“Oh my god, get out,” Jordan groaned as he found himself reaching for more kisses again. He buried his face in his pillow and groaned again.
Damiano, the asshole, laughed and kissed him on the nape, which definitely wasn’t helping.
Jordan blindly grabbed his hand and entwined their fingers together. Yep, apparently not only did he have a bad case of teenage horniness, he was also acting like a teenager, too. A very sappy one.
Sighing, Damiano allowed it, the position forcing him to wrap his arm over Jordan’s back. Or maybe they were just cuddling. That hardly would be anything unusual for them. Though normally Jordan was on his back when they did it.
“I need to go,” Damiano said, sinking his teeth into Jordan’s shoulder.
“You said that a few hours ago already.” At least he wasn’t the only pathetic one.
“I needed to go hours ago,” Damiano said, his tone grim. “I needed to go yesterday.”
Jordan’s stomach tightened into a hard, uncomfortable knot. “Yeah. I’m supposed to be at my parents’ house this evening. They have something of a Christmas party on Christmas Eve every year. It’s a tradition. Frankly, I would already be there by now. They’re probably expecting me already.”
A few seconds passed.
“You should go,” Jordan said.
Neither of them moved.
“One last time,” Damiano said, pushing Jordan’s leg up and slipping back into him.
“Are you kidding me?” Jordan said with a half groan, half laugh, but his mind was already clouding, his loose hole accepting Damiano’s cock easily. He was so wet that his hole made obscene, sloppy sounds on every thrust. He already had so much come in him that Jordan was pretty sure he could see it: his normally flat stomach was a little round. Full of Damiano’s jizz. To his embarrassment, the sight actually turned him on. There was a weird sort of appeal to it.
Damiano fucked him slowly, fingers gripping his hips. Jordan squirmed, partly in discomfort, partly in pleasure. He might have had a dildo in him on a regular basis, but he had never had a gay sex marathon like this. He was sore. The cock was moving inside him relentlessly, and Jordan whimpered, oversensitive and overwhelmed. Part of him wanted this to stop, his thighs straining, arms cramping, body melting in sweat. The bed was creaking, and he felt like a helpless ragdoll under the force of Damiano’s thrusts. It was almost too much.
But it felt too good. He felt like a junkie in need of another fix, even though he knew the drug was bad for him. He didn’t care how sore he was. He wanted as much as Damiano was willing to give, and he would spread his legs as long as Damiano wanted to fuck him.
He was so focused on Damiano that he barely noticed his own orgasm, his noises breaking into weak, ragged gasps and moans as he came. “Oh god! God…”
The long, heavy pumping into his ass changed to hard, rough grinding, more like animal rutting than thrusting. Jordan grabbed his own cheeks and spread them, eager. Please, please, please. Come in me. He craved it desperately, he needed to feel Damiano’s come in him, to declare in the brutal honesty of bodies and bodily fluids that Damiano wanted him. He wanted Damiano’s orgasm more than he had wanted his own.
Muttering something in Italian in a low, hoarse voice, Damiano slammed hard into him, and Jordan felt him come. After so many times over the past two days, Jordan was so familiar with the hot rush of come pouring into him—thick, potent gushes, chest heaving against his back as Damiano ground each wad nice and deep, and Jordan let out a long, wanton moan, feeling like a slut. He was a slut, a slut for this man. How could having another man’s cock in his asshole feel so good? The pleasure wasn’t even fully physical. It was all in his head. He liked feeling Damiano’s softened cock in him, proof of his desire. Proof that he wanted Jordan, that he couldn’t get enough of him, even after so many orgasms.
Jordan opened his eyes and looked at his stomach. Was it his imagination or did it look more bloated now? He stared at it in morbid fascination.
His phone on the nightstand went off and Jordan shifted his gaze to it. He considered not picking up. But it was probably his sister or his mother wondering where he was. If he didn’t answer, he wouldn’t put it past them to come here and check on him.
With great reluctance, Jordan reached for his phone. It was his sister, as he had expected.
“Where the hell are you?” Eloise said the moment he answered. “Why haven’t you been answering our messages?”
Messages?
“I was asleep,” Jordan said.
“It’s two in the afternoon,” Eloise said, her voice full of skepticism.