Page 25 of If Cain Were Able

There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow, and his eyes are fixed on my dick as it slaps his lower stomach with my movements, leaving a string of precum between our bodies.

I ride him hard. My thighs are burning with the effort until I lean back, planting my hands on Cain’s shins, thrusting my hips forward.

“Ohh, fuuuuck,” he groans, telling me he’s getting close. I move one hand from his leg to touch my dick when he catches my wrist. “Hands-free or not at all,” he says.

“Cain, I haven’t⁠—”

“You fucking heard me, Patrick.”

He rolls his hips as he bucks up into me. I haven’t come hands-free since the last time he made me do it. And I certainly don’t know that I can do it after just having orgasmed a few minutes ago—regardless of how weak it was.

“I will watch you come hands-free, or I won’t let you come at all,” he repeats. Gripping my waist, he grinds me down against himself, pushing as deep inside of me as he can get.

It’s still not enough.

Cain pulls out, spins me sideways, and climbs off the bed to stand at the edge.

“Hand me that pillow, and lift your hips,” he says.

Yes.

He slides the pillow underneath me and then presses my thighs up toward my chest again. With his feet planted on the floor, he has all the leverage he needs to slam against my prostate repeatedly.

“So fucking tight,” he says.

“So fucking full,” I answer.

“Are you going to come for me, Patrick?”

“Yes,” I bite out.

“Only for me?” he asks in panted breaths.

“Yes.” I’m practically crying now with the need to feel him come inside me. Cain was a terrible first lover because everyone after him was a disappointment. Everything from his pheromones to the constellation of freckles on his shoulders makes me crave him.

“Who owns this ass?”

“You.”

He slams into me three more times before grunting, “Don’t ever fucking forget it.”

My hands fist the sheets as Cain’s warm release floods my ass. All it takes for my body to respond in kind is the swell of his cockhead inside me, stretching me, touching places only he has ever touched.

“That’s it. Lose control for me,” Cain commands, wrapping a hand around my sensitive cock.

“Ah, fuck! Cain, stop,” I whine.

He grips my cock harder, but stays away from the head.

“No.”

He drops to his knees on the floor, and the next thing I know, his tongue is trailing along the path of his cum as it drips out of me. Cain has no shame. He wants what he wants, with no apology or excuse.

That’s the part that makes him so fucking dangerous.

Suddenly, he’s in my line of sight, leaning over me. He doesn’t even wait for me to open my mouth. He pries it open with his fingers and spits his cum onto my tongue.

“Don’t swallow,” he commands before licking a line across my stomach, scooping my release onto his tongue this time.