I rasped and leaned forward, stroking his cock. “Yes. It’s going to work.”
And then I was spreading him, slowly easing my way inside him.
He was so tight, and I was already far too hard.
We went achingly slow, both of us taking in deep breaths as we worked against one another. I didn’t want to hurt him. No matter what, I couldn’t hurt him.
Not with what he was doing for me.
He was so damned tight, and I was nearly afraid I would be too big for him. So I pulled out, rubbed his prostate over and over with my finger until we were both shaking before I moved again. Then I was deep inside him, and both of us still doing our best to catch our breath.
And when I began to move, Archer groaned, pushing back into me.
He wasn’t looking at me. I could only see the strong muscles of his back, the tattoos that I finally let my tongue follow as I moved.
I wanted to see his face when he came. I needed to. I needed to see his cock, and not just his back, so I pulled out and tumbled us both to the ground over our shirts and pants. It was uncomfortable, the wood pressing into my knees and his back, but I met his gaze and pressed deep inside again. And then we were moving, both of us grunting, lips against lips, skin against skin.
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t dainty. It wasn’t anything that I’d had before.
Instead, it was the two of us, needing one another and finding our rhythm.
When my balls tightened, I quickly gripped his dick again, pumping, loving the way that his mouth parted, his eyes going dark, and when he spurted all over his chest and stomach. I groaned, whispering his name and unintelligible thoughts as I filled the condom deep inside him.
And then I hovered on top of him, trying to breathe, and it was Archer who reached up and wiped the tears from my face.
They weren’t for what he thought they were. He had to know that.
Because I didn’t regret this.
I was just becoming okay with this.
Because there was no comparison.
But I didn’t think that’s what Archer saw.
Instead, he saw me still deep within him, crying over what he must think I thought was a mistake.
So I pulled out of him, trying to catch my breath because I needed to tell him that everything was going to be okay. That I was going to figure shit out.
Archer swallowed hard and dressed quickly before I could do anything.
I reached for him, but he took a step back, his smile going wobbly and his own eyes glistening.
“Archer,” I whispered.
He shook his head. “I have to go.”
And then he was gone, shoes in hand, still sticky from what we had just done.
I sat naked on the kitchen floor, embarrassed, shaking, and knowing that while this hadn’t been a mistake, it was hard to tell the difference.