his hips to press his butt against Ben’s missile.
Ben swallowed audibly. “No?”
“No.”
“For real?”
Oliver flipped over so he could grab Ben’s face and stare into his eyes. “For really real.”
And then he kissed him.
It wasn’t slow and languid, or even all that gentle, as maybe first kisses should be. There was lots of tongue, a bit of teeth. Passionate—just as hot and hard as Ben’s muscular body and enthusiastic dick. Before he knew it, Ben had rolled onto his back, taking Oliver with him, and Oliver was suddenly sprawled over a sexy, sexy man. Their cocks lined up together, the best feeling, and Oliver rolled his hips again, with even more purpose this time. The drag of hardness against hardness, even with the layers of underwear between—god, it was so good. Oliver groaned. Ben moaned—then froze, doubt clouding his gaze.
“Are you sure… Should we be doing this?”
Oh no. Oh hell no. Oliver was not going to waste this opportunity, now that he had Ben where he wanted him—where he’d wanted him for weeks, if he was being honest. In bed, needy, hard, hopefully aching with want, just like Oliver himself was. He rolled his hips again, a flash of satisfaction arcing through him as Ben’s eyes rolled back.
He leaned down low, so his lips were brushing Ben’s earlobe. “I don’t give a fuck if we should or not,” he whispered. “I want you.”
Ben swallowed, the click of his throat audible. “God. Fuck. Okay. Yeah. Let’s… Yeah.”
Oliver pulled back with a grin, thrilled at the idea that he’d reduced Ben to nonsensical one-word sentences. He lifted up and tugged at Ben’s boxer briefs. Ben arched his butt off the bed in obvious invitation to remove the offending garment. Oliver did so, and saliva flooded his mouth at the sight of Ben’s rigid cock slapping his stomach.
“I knew that thing was a missile,” Oliver murmured.
“What?”
Oliver just shook his head and shucked off his pajama pants. He wore nothing underneath, and his own dick stood out proudly. It was slimmer than Ben’s monster, but a little longer, and Oliver swore he could see Ben’s pupils expand with lust as he eyed it.
“Oh yeah. That. In me.” Ben let his legs fall further apart.
“You bottom?”
“Fuck yes, I bottom.” Ben scowled. “Don’t tell me you buy into the stupid stereotypes of big guys only giving?”
In Oliver’s experience, it hadn’t really been a stereotype. All the guys he’d been with—guys like Ben, big and tough-looking with freaking drool-worthy muscles—they’d all insisted on topping. But hell, if Ben wanted Oliver’s dick, he could have it.
A lot.
Over and over again.
Jesus Christ.
Ben grabbed his thigh, right by one of his knees, and pulled his legs that much further apart. Oliver wanted to rub his hands all over that hairy flesh—and then he realized he could, so he did. The hair on Ben’s legs was rough—wiry and there, but not too much. Enough to add texture and interest. He scratched his blunt nails along Ben’s skin, and Ben groaned at the sensation.
“Yeah?” Oliver husked.
“Oh yeah. More.”
Oliver loved how Ben didn’t ask him to rush, didn’t seem to be impatient for the endgame. He was so tired of guys who thought only penetration counted as fucking. Simple touch could be too—kisses, love bites, gentle scratches. Licks.
Oliver drew his tongue from the base of Ben’s thick cock to the tip, loving how Ben tensed beneath him. Ben’s scent surrounded him, enveloping him in a way nothing else could. He smelled of sun-warmed prairie grasses, and tilled earth, with a hint of honey that could be wildflowers or Ben’s own natural sweetness. Oliver nudged Ben’s missile upward, then lowered his mouth over it as far as he could.
“God, Oliver.” Ben moaned. “So good.”
Oliver hummed in agreement. There was something so powerful about reducing a strong, virile man to little more than putty with only his mouth. With this little bit of attention, he could make Ben’s body react without his brain being engaged—as evidenced by how Ben’s hips were bobbing without concern about how deep he was going into Oliver’s throat.
Deep. And he loved it.
He took his time loving Ben’s dick—kissing, licking, sucking, but backing off whenever Ben’s movements got too frantic. Ben huffed, like the bull he was, but he never complained at the teasing. Oliver got the sense that he knew it wasn’t teasing, not at all—it was exploration and discovery. Foreplay. What a concept.
It took forever, and no time at all, before Oliver couldn’t hold back any longer. He needed to