good on his lips as he came for the second time that night, coating his stomach as I fucked him through his orgasm, and mine, finally emptying inside him.

It took long moments before I realized Lang was talking to me.

“No condom,” he declared, breathing heavily.

“Not with us."

“Never,” he agreed, and his head fell back, our bodies no longer straining together, trying to become one.

Gently, I slid one leg off my shoulder, then the other, bending his knees as I eased carefully free of his body.

“Lemme get a washcloth and⁠—”

“No, stay and lie here with me.”

“Baby, there’s cum leakin’ from your ass all over your comforter.”

“I don’t care,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Where did the towel go?”

“I think it’s on the floor.”

“Whatever. Move the duvet, and we’ll wash it tomorrow.”

It was funny. Normally he liked things a certain way, but sex, it seemed, changed all that. “You need to get up. I can’t pull it out from under you.”

He lifted up for a moment, enough time for me to throw the cover back, and then he moved toward the headboard, hurling throw pillows in every direction off the bed. Pulling down the flat sheet and lightweight blanket, he was under both in seconds.