I need him to touch me so badly. I need his hand working my cock.
Tyler is breathing hard, just as I am. He thrusts into me leisurely, steadily, lighting up my nerve endings and making every inch of my body tingle. His hips undulate against my ass, and the smooth glide of his cock grazes me over and over, swamping me with pleasure. The heat and the pressure steal my breath.
“Tyler.” His name comes out as a breathy rasp. I deepen our kiss, giving him my tongue. “Please.” I’m aching to come, but neither one of us is in a hurry. He’ll draw the pleasure out for both of us. That’s what he’s good at.
Tyler makes me feel cherished, protected, and so well-fucked. He’s naturally dominant in bed, and I love it. I need it. I crave it.
Rolling us to our sides, he wraps his long fingers around my cock and begins stroking me. The friction is exquisite, the pleasure mind-blowing.
“Tyler,” I plead.
“I know,” he murmurs close to my ear. “Soon.” His warm breath brushes my overheated skin and sends a shiver down my spine.
As he picks up speed, thrusting faster and faster, his hand action matches the pace. My sac tightens, my balls drawing up, and I’m so close. I gasp. “Oh, god, please.”
He chuckles. “Make it last, baby.”
His lips are on the back of my neck, kissing me, taking small bites and sucking my skin. I know he’s going to leave his mark on me; he always does. Suddenly, he bucks into me, pressing deep and groaning harshly as he comes. “Ian, fuck!”
He strokes me relentlessly, and with a grateful moan, I come too.
Tyler slows his thrusts, his hips bucking into me with each ejaculation. At the same time, he milks my climax, teasing me with gentle strokes and keeping me on edge. My cock is so sensitive, I shudder. Our naked bodies are plastered together, and it’s almost impossible to determine where he ends and I begin. We are literally as one, and the beauty of that thought makes me tear up. As I press my hot face into my pillow, he kisses the back of my head.
When both our orgasms have waned, he withdraws and removes the condom, tying off the end. Then he kisses my shoulder. “Be right back.”
A few moments later, he returns with a damp cloth and wipes the stickiness from my ass. As I lift up, he removes the towel beneath me and wipes my abs. Then we snuggle beneath the covers as Tyler spoons me, his arm secure around my waist, one of his legs slipping between mine.
“Good night, baby,” he whispers, his lips in my hair.
* * *
Tyler falls asleep pretty quickly, no doubt exhausted from his long day, but I lie awake for a long time, gazing at the darkness beyond the glass ceiling as the stars flicker in the night sky.
Sleeping under the stars like this, inside the sanctity and comfort of these greenhouse walls, is the perfect antidote to my early childhood spent locked in a dark, upstairs bedroom—the windows boarded up tight—while my drug-addicted mother entertained tricks downstairs in exchange for her next fix. She tried her best to protect me from the unending parade of men that traipsed in and out of our apartment, but it was a lonely, frightening life for a child. I spent so many hours locked in that upstairs room, often hiding in the closet with little to eat or drink, and only a child’s training potty to piss in.
My five-year-old imagination fantasized that someone would rescue me—Superman or Batman, or maybe a cop or a fireman. Ultimately, it was children’s services that saved me from that miserable life and eventually made it possible for the Alexanders to adopt me.
Those childhood fantasies have now taken on a whole new meaning because I have my very own cop. When we met, not that long ago, he rescued me from a life of casual sex and random hookups. I’d had so many failed relationships, I’d stopped trying.
Tyler knows me like no one ever has. He knows my weaknesses, my fears, and he doesn’t think less of me for them. He doesn’t run when anxiety overwhelms me. He doesn’t quit on me when I run. He loves me in spite of my deficits.
Making a quiet, sleepy sound, Tyler tightens his hold on me. Instinctively, he knows what I need.
Security.
My cop knows what I need.
When my phone screen silently lights up on the nightstand beside