Page 26 of Two for Roughing

He wanted Denisov’s casual command of the situation, his half-demeaning, half-praising dirty talk, and his big, hot body. Every hookup he’d had since the last time he’d been with Denisov hadn’t been enough. If fast and sudden was how Denisov wanted to give it to him, Kilian would take it. It had just been so long he hoped he could savor it and not be overpowered so completely by his body’s urgency.

But with the hottest guy he’d ever been with pulling out slick fingers, wiping them carelessly against Kilian’s hip, and notching the slick head of his condom-sheathed cock against Kilian’s hole, bare moments after they’d both gotten undressed, Kilian wouldn’t complain.

He was too busy moaning like—like—like a girl, high and tight in his throat, as his body stretched to accommodate Denisov’s full length.

“There you go,” Denisov crooned in his ear. His voice had gone heavy, drenched in sex, his accent thicker. “There’s my good girl.”

The breath punched out of Kilian in a hiccupping, gasping sound. “I am?”

“You are.” Denisov hitched his hips up tight, pushed in as far as he could go, and then plastered himself to Kilian’s back. His knees pressed into the hollows of Kilian’s own, the hair on his shins rasping against the soft skin of Kilian’s calves. His pelvis cradled Kilian’s ass; his broad chest braced Kilian’s shoulders. “So good for me.”

One big hand landed on Kilian’s hip, and Kilian shuddered all over.

This was it, then. Denisov was going to fuck him up, take what he wanted, move, do something, anything—

“You can fuck me now,” Kilian blurted out, held tight and strung tighter and waiting.

He felt the shape of a smile on Denisov’s lips against his neck. “Am I not?”

Denisov’s hips ground a slow circle deep inside Kilian, his cock pressed tight to all the best places.

“Are you—what are you—oh, fuck.”

“Shh.” Denisov continued on his mission to kiss every square inch of Kilian’s neck and shoulders. His beard scraped Kilian’s skin raw and sensitive. “Good girls take what they are given.”

All right, then. Kilian’s brain officially went offline. He didn’t have to think about anything anymore. Denisov knew what he wanted to give, and Kilian surrendered his choice in the matter.

It was nothing like the fast, hard fuck he’d been envisioning. Denisov fucked him so slowly Kilian could hardly bear it. He just kept grinding his hips in delicious circles right up against Kilian’s prostate, over and over. Kilian got hard again in no time, dripping against the sheets as he whimpered and moaned.

In his ear, Denisov kept up a steady, whispered litany of praise and denigration, calling Kilian a good girl, praising his tight pussy. His voice dipped lower as he whispered, “Aren’t you a perfect little slut?”

The tears spilled over then. Kilian hadn’t known he was about to cry, but the massive swell of sensation building in him as Denisov didn’t fuck him was too much to bear without some sort of release, and it came in the form of great, wracking sobs.

Denisov stilled behind him.

“No, don’t stop,” Kilian begged. “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I? Please, you said—you said—I’m your—”

“You’re my good slut,” Denisov repeated.

Kilian made a sound he’d never heard from his own throat before, a whine so plaintive he might as well have been a dog begging for treats.

Finally, Denisov fucked him properly, pulling out halfway and ramming back inside.

Nothing touched Kilian’s cock but the sheets, their friction too soft and too abrasive all at once. He didn’t think it was possible, but it only took a minute, maybe two, before Kilian started to come. He started, and as Denisov continued to fuck him—not fast but hard, giving it to him with these massive thrusts that shook Kilian to his core—he couldn’t stop. Every time Denisov slammed home, a new spurt of come shot from Kilian’s dick.

He whimpered with it, the sheets going hot and wet under him, each new stroke in from Denisov pushing him deeper into his own mess. His cock was oversensitive, his balls ached, his core clenched and released with each new pulse, and his whole world reduced to Denisov inside him.

When he came, Denisov bit down hard on Kilian’s shoulder. The pain of it drew Kilian out of the state of suspended, aching bliss he’d been in. His orgasm ended, leaving him panting into his pillow and shaking all over.

Denisov pulled out and away with a groan, collapsing onto his back. Cold air rushed across Kilian’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He curled in on himself. Now it was over, how could he look Denisov in the eye? After he’d begged and moaned and said so many humiliating things?

No way.

The bed shifted as Denisov got to his feet. Kilian heard him rustle around, probably finding his clothes, and then his steps receded out of the room. Good. He would leave, and Kilian could get through this alone. More tears burned behind his eyes, and he blinked furiously, waiting for the scrape and click of the door when Denisov left. If Kilian could wait until he was gone to start crying (again), he might preserve that last tiny shred of dignity. He rubbed his face into the pillow to hide his watery eyes.

When the door closed, Kilian would get up, no matter how heavy his limbs felt and how empty his chest. He needed to at least change the top sheet. It was disgusting and tacky with his come. He held his breath as he waited. And waited. And waited some more, until he had to take a great shuddering inhale.

Finally, he rolled over to see what was happening.