The Hook-Up (5 page)

He held up one condom, in a gold wrapper, and
raised an eyebrow. “And you
’
re sure even these are big enough?”

My laugh sounded more nervous and giddy than
amused. I watched him, my breath short stabs in my chest as I
registered what my eyes were showing me: Emir reaching for my
straining penis, the condom in his hand. When he finally touched
me, even to just roll the condom down, I moaned in relief.

There was another snap of latex, and he
poured more lube between my cheeks. The touch of a gloved fingertip
against my anus brought me momentarily out of myself; I
’
d made far too many bad memories
in the past year to think kindly of latex gloves.

Perhaps it would be nice to make some new
associations, I decided. He pressed one finger gently forward,
rocking his fingertip back and forth, loosening my resistant
opening. “Is that all right?”

“
Oui, Monsieur
,” I gasped, wriggling my toes. Every
muscle in my body tightened, and I willed myself to relax as he
slicked more lube over me and slipped a bit deeper. His gloved
fingertip
stroked gently
over my inner flesh, until he found his mark and a strangled noise
wrenched from my throat. My cock twitched; it felt as though his
f
inger
were
inside
it as he
stimulated my prostate.

I heard him chuckle in response to my
whimpered breathing. Then he reached for my cock.

There had been a reason he hadn
’
t put any lube into the condom
before he
’
d slid it onto
me. As he worked his finger over the sensitive gland inside me, my
cock leaked copious amounts of pre-cum, enough that I worried the
rubber might slip off entirely while he pumped his fist up and
down.

“Open your eyes, Leif, and look at me,” Emir
ordered, working another finger in. I did, and his hungry gaze
caught mine, sending electric shivers through me. He was focused
entirely on my pleasure, taking as much enjoyment from doing this
to me as I was from allowing him to do it. Sophie had suggested
that the D/s dynamic was unfair to the Dominant, but now I knew it
was truly equal,
even
if
not quite the same. If this was how much Sophie enjoyed submission,
it matched the burning need and unrelenting pleasure I got from
Dominating her.

The sharp bursts of sensation from his
fingers
and his hand
intensified, and I pumped my hips involuntarily. “Oh, fuck,
I
’
m going—,” I groaned.
Before I could finish my warning, he released me and slid his
fingers out. Left hanging at the edge of release, I worried for a
split second that I would come anyway.

Oh, the bastard was good.

He sat back and reached for the butt plug
he
’
d chosen: stainless
steel, curved like a comma, with a vaguely cock-shaped head and a
flared handle. He poured some lube onto it and pressed it against
me. It was a tighter fit than his
finger
, but it slipped in, snug and secure. The
chilly metal rubbed me with every involuntary twitch of my
muscles.

Emir disposed of his glove and got up to
strip off his jeans. When he joined me on the bed again, he pushed
my legs closed. Straddling my thighs, he opened another condom and
sheathed himself. “It would almost be worth it to get you off right
now. Like this.”

He scooted forward and brought our cocks
together in his hands, then reached for the lube and poured a
generous amount over both of us.

“I wouldn
’
t argue if you did,
Monsieur
,” I gasped, an attempt at levity.
But his erection was rock hard against my own, his hands tight
around us as he slowly glided them up and down. He
’
d left me so close to the end that
I seriously worried I might come, and then where would we be?

I almost warned him that it would be unlikely
I
’
d be able to go again,
but he seemed supernaturally adept at keeping release just out of
my reach. Denial was one of my favorite torments to inflict on a
partner, and I was absurdly pleased, despite my own predicament, to
know it was something Emir and I had in common.

“I think I
’
ll wait, and make you come while I
’
m fucking you,” he groaned, his
slippery hands twisting around and around us both. The head of my
cock was swollen and hard as a billiard ball. I was glad I
hadn
’
t taken my pill on
an empty stomach. If I had, I
’
d probably have ruptured a blood vessel by now.

Time slipped away from me under his expert
hands. The pleasure of one moment teased into the next, our
breathing and the obscene squelching sounds of the lube between his
fingers drowning out every thought from my head like a pornographic
white noise machine.

“Do you like this?” he asked, and it took me
a moment to find my voice.

“
Oui, Monsieur
.”

His breathing was labored, though not as
obviously as mine was. That was a part of the Dom in him, fully in
control of even involuntary physical responses.

He rose on his knees, but kept a firm grip on
my cock. Reaching between my legs, he found the handle of the plug
and twisted it slowly. “Are you ready for me to fuck you?”

I
’
d been ready for what’d felt like hours. There’d be
no denial of my climax at that point; merely the grip of his hand
and the hard pressure of the plug had brought me close.

“Oh,
oui, Monsieur,
”
I groaned as he eased the
plug out, then in again. He rocked the widest part over my opening,
and I forced myself to relax. Giddy anticipation was fun, but total
body rigidity did little to ease anal intercourse.

He took my hand and guided it down to touch
the handle of the
butt
plug
.

“I want to change the condom, just to be
safe.” He swung his leg over me. “You will fuck yourself with that
until I tell you to stop.”

“
Merci, Monsieur.
”
I tried not to think of how
I must look, lying on my back, knees bent and wide apart. I knew my
face was flushed and felt the sweat on my brow. And I knew that
this was exactly as Emir had designed it; there was an undeniable
pleasure in watching a sub share something so intimate, without
hesitation. Because he
’
d
given me no reason to mistrust him, I wanted only to please him.
The exchange was so powerful, for a moment I forgot that I
wasn
’
t always, or
didn
’
t consider myself,
a submissive.

He slid on a new condom and slathered himself
in lubricant. He used far more than I suspected we would actually
need, and I appreciated his consideration. Then he knelt between my
legs and slowly twisted the plug free from my body.

“How would you like me,
Monseiur
?” I asked through
parched lips.

“Like this. I want to see you. I want to play
with your beautiful cock while I
’
m fucking you.” He leaned down, planting one
elegant hand on the bed beside my ribs. The other he used to guide
himself to my ass, and I felt only the slightest pressure before he
asked, “Are you ready?”

“Go slow,” I cautioned him.

“Always.” He pushed forward, I inhaled
deeply, and the burn of his width stretching me stole my breath.
It
’
s easy to forget how
a sexual act feels until you
’
re doing it again. The shock almost caused me to
use the safe word, but Emir
’
s murmured encouragement allowed me to
continue.

“If you want me to stop, I will. There are so
many other ways I could get you off.” Even his reassurances held
the promise of pleasure.

“No, let
’
s keep
going.
” It may have been a while since the last time
I
’
d done this, but at
least I remembered that whatever discomfort I felt now would be
paid off in full. He moved forward easily, halting now and then to
allow me to adjust. I closed my eyes, surrendering total control to
the dual sensations of pain and pleasure that zinged along my
nerves. Whatever happened was all in his hands now; all I needed to
do was feel.

When our bodies met and I
’
d taken all of him in, he ordered, “Open
your eyes, Leif, and look at me.”

It was perhaps the most difficult thing
I
’
d ever done,
sustaining eye contact as a submissive partner. It was a defiance
of every principle I had built my life around: control, authority,
confidence. Submitting to Emir, a younger man, fit, healthy, in his
prime, successful beyond even my astronomical good fortune, had
possibly been the most threatening thing I
’
d ever done in my life.

His free hand found my erection, and he
slowly stroked me in time to the leisurely, shallow movements of
his cock in my ass. “Does that feel better?”

“
Oui, Monsieur.
” I wanted to direct him, but I bit my
tongue and held back. It was his place to steer this encounter, and
I was his willing passenger. He would take me faster, harder, but I
would have to be patient.

He withdrew, then slowly, steadily sank into
me again, and I gasped, still unused to the sensation.

“You feel so good.” As if to illustrate his
point, he leaned down and licked me from sternum to
collarbones
, his tongue burrowing
through the hair on my chest. I lifted up from the bed, taking him
in just a bit deeper, hoping he would understand that it was all
right to move.

And move, he did. Emir had a command of his
body that seemed preternatural. Every motion had purpose. The
slightest adjustment of his hips produced some new and torturous
sensation, a fluttering of his fingers around my cock forced groans
from my throat.

The unrelenting chill of the sweat on my
skin, the sharp, edge of pain as he fucked me, and the rapid,
tightly-gripped strokes of his hand up and down my length all
combined into one writhing, mindless force of pure pleasure. I felt
his cock as though it stroked the root of mine, and I matched my
breaths to his unconsciously.

Emir
’
s mouth curved in a satisfied grin, but his eyes
held a glint of strain as he fought to control his reactions. “Look
at you. You love getting fucked, don
’
t you, Leif?”

“I do,
Monsieur.
”
It came out without a
second thought.

“You
’
re going to make me come,” he hissed. “I
’
m going to fucking come.”

“Please,
Monsieur
,” I rasped, so close to my own
release that my nerves felt raw and exposed. Whether he granted me
permission or not, it was inevitable, but I begged him, “May
I?”

“Oh, yes,” he moaned, and though I
didn
’
t know if it was
permission or simply an exclamation as he pounded into me, I
couldn
’
t stop myself. I
went rigid beneath him, thrusting into his hand, the intense,
bone-deep throb of my release taking me out of myself for a
blissful few seconds. My cock jerked, spurting into the already
slippery latex. I felt the force of my orgasm from the bottoms of
my feet to the prickles along my scalp. I may have shouted.

With a hungry growl, Emir grabbed my wrists
and pushed them against the bed to steady himself. In my
post-orgasmic state, I was too exhausted to be frightened over such
a minor restraint. He drove deep, hunched over me with his
sweat-damp hair dripping on my chest. Then he threw his head back,
and I gritted my teeth against my own ragged, overstimulated nerves
as he pulsed inside me.

He withdrew immediately, before the condom
could slip off, and rose from the bed.

“Stay here. I will return in a moment.”

Stay? I wasn
’
t sure I still had the musculature to get up and
leave.

I grimaced when I rolled the condom off my
penis; the poor fellow was exhausted. Lifting my head resulted in a
moment of dizziness, and I closed my eyes until it passed. In
contrast to the energized feeling Dominance gave me, submission was
physically and emotionally draining.

Emir came from the bathroom, bearing a stack
of wet flannels, still folded. He knelt beside me on the bed to
gently wash me. How strange, the way context shifts the meaning and
associations of an act. W
hen
I
’
d been in the
hospital, it had been another reminder of my lost dignity to be
bathed by the nurses. Now, it was a relief to give up the
responsibility, to let Emir care for me when I was far too tired to
care for myself.

“Shall we go to the shower?” he asked,
dabbing the sodden hair at the base of my cock with the last
flannel. “Or perhaps I could join you in that lovely bathtub of
yours?”

“No, if you don
’
t mind, I
’
d like to phone Chloe.” I knew what he meant to
provide me. More tenderness, reassuring conversation, so that I
wouldn
’
t be left with
any confusion or doubt that could lead to sub drop. “It
isn
’
t that I
don
’
t appreciate the
aftercare, but…”

“She can do it better,” he finished for me
with an amused smile.

“Is that all right?” I wondered how I would
feel if a sub refused aftercare. Negligent, at the very least. “If
you need it, of course—”

“No.” He waved the suggestion away easily.
“This was fun for me. But I think it was something much more
between you and
Chloe
.
You should call her.”

When he left the room, I picked up the
cordless handset from the beside table and dialed our New York
number. Sophie answered on the first ring. “Neil?”