he drew back, just my body clinging to his, holding tight around his dick, begging him not to withdraw.
He didn't, thank fuck. He just built momentum, fucking me with more confident strokes. Every drag against my prostate sent a blinding burst of stars behind my eyes, turning my muscles into jelly as I just submitted myself to him, begging even more.
"Harder. Fuck yes, I need it."
He was panting, and when he slammed into me there was a sound in the back of his throat that was almost a growl. My balls tightened suddenly and I came close to coming right then and there, but I managed to hold on and savor Elliot leaning over me, fucking me into the mattress, the headboard hitting the wall over and over.
When he changed his angle, more of his thick cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of me, I couldn't take it anymore. My hand flew to my own cock and I stroked wildly, my body seizing as I came with a loud cry of pleasure. My ass clenched around his dick, my body begging him to come.
His hips slammed forward one last time and he let out a moan that shook through me, lighting up every good feeling I could possibly have. I felt his cock jerk and pulse inside of me, felt the warmth of his cum as it pooled inside the condom.
And I felt the loss when he withdrew to dispose of the condom. That was always the worst part of being fucked. The emptiness afterward. The bed that grew steadily colder. It was why I didn't bottom very often. I needed the connection more than anything, but I didn't want to need it.
I heard Elliot draw near again, felt the shift of the bed. He leaned over me and pressed a soft kiss to my back, just between my shoulder blades.
"You wanna talk about it?" he asked in a low, soothing voice.
The kind of voice I wanted to comfort me as I talked about all this helplessness I'd kept buried deep inside.
"Not really."
It wasn't a lie. I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to just... get over it. I'd hoped a quick and dirty fuck would help, but it hadn't. No matter how good it'd felt, no matter how much it scratched that itch, it ultimately didn't change things.
Turning over, I lay on my back, my breathing slowly returning to normal. Elliot sat beside me, a sort of half-tension in his body. He wanted to ask me more; wanted to pry it out of me. I was glad he'd so far managed to keep those wants under control. Things wouldn't go well for us if he couldn't.
"Hey, uh. This is probably a weird time to ask, but do you wanna get something to eat?"
I turned to look at him and blinked. "How is it weird? I'm fucking starving."
A renewed energy coursed through me as I pushed myself off the bed. I padded out into the hall, snatched my boxer briefs from the floor, and tugged them on.
"What do you want?" I asked, rummaging through the drawer in the hall where I knew he kept takeout menus. "I could go for some barbecue. Fuck, a slab of ribs sounds amazing right now."
I heard him walk up behind me and out of the corner of my eye I saw he'd pulled on his boxers and his pants, the zipper definitely broken on them. He'd done up the button, at least, but the fly was perpetually open.
"Actually, I was hoping we could go out to eat."
"Even better. All you can eat ribs," I said with a grin. "Let me just get a shower and--"
"Date!" he exclaimed, blurting out that single word. It was followed by him stammering out several others. "I'm... I want... date. I want to go on a date. With you."
For a long time, I just stared at him. My heart was hammering in my chest, my ears were ringing, and I couldn't remember how to form words.
Way more worrisome was the fact that all of that wasn't because what he said scared me. It should. I didn't want anything serious, and dating crossed that line. Dating meant there was a chance for more. Dating was the attempt of both parties to see if there was a viable future.
I didn't want that. Except... some part of me found the idea of going out with Elliot, of being seen with him really damn appealing. All the dumb, romantic boyfriend