Page 67 of The Key Holder

Before I could even process his words, his hands were on my ass, a firm, possessive grip that made me yelp in surprise. In one fluid motion, he hoisted me up, tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The world tilted, a blur of cabin porch, dirt, and trees, before settling on the sturdy expanse of Ford’s back. My legs dangled, and I could feel the powerful muscles of his shoulders beneath my stomach. He started walking into the house, but not towards the stairs.

To the living room.

In a matter of seconds, I felt the soft impact of the couch cushion beneath me. Ford was already in front of me, stripping off his shirt. I watched the key dangle then fall against his smooth chest.

My hands were everywhere, fumbling with the buttons of his jeans, desperate to get them off. He mirrored my urgency, tearing at my sweats. We were a tangle of limbs and hungry mouths on the couch, a soft groan escaping Ford’s lips as I pushed myself up to take my shirt off.

Ford pushed me back against the couch and straddled me, his growing erection, straining against the thin fabric of his briefs, rubbing against my stomach. A choked sound left my throat, born from pure anticipation. My own cock, still caged and encased in my jockstrap, ached with a familiar, delicious throb. He leaned down, kissing me harder, our tongues battling for dominance.

This wasn't gentle or tender; it was raw and primal. When the cold metal of the key touched my chest, a bolt of lightning shot through me—a reminder that Ford now knew. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head back slightly, exposing his throat. I trailed kisses down his neck, savoring the taste of his skin, before latching onto the side, by his Adam’s apple, and sucking hard.

He gasped, throwing his head back farther, and shifted forward on my lap, rubbing his hard dick against my body. “Fuck, Dylan.” His voice was rough, full of hunger, and his eyes were wild, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Take…take those off,” I managed to say, gesturing to his briefs.

With a low growl, Ford fumbled with his waistband and yanked them down. His thick cock was already fully hard. My mouth started watering just looking at it.

Before I could taste him again, he forcefully pushed me back, sliding his hands under me to cup my ass. With one move, he swept my feet above my head, leaving my hole completely exposed. I grabbed my legs just behind the knees while Ford’s strong hands held me in place. His gaze dropped, eager and intense, to my ass, causing a quiver of anticipation to flutter through me. “Fuck, you look good in a jockstrap.”

Instinctively, I tensed, a mix of anticipation and vulnerability swirling in my gut. Without hesitation, he knelt and buried his face between my cheeks. For a second, I felt his warm breath on my hole before his tongue flicked out and went up, down, and all around.

A gasp tore from my throat, followed by an involuntary moan. The unexpected sensation was almost overwhelming, sending a thrilling shock of pleasure through my body. He licked, slowly at first, then with more confidence, tracing all the little seams down there. I felt his teeth nip my inner thighs, then his tongue deepened its exploration, pressing against me, pleading for entry. A low hum filled the room until I realized it was him, moaning into my body. I could almost feel the vibration in my core.

A few guys had gone down this road before, but not like Ford.

His tongue pushed again, firmer now, finding a spot that made my toes curl.

“There!” I grabbed his hair, holding him in place. “Right there!”

“You like that?”

“Uh-huh” was all I could say as he worked his magic with a practiced rhythm, circling, pressing, then diving deeper with a bold eagerness that made me groan like a fucking porn star.

Because of his strength, my hands were free to grip his hair, not to push him away but to pull him closer, to anchor myself to the dizzying bliss he was creating. My breaths were short and ragged, my body arching into his touch, completely at his mercy as he buried his face between my cheeks, claiming my hole as his.

Slowly, his tongue trailed up, a hot, wet path from my hole, over my perineum, until it reached my balls. With my cock straining against its confines, my scrotum was pulled tight. His stubble against my smooth, hairless skin made my hole clench. He went farther up, teasing my cock through the opening in the black nylon cage. I could feel his urgency, mirroring my own. My dick was aching, throbbing, begging for release. With just a few words, he could finally unlock it.

The last few days, with the constant presence of the roofers, had been a torturous tease. A light, playful swat to my exposed ass took me by surprise but only heightened my arousal.

“Hold on,” Ford said, pulling back suddenly. "Just give me a second. Don’t move." He untangled himself from me, stood, and was halfway up the stairs before I could even ask what he was doing.

My body was screaming for him. I couldn't just lie there. Gravity had kept my legs flipped up, so without changing position, my hand dropped between my legs and my fingers found my tight, pre-slicked hole. I pushed one digit inside, a sharp intake of breath escaping me as I felt the stretch. It had been a few days since he fucked me, and I was only too eager to prepare myself for him.

If that’s what he wanted.

I worked a second finger in, then a third, slowly, carefully, coaxing my body to relax, to open up. The friction felt incredible, a different kind of heat building, a deep ache that promised more. Just as I was about to try for a fourth, I felt a shadow fall over me.

My eyes flew open to see Ford standing there, a small bottle of lube in his hand and a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “I see you’ve been busy.”

“If you’ve got a problem, customer service isn’t available right now, but my asshole is.”

Without another word, he squirted a generous dollop of the clear gel onto two fingers, and while keeping that smoldering gaze on me, slid them into me, right alongside mine.

“Oh, fuck!”

My gasp was immediate, the sudden fullness almost shocking. His fingers were bigger than mine, and while the added lubrication made the stretch more bearable, he could do more with them from his angle. One by one, he switched my fingers with his, working them in slowly, rhythmically, deeper and deeper. I couldn’t tell how many fingers were in me, but if the precum dribbling onto my stomach was any indication, it didn’t matter.

“More,” I whined, writhing on the couch, my hips rising to meet his hand. “Please.”