His fingers are moving again, flicking open the button, unzipping his pants, letting them slide off his hips. He’s wearing boxer briefs underneath and I can see his cock, full and heavy, pressing against the cotton.
I slide my feet up so my legs are bent, falling open, and reach down with another hand to stroke my balls, pet them, lift them up so he can see my hole.
“Well, do you want this?” I ask him softly.
He palms his cock over his underwear, rolling it under his hands, looking me up and down. “It’s tempting,” he breathes out.
It’s as close an admission as I’m going to get. “Come on, then,” I say. “Come on and make me scream your name.”
His eyes light up with determination. He spins around and for just a second I think he’s walking out on me, but he slams the door shut, locks it, and comes back, shoving off his underwear impatiently as he does. Fuck, I love watching his cock swing as he walks. He’s thick and still filling out, so it wags like a tail as he crawls onto the bed, on top of me.
My hands go up automatically to his arms, one closing over the scar and the bird tattoo, and I pull him in to kiss. He almost-but-not-quite hesitates, but he gives in, and I celebrate my little victory by slipping him the tongue.
Luca kisses as hard and reckless as he fucks; he’s all-in with tongue and teeth, sucking on my lower lip. He pushes my head back so he can nibble his way down my neck, bite my earlobe, sink his teeth into the dips around my clavicle… He’s hungry for me, and he can’t hide it.
I can feel his dick slapping into mine as he moves above me, and I wrap my legs around his hips and wriggle into position until I can feel his cockhead against my hole. “Fuck me,” I beg.
He shifts position, reaching out with a hand to the nightstand, only the bed is so fucking huge he can’t reach. He curses, and I laugh. “Just push in, baby,” I say, feeling a perverseness. “Hurt me.”
He shakes his head, and crawls off me towards the nightstand, where I guess he’s already stashed the lube. I shuffle down to grab his hips as he snakes past me and nose around his cock, gobbling it down when he pauses to rummage in the drawer.
I hear him let out a groan, and he freezes in place to let me give him a good sucking. He’s stacked down here; even his ballsack is big and meaty, and I give it some attention too, just about gargling on the damn thing. My spit is going everywhere, and my own cock is aching at the thought of having him in me again.
“Come on,” I mumble, my face mashed against his junk. “Fuck, I need this inside me. Come on, husband.”
I think he actually likes it when I call him that, because his dick quivers against my lips. Or maybe it was just him, moving, because he pulls me back up on the bed, manhandling me into position. “Pull your legs up,” he demands. I’m on my back, so I wrap my arms under my knees and oblige him.
My precum is dripping all over me, as usual, and he swipes a hand through it, adds lube, and then turns his attention to my asshole. It’s like he’s fascinated by it, he’s staring so hard. He presses two fingers straight in, without warning, just to see if I can take it.
I can. Who does he think he’s dealing with, here?
“That feels good, baby, but I bet your cock would feel even better,” I tell him.
“If you’re going to try to flatter me, be better at it,” he snaps back.
I grin. Okay. If he wants to explore my butthole so bad, why not? It’s his right, after all. Now that we’re married and one flesh and all that jazz.
I like thinking about that.
“You want to tease me, baby? That’s fine. But give me something to suck on while you do,” I say.
“At least it’ll shut you up.” He swings his long legs around, crouching over me. His cock is long enough that I can suckle on the tip of it like a pacifier while he stays up on hands and knees, playing with my hole.
His fingers are working me, but it’s not to stretch me, or not only. He seems genuinely bewitched by my ass, by how deep he can get his fingers into me, how sensitive my ring is, how hard I can clench. “You’re a pretty little thing,” he sighs at last, almost begrudging.
“You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” I agree, and it makes him snort. I wish he’d laugh more often, this husband of mine. He’s got a wicked, dry sense of humor that creeps out from time to time.
I give his shaft some strokes, pulling him into my mouth like I’m milking a cow. His hips dip lower, and his cock fills my mouth, presses my tongue down, slipping in until I can taste his musk at the back of my throat. He’s at full hardness now, the skin hot and taut. I can feel his heartbeat pulsing against my tongue.
All at once, he’s had enough foreplay. He pulls out of my mouth, spins around, and lines up his crown with my eager hole. His eyes catch mine as he starts to push in, and I groan as he breaches me. It doesn’t hurt at all, not after all his stretching of me, but it hits me somewhere non-physical this time.
It’s the same way I felt that night on our honeymoon, that connection beyond our bodies. Like his soul is staring out at me from those cool ocean eyes.
He closes, squeezes them tight like he’s in pain, and he doesn’t open them again while he fucks me, not until he shoots, snapping his hips hard against me, his eyes wide and staring
