Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

Tonight I'll call you whatever I like and you're going to take it." He smirks. "Unless you'd like to say something otherwise, little sex kitten?"
    I can't miss the smugness in his tone. He has me bent over the metaphoric barrel. And he knows I know he's not doing it to be mean; he's doing it to annoy the hell outta me because I can't tell him to stop.
    I roll my eyes, and he understands my silence is permission to continue. Unable to do anything else with my hands, I hold on to the slats in the headboard, bracing myself.
    Call me whatever you want. Just don't stop.
    Heath's eyes glow as the silence stretches. His heated inspection of my body causes me to shiver in anticipation. He brushes a hand lightly up the underside of my cock and I feel scorched from it. I shut my eyes and focus on the feel of him pushing lightly until my muscles resist. His barest caress makes me feel like I'll die from erotic overload.
    "I thought about blindfolding you so you couldn't see what was coming next, could only focus on what I let you feel, but tonight I want you to watch what I do to you. Open your eyes, Fleury."
    God, my name has never sounded that sexy before. I open my eyes in time to see him curl his hand into a fist and set it atop the head of my cock. Just resting there, it feels like I'm about to push into someone's hole.
    "I want you to see every single thing I do to you. Watch."
    He pushes his fist down my length and it feels remarkably similar to the pop of pushing inside another man's ass, if a bit dry because he hasn't lubed his hand. My balls zing with the contact, and I thrust up into it. Then I wince and whine.
    Note to self: Don't put weight on the bad ankle.
    "I want you so turned on you can't breathe, and you can't keep quiet, and you're afraid you'll wake the others and they'll find you like this."
    Pretty sure I'm already there, thanks. I try conveying my thoughts with my eyes, but something else has Heath's attention.
    I hear a pop and assume it's the lid to the bottle of lube I keep in my toy box. It's a silicone slick with amazing super-silky texture.
    "I want you whimpering, begging me for what you want in the only way I let you."
    His fist returns to rest atop my glans. This time I feel cool lube dribbling down my dick before he repeats the same tight-fisted pop-slide. With lube, the motion feels a thousand times better than before. I clamp my lips together so the groan stays low in the back of my throat.
    After thirty— fifty? I don't know— of those torturously slow pop-sliding fists down my erection, I'm breathing heavily and having difficulty keeping my groans quiet. I'm so close and yet so far away from achieving orgasm.
    I want to completely sink into Heath's force-fed pleasure, but my bad ankle keeps reminding me of its presence. The distraction keeps working its way into my consciousness, and even more frustrating to me, it helps keep my climax at bay.
    Goddamn, let me come, I plea with my eyes.
    Not looking at my eyes, Heath scoots forward to rub his lube-slick hand across my balls, massaging them gently for a couple of minutes. Then he flicks a finger at the underside of my cock several times. It's not exactly a pleasant sensation, but not exactly painful either. It gives me something different to focus on. It pulls me back from the edge.
    He leans in to lick from my collarbone up behind my ear. His fingers brush my nipples, sending new jolts of sensation straight to my balls. Then he starts rolling the small points between his fingers.
    Don't leave me hanging. Please don't leave me hanging.
    I am not solely referencing my orgasm.
    After focusing on my nipples for a few minutes, he changes tactics once again. Holding my cock in place with one hand, he gently rubs the shaft with his fingers, drawing them across the head. The simple repetitive movement torments me until my nerves are shrieking. I writhe in blissful agony, trying to move away yet needing to demand more. I want to beg and plead and scream, but I hold it in check. I settle for pornographic squeaks and groans each time he brushes the over-sensitive flesh. The longer he does this, the louder I get.
    "You want something inside you?"
    Thank God , something else to focus on besides my desperation and debauchery.
    Yes, please! I nod.
    He rubs my cock again.
    "One of your toys?"
    I shake my head no. Oh, hell no.
    Another caress, another groan.
    "My fingers?"
    I nod, yes .
    His hand drifts down my balls, until a not-quite slick finger trails