Christ, what an inane thing to say.
Dylan faced forward, no longer meeting Alec’s gaze. “I’m not much for porno talk during sex, but during our, uh…”—he cleared his throat—“mutual grinding session, you went into explicit detail about exactly how you were going to fuck me.”
Alec closed his eyes. Thank God Dylan had used the word mutual. Alec hated to think he might have used Dylan as a humping post.
“I’m not too proud to admit the words were a total turn-on,” Dylan went on.
Alec’s lips twisted wryly. “I guess that means you don’t subscribe to the theory that taking it up the ass makes you less of a man?”
“Heck, no. It’s just sex. It doesn’t mean anything.”
It’s just sex. It doesn’t mean anything.
Well, damn. The words weren’t comforting. Alec knew his crush had taken a nosedive into deeper levels the moment they’d kissed. He wasn’t ready to admit the truth, that he might have fallen a little for Dylan during his refreshing candor about his limited education and his refusal to feel less than because of it. Completely unselfconscious and at ease with his past, Dylan was proud of his life. That kind of self-confidence was endearing and incredibly sexy.
And apparently prevented any lingering hang-ups about sex.
Dylan leaned forward and opened the drawer on Alec’s nightstand, pulling out the lube and several condoms.
When Dylan looked over his shoulder and caught Alec’s surprised look, he said, “Last night you showed me where you kept your supplies.”
Of course he had.
Heat climbed Alec’s face. There was no time to dwell on the embarrassment because Dylan scooted backwards until Alec’s cock pressed along the crack in Dylan’s ass again, and the hit of pleasure paralyzed Alec.
Dylan seemed to notice Alec hadn’t moved.
“Do you want me to go away?” Dylan said.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Not what I asked. Do you want me to leave?”
Alec wanted lots of things, like Dylan’s lips opening beneath his in a real kiss. To trace that scar on Dylan’s shoulder with his tongue. To feel Dylan come in his mouth without the dulling effects of alcohol. Dylan on all fours, with Alec behind him. Yeah, he wanted a lot of things.
Dylan leaving wasn’t one of them.
“I want you to stay,” Alec said.
Dylan released a breath and rolled onto his stomach, spreading his legs. He folded his arms and planted his forehead on his wrists.
The beautiful sight of Dylan splayed before him in such a vulnerable position made Alec’s fingers clumsy. After two tries, Alec finally flipped the lid to the lube open. Mindful of Dylan’s relative inexperience, Alec applied a generous-to-the-point-of-messy amount of liquid on his fingers. Alec brushed his hole, and Dylan tensed.
Alec leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the scar, tracing the ridge of purple flesh with his lips. “Easy,” he murmured against Dylan’s skin.
And as Alec ran his mouth along the corded muscles of Dylan’s back and stroked the puckered hole with his thumb, Dylan slowly melted, his body going lax. A few minutes passed, and Alec felt confident enough in Dylan’s state to take the next step. He breached the ring of muscle with his finger, and a light shudder ran through Dylan’s body, as malleable in Alec’s arms as he was hard-nosed out of them. Humbling Alec with his trust. Empowering him with such complete submission.
For two years Alec had been happy letting Tyler take control in bed. But this…
Alec knew sex with Dylan didn’t line up with his long-term plans. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. For once Alec wanted everything, wanted to be greedy and careless and rash, despite the fact the need was equal parts scary and exhilarating.
Letting Dylan grow accustomed to the feel, Alec spent more minutes than necessary with just one finger, fucking him slowly. He watched as Dylan’s breathing grew more labored, his arousal obvious. The view left Alec feeling invincible, which only made him more determined to make this good for Dylan.
Alec advanced to two fingers, encouraged when Dylan remained silent, no protest in sight. In fact, Dylan began to thrust his hips against the bed, and the occasional whimper escaped, the sounds barely audible. All that changed when Alec brushed his prostate.
Dylan hissed, and his hands shot forward to grab the headboard. “Jesus,” Dylan groaned, arching his back.
“Feeling okay?”
Dylan’s answer came in the form of a moan, and he tipped his ass up in a silent beg, pushing against Alec’s fingers. Alec smiled. The man might not be much for talking during sex, but the noises that rumbled from his throat were sexier than all the explicit words in the world.
God, too bad last night’s memories were veiled by the buzz of alcohol.
“You’re description didn’t do it justice,” Dylan murmured.
“Description?”
“Prostate.”