Chapter One: Shared Alliance
The fluorescent lights of the city council chambers buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the rows of folding chairs. The air smelled faintly of old carpet and the sharp tang of coffee left too long in the pot. Andrew adjusted the cuffs of his olive-green button-down, his fingers brushing over the callouses on his palms—a reminder of the hands-on work that had shaped him. He sat near the front, one leg crossed over the other, his loafers scuffed from years of pacing shelter floors. The faint scar on his left cheek, a childhood relic, caught the light as he turned to scan the room.
The meeting had already run over by twenty minutes, and the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Council members shuffled papers, their expressions ranging from boredom to outright hostility as another speaker droned on about budget allocations. Andrew exhaled through his nose, his hazel eyes flicking toward the clock on the wall. He had a staff meeting in an hour, and if this dragged on much longer, he’d have to reschedule—again.
Then the door at the back of the room creaked open, and a familiar figure slipped inside. Sam. Andrew’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction at the sight of him, though he couldn’t say why. Sam moved with quiet confidence, his dark brown eyes scanning the room before landing on the empty seat beside Andrew. He wore a light blue button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and khakis that had seen better days. His beard was neatly trimmed, his expression focused, but there was a warmth in his gaze that made Andrew feel seen in a way few things did.
“Mind if I sit?” Sam’s voice was low, smooth, the kind of tone that made people lean in to listen.
Andrew gestured to the chair beside him. “Be my guest. Though I can’t promise this’ll be over anytime soon.”
Sam chuckled as he settled into the seat, the scent of his cologne—something woody and faintly spiced—mingling with the stale air of the chamber. “You’d think they’d at least spring for better ventilation in here. Feels like a sauna.”
Andrew smirked. “Or a funeral.”
That earned him a quiet laugh, the sound rich and warm. Sam stretched his legs out in front of him, his loafers nearly brushing against Andrew’s. “You testifying tonight?”
Andrew nodded. “Yeah. Figured I’d throw my two cents in before they cut the homelessness funding again.” He rubbed his thumb over the silver stud in his left ear, a nervous habit he’d never quite shaken. “You?”
“Same.” Sam’s expression sobered. “Though I don’t know how much good it’ll do. Half these people have already made up their minds.”
Andrew followed Sam’s gaze to the dais where the council members sat, their faces a mix of disinterest and thinly veiled impatience. “Doesn’t mean we don’t try.”
Sam turned to him, his dark eyes searching Andrew’s face. There was something in that look—something that made Andrew’s pulse kick up just a little. “No,” Sam agreed softly. “It doesn’t.”
The moderator called the next speaker, and Andrew forced himself to focus. But he was hyperaware of Sam beside him, the way his thigh nearly touched Andrew’s, the way his breath hitched just slightly when the council chair made a particularly tone-deaf comment about “those people” needing to “pull themselves up by their bootstraps.” Andrew’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists in his lap.
Sam’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out, but he stopped himself. “You good?” he murmured.
Andrew exhaled sharply. “Just peachy.”
Sam’s lips quirked. “You’re gonna blow a gasket if you don’t get up there soon.”
Andrew shot him a look. “You saying I’ve got a short fuse?”
“Nah.” Sam’s voice dropped, his shoulder brushing Andrew’s as he leaned in just a fraction. “I’m saying you care too much to stay quiet. And I don’t blame you.”
The words settled in Andrew’s chest, warm and heavy. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
When his name was called, he stood on legs that felt steadier than they had any right to be. The microphone was cold against his palm as he adjusted it, his gaze sweeping over the council members before landing briefly on Sam. Sam gave him a small, encouraging nod, and Andrew drew in a breath.
“Good evening,” he began, his voice steady despite the knot in his stomach. “My name is Andrew Carter, and I’m the director of the Harbor Men’s Shelter downtown. I’ve been in this line of work for nearly a decade, and in that time, I’ve seen firsthand what happens when we treat homelessness as a moral failing instead of a systemic one.”
He paused, letting the words sink in. A few council members shifted in their seats, but he pressed on. “Last winter, we had to turn away thirty-seven men because we didn’t have the beds. Thirty-seven. That’s not a personal failure—that’s a failure of resources. And when you cut funding, you’re not just cutting numbers on a spreadsheet. You’re cutting lifelines.”
Beside him, Sam was still, his attention riveted on Andrew. There was something in the way he watched him—not just as a colleague, but as someone who saw him. Really saw him. Andrew’s fingers tightened around the podium.
“These men aren’t lazy. They’re not ‘draining the system.’ They’re veterans. They’re fathers. They’re people who’ve had the rug pulled out from under them, and they’re trying to get back up. But they can’t do it alone. No one can.”
He stepped back, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his words. The room was silent for a long moment before the council chair cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Carter. We’ll take your comments under advisement.”
Andrew resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he returned to his seat. Sam was already standing, his expression determined.
“Samuel Bennett,” he said into the microphone, his voice carrying the same quiet intensity Andrew had just poured into his own testimony. “Social worker with the Downtown Outreach Program. I’ve spent the last eight years working directly with homeless men, and I can tell you that what Andrew just said isn’t hyperbole. It’s reality.”
He glanced at Andrew, just for a second, before continuing. “Two months ago, I worked with a man named James. Sixty years old. Worked construction his whole life until a back injury left him unable to do the job. No savings. No family to lean on. He slept in his car for three months before it got repossessed. By the time he came to us, he was malnourished, his blood pressure was through the roof, and he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. We got him into temporary housing, but the waitlist for permanent placement is eighteen months long. Eighteen months. That’s not a solution. That’s a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound.”
Sam’s hands flexed at his sides, his knuckles white. “We can do better. We have to do better. Because if we don’t, we’re not just failing these men. We’re failing ourselves.”
The room was so quiet Andrew could hear the hum of the overhead lights. Sam stepped back from the podium, his shoulders squaring as he met Andrew’s gaze. There was something unspoken between them in that moment—something that went beyond shared frustration or professional respect. It was the flicker of recognition, the sense of standing on the same side of a battle no one else seemed to understand.
When Sam sat back down, his thigh pressed against Andrew’s, just for a second. Neither of them pulled away.
The meeting dragged on for another forty minutes, but Andrew barely heard any of it. His mind was still replaying the way Sam had spoken—not just the words, but the fire behind them. The way his voice had roughened when he talked about James. The way his eyes had burned with something that looked a lot like anger, but deeper. Like grief.
When the gavel finally came down, signaling the end of the meeting, Andrew let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He turned to Sam. “You hungry?”
Sam blinked, as if the question had caught him off guard. “What?”
“Dinner.” Andrew stood, stretching his arms over his head. “I was thinking of grabbing a bite at Mabel’s. Their collard greens are criminally good.”
Sam hesitated, his gaze flicking over Andrew’s face. “You asking me out, Carter?”
Andrew froze. The words hung between them, charged with something he wasn’t ready to name. He swallowed. “I’m asking if you want to keep talking about this over food instead of standing in a room that smells like despair and bad coffee.”
Sam’s lips twitched. “When you put it that way, how can I say no?”
Andrew grinned, relief and something warmer flooding through him. “Great. My car’s out back.”
They fell into step beside each other as they made their way out of the chamber, their shoulders brushing in the crowded hallway. The night air was cool as they stepped outside, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. Andrew’s car, a well-loved sedan with a dent in the passenger door, was parked under a flickering lamp.
Sam paused beside it, his hands tucked into his pockets. “You always this forward?”
Andrew unlocked the doors, the beep of the alarm cutting through the quiet. “Only when I’m hungry.”
Sam laughed, the sound rich and unguarded, and Andrew found himself smiling in response. He slid into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking under him, and waited as Sam buckled in beside him. The car smelled faintly of pine—Andrew’s air freshener—and the remnants of the fast-food breakfast he’d grabbed that morning.
Sam glanced at him as Andrew pulled out onto the street. “So. Mabel’s, huh?”
“Best soul food in the city.” Andrew adjusted the rearview mirror, his fingers brushing the scar on his cheek. “You ever been?”
“Once or twice.” Sam’s voice was warm, his gaze fixed on the passing buildings. “Their sweet tea could probably solve world hunger.”
Andrew barked out a laugh. “Now that’s hyperbole.”
“You saying I’m wrong?”
“I’m saying you’ve clearly never had my mama’s sweet tea.”
Sam turned to him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, so now we’re comparing mamas?”
Andrew shrugged, grinning. “If you can’t handle the competition, Bennett, you shouldn’t have gotten in the car.”
Sam shook his head, but he was smiling, his teeth white against the rich brown of his skin. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
Andrew felt the words settle in his chest, light and easy. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’ve been told.”
The drive to Mabel’s was short, the restaurant’s neon sign flickering in the growing twilight. Andrew parallel parked with practiced ease, and they walked side by side to the entrance, their shoulders close enough that Andrew could feel the heat radiating off Sam. The bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside, the scent of fried chicken and cornbread wrapping around them like a welcome embrace.
The hostess, a woman in her sixties with a sharp eye and a warmer smile, greeted them immediately. “Andrew, honey! Haven’t seen you in ages.”
Andrew leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Miss Loretta, you know I can’t stay away for long.”
She swatted at him playfully before turning her attention to Sam. “And who’s this?”
“Sam Bennett.” Sam extended a hand. “Friend of Andrew’s.”
Miss Loretta took his hand, her grip firm. “Well, any friend of Andrew’s is a friend of mine. Y’all follow me—I’ve got a nice booth in the back.”
They weaved through the crowded restaurant, the hum of conversation and clinking silverware filling the air. Miss Loretta led them to a corner booth upholstered in worn red vinyl, the tabletop scarred from years of use. Andrew slid in first, and Sam followed, their knees brushing under the table.
Miss Loretta handed them menus with a wink. “I’ll send Marla over to take your order. And Andrew?” She paused, her expression softening. “You take care of this one, you hear? He’s got that look.”
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “What look?”
“The one that says he works too hard and forgets to eat.” She patted Sam’s shoulder before bustling off, leaving them in a bubble of quiet.
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s not wrong.”
Andrew studied him—the dark smudges under his eyes, the way his shoulders carried the weight of the day. “No,” he agreed quietly. “She’s not.”
They fell into an easy rhythm, ordering fried catfish and collard greens, sweet tea so strong it could stand a spoon, and a side of cornbread that arrived still steaming. The food was as good as Andrew had promised, rich and comforting, the kind of meal that made the world feel a little less sharp around the edges.
They talked about the meeting, dissecting the council’s reactions, venting their frustrations. But as the plates emptied and the sweet tea glasses were refilled, the conversation shifted. Sam told him about growing up in a family of activists, how his parents had marched in the ‘60s and his grandmother had been a suffragist. Andrew talked about his mother, a social worker who’d worked herself to the bone, and how he’d promised himself he’d never let the system grind him down the way it had grinded her.
“Sounds like we’ve got the same problem,” Sam said, swirling the ice in his glass. “We care too much.”
Andrew studied the way the light caught the amber liquid, the way Sam’s fingers tapped restlessly against the table. “Yeah,” he murmured. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Sam met his gaze, and for a long moment, neither of them looked away. There was something in the air between them—something that had been building since the council chambers, since the brush of their thighs, since the way Sam had looked at him when he testified. It was quiet. It was heavy. It was almost.
Andrew broke the silence first, clearing his throat. “So. You gonna let me win this mama’s sweet tea contest, or what?”
Sam laughed, the tension easing just enough to let them both breathe. “Not a chance, Carter.”
Andrew grinned. “That’s what I thought.”
They lingered over dessert—peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream that melted too fast—and when the check came, they split it without argument. The night had deepened outside, the streetlights casting pools of gold on the pavement as they stepped back into the cool air.
Sam turned to him, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. “Thanks for this,” he said. “I needed it.”
Andrew nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”
A beat of silence. Then Sam tilted his head, studying Andrew in a way that made his skin prickle. “You know, I was thinking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
Sam ignored the jab, his voice dropping. “We make a pretty good team.”
Andrew’s pulse jumped. “We do.”
“Maybe we should do it again. Soon.”
It wasn’t just an invitation. It was a step forward. A line crossed. Andrew felt the weight of it, the possibility of it, and he didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” he said. “We should.”
Sam smiled, slow and sure, and for the first time that night, Andrew let himself admit that this—whatever it was—was only the beginning.
Chapter Two: In the Golden Haze
The heavy wooden door of Mabel’s swung shut behind them with a soft thud, sealing off the warmth of the restaurant and plunging them into the crisp embrace of the night. The air carried the faintest hint of rain, that damp, earthy scent that clung to the pavement and made the glow of the streetlights seem softer, more intimate. Andrew exhaled slowly, watching his breath curl in the coolness before dissolving, his shoulders loosening for the first time in hours. Beside him, Sam adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, the movement drawing Andrew’s gaze to the way his fingers lingered there—hesitant, almost distracted.
“Damn,” Sam murmured, tilting his head back just enough to let the night breeze brush over his throat. “I needed that.”
Andrew hummed in agreement, his own body still humming from the weight of their conversation, the way their voices had tangled together over plates of catfish and collards. There was something about Sam—something that made the usual noise in his head quiet, if only for a little while. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “But now I’m too full to move.”
Sam laughed, the sound rich and warm, and turned to face him fully. The streetlamp above them flickered, casting shifting shadows across his features, deepening the lines of his smile. “Liar. You’ve got the energy of a man who just won an argument with the city council.”
Andrew smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s just adrenaline. It’ll crash soon.”
“Then we better make the most of it.” Sam gestured down the sidewalk, toward the faint outline of the park half a block away. The wrought-iron fence stood like a silhouette against the darker shapes of the trees beyond. “Walk with me?”
The invitation settled between them, simple but charged. Andrew studied him for a long moment—the way his beard caught the light, the quiet intensity in his eyes—and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s walk.”
They fell into step side by side, close enough that their arms brushed now and then, the contact fleeting but deliberate. The sidewalk was quiet at this hour, the usual hum of the city dulled to a murmur, as if the world had pulled back to give them space. Andrew’s loafers scuffed lightly against the concrete, the sound syncing with the steady rhythm of Sam’s breath beside him.
The park gate creaked as Sam pushed it open, the hinges protesting just enough to break the silence. Inside, the air smelled of damp grass and the faint, sweet decay of fallen leaves. They didn’t speak as they wandered deeper, following the winding path until they reached a bench tucked beneath the sprawling branches of an oak. The streetlamp nearby was dim, its light diffused by the canopy above, casting everything in a golden haze that felt suspended in time.
Sam sat first, his body sinking into the curve of the bench with a sigh. Andrew hesitated only a second before joining him, leaving just enough space between them that the absence of touch became its own kind of presence. He stretched his legs out, ankles crossing, and laced his fingers together, resting them against his stomach. The night felt vast suddenly, the kind of quiet that made confessions easier.
“You ever just… get tired?” Sam’s voice cut through the stillness, rough around the edges. He wasn’t looking at Andrew, his gaze fixed instead on his own hands, fingers twisting together in his lap. “Not like, oh, I had a long day tired. But bone-deep. Like you’re pouring everything you’ve got into this work, and it’s still not enough.”
Andrew turned his head slowly, studying the tightness in Sam’s jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. He knew that exhaustion. Had lived it. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.”
Sam exhaled sharply, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I didn’t think I’d be the kind of person who burned out. You know? I grew up with parents who were in the trenches every damn day, and they never stopped. But lately…” He trailed off, his fingers stilling. “Lately, I wake up some mornings and I don’t know how to get out of bed. Not because I don’t want to help. But because I don’t know if I can anymore.”
The rawness in his voice sent a ripple through Andrew’s chest. He unclasped his hands, the callouses on his palms rough against his thighs, and reached out. His fingers brushed Sam’s knuckles first—a question, not a demand. When Sam didn’t pull away, Andrew slid his hand fully over his, their skin warm where it met. Sam’s breath hitched, his fingers curling instinctively around Andrew’s, gripping tight.
“You’re not alone in that,” Andrew said, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of Sam’s hand. “I’ve had days where I sit in my office and just… stare at the walls. Wondering what the hell I’m even doing anymore.” He let out a shaky laugh. “But then some guy comes in, fresh off the street, and he’s got this look in his eyes like he’s already given up. And I remember. That’s why we do it. Not because we think we can fix everything. But because we have to try.”
Sam’s grip tightened, his other hand coming up to cover theirs, trapping Andrew’s between both of his. The heat of him was overwhelming, seeping into Andrew’s skin, his pulse. “God, I needed to hear that,” Sam whispered. His eyes were wet when he finally turned to look at Andrew, the streetlamp catching the sheen of unshed tears. “I don’t—I don’t talk about this with anyone. Not even my therapist.”
Andrew’s chest ached. He shifted closer, their shoulders pressing together, the bench groaning softly under the change in weight. “Then talk to me,” he murmured.
And Sam did.
The words spilled out of him in a rush, his voice cracking on the edges—stories of clients he’d lost, of nights spent awake wondering if he’d done enough, of the way his own grief for the system’s failures had started to feel like a second skin. Andrew listened, his thumb never stopping its slow, grounding motion over Sam’s hand, his own breath syncing with the rhythm of Sam’s confessions. There was no judgment here, no need to perform or pretend. Just the quiet understanding of two men who carried the same weight.
When Sam finally trailed off, his voice hoarse, Andrew didn’t offer empty platitudes. He just squeezed his hand and said, “I get it. I get it.” And then, because the moment demanded more than words, he leaned in.
Their foreheads touched first, a brief press of skin, of shared breath. Sam’s eyelashes fluttered against Andrew’s temple, his exhale shaky. Andrew turned his head just enough to press his lips to the corner of Sam’s mouth—a featherlight kiss, more comfort than passion. But Sam made a sound, low and needy, and turned into it, their mouths sliding together in something deeper, something hungrier.
It wasn’t desperate. It was intentional. A slow, deep exploration, lips parting on a shared sigh, tongues meeting in lazy, searching strokes. Sam’s beard was soft against Andrew’s skin, his hands coming up to cup Andrew’s jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones like he was memorizing the shape of him. Andrew groaned into his mouth, his own hands finding Sam’s waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
They broke apart only when the need for air became too much, their foreheads resting together again, breaths mingling. Sam’s fingers trembled where they still cradled Andrew’s face. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he admitted, voice rough.
Andrew huffed a laugh, his lips brushing Sam’s with each word. “Me neither. But I’m not sorry.”
“Good.” Sam’s grip tightened, just for a second. “Because I don’t want to stop.”
And just like that, the world narrowed to the heat of Sam’s mouth, the press of his body, the way his fingers tangled in Andrew’s dreads as he pulled him back in. The bench creaked beneath them, the night air cool against their flushed skin, but neither of them noticed. There was only this—the slow, sweet unraveling of two men who had spent too long holding themselves together.
Chapter Three: Love in the Park
The kiss didn’t end—it only deepened. Sam’s fingers tightened in Andrew’s shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them, no air, no hesitation. The bench creaked under their shifting weight, but neither of them cared. Andrew’s hands slid from Sam’s waist to his hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks through the fabric, his thumbs pressing into the dip just above the beltline. Sam gasped into his mouth, his body arching forward, seeking more contact, more heat. The night air was cool against their skin, but where they touched, they burned.
Andrew broke the kiss first, but only to drag his lips along Sam’s jaw, his beard rough against the softer skin there. His breath was hot, uneven, when he spoke. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” The words were raw, unfiltered, and Sam’s entire body reacted—his cock twitching against the confines of his khakis, his pulse hammering in his throat. He couldn’t form words, so he turned his head, capturing Andrew’s mouth again, this time with a desperation that made Andrew groan.
Their teeth clashed, tongues tangling, wet and messy. Sam’s hands roamed, one sliding up into Andrew’s dreads, the other gripping his hip, fingers digging in. Andrew’s shirt had come untucked, and Sam’s palm found bare skin, the heat of him, the way his muscles jumped under the touch. Andrew hissed, his own hands moving faster now, mapping Sam’s body like he was memorizing him—shoulders, chest, the flat plane of his stomach. When his fingers brushed the buckle of Sam’s belt, Sam jerked, his breath hitching.
“Andrew—” It was half protest, half plea, but Andrew didn’t stop. He didn’t ask. His fingers worked the leather free with practiced ease, the metallic clink of the buckle loud in the quiet park. The sound sent a jolt through Sam, his cock already thick and aching behind his zipper. Andrew’s hand didn’t hesitate. He palmed Sam through his khakis first, the pressure firm, possessive, and Sam’s hips bucked into the touch without thought, a broken sound spilling from his lips.
“Fuck.” Andrew’s voice was rough, his breath hot against Sam’s ear. “You’re so hard for me.” His fingers traced the outline of Sam’s cock, thumb pressing just below the head where the fabric strained. Sam’s knees nearly gave out. He reached back, blindly, until his palm hit the rough bark of the oak tree, steadying himself. The texture bit into his skin, grounding him just enough to keep from melting entirely.
Andrew didn’t give him time to recover. His fingers deftly popped the button of Sam’s khakis, the zipper following with a slow, teasing drag of metal teeth. The cool night air hit Sam’s exposed cock, and he gasped, his head falling back against the tree with a dull thud. Andrew’s hand wrapped around him immediately, calloused fingers gripping the base, his thumb swiping over the slick crown. Sam’s breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, his hips twitching into the stroke before he could stop himself.
“Andrew, we can’t—” The words died in his throat as Andrew tightened his grip, stroking him once, twice, his thumb pressing into the slit. Pre-cum welled up, sticky and hot, and Andrew smeared it down the shaft with a groan.
“We can,” Andrew murmured, his lips brushing the shell of Sam’s ear. “Right here. Right now.” His free hand slid up Sam’s chest, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him flush against the tree. The bark dug into Sam’s back, the rough texture a counterpoint to the slick, relentless glide of Andrew’s hand. “No one’s gonna see. No one’s gonna stop us.”
Sam’s mind short-circuited. The idea of being caught should’ve been enough to make him push Andrew away, but instead, his hips rolled into the next stroke, his cock throbbing in Andrew’s grip. “God, your hand—” He couldn’t finish. Andrew’s thumb swirled over the head again, and Sam’s legs trembled, his nails scraping against the bark.
Andrew chuckled, low and dark, his breath hot against Sam’s neck. “You like that? Like being touched out here where anyone could walk by?” His strokes slowed, teasing, his thumb pressing just hard enough to make Sam’s breath stutter. “Like the idea of me jerking you off against this tree, getting you all messy?”
Sam whimpered. “Yes—fuck, yes—” The admission tore out of him, raw and needy, and Andrew rewarded him with a tighter grip, his strokes turning deliberate, punishing. The wet sounds of flesh on flesh filled the space between them, obscene and perfect. Sam’s cock ached, his balls drawing up tight, the pleasure coiling low in his gut, ready to snap.
Andrew’s mouth found his again, swallowing his moans as he worked him faster, his palm slick with pre-cum. Sam’s fingers clawed at Andrew’s shoulders, his shirt, anything to anchor himself as the world narrowed to the drag of Andrew’s callouses, the rough bark at his back, the way Andrew’s breath hitched every time Sam’s cock twitched in his grip.
“Gonna come for me?” Andrew’s voice was a growl, his lips brushing Sam’s as he spoke. “Right here, in the park, where anyone could hear you?” His thumb pressed hard into the slit, and Sam’s vision whited out for a second, his hips stuttering.
“I—I can’t—” Sam’s voice broke, his body tensing, the pleasure too much, too close.
“Yes, you can,” Andrew murmured, his strokes turning relentless. “Let go, Sam. I’ve got you.” His free hand cupped the back of Sam’s neck, holding him steady as his cock jerked, his release crashing over him with a broken cry. Cum spilled over Andrew’s fingers, hot and thick, splattering against Sam’s stomach, his shirt, the rough bark behind him. Sam’s entire body shuddered, his breath coming in ragged gasps as Andrew milked him through it, his strokes gentling only when Sam’s cock became too sensitive to bear.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their heavy breathing and the distant hum of the city. Sam’s legs felt like jelly, his body boneless against the tree. Andrew’s hand was still wrapped around him, his fingers sticky with cum, his other arm braced against the bark beside Sam’s head, caging him in. Sam’s chest heaved, his skin slick with sweat despite the cool air.
Andrew finally pulled his hand free, but only to bring his fingers to his mouth, his gaze locked on Sam as he licked them clean. The sight sent another jolt of heat through Sam, his spent cock twitching weakly. “Fuck,” he breathed, his voice hoarse.
Andrew smirked, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “You taste good.” He leaned in, pressing a slow, dirty kiss to Sam’s mouth, letting him taste himself on Andrew’s tongue. Sam moaned into it, his hands finding Andrew’s hips, pulling him closer. He could feel the hard ridge of Andrew’s cock against his thigh, trapped behind his jeans.
Sam broke the kiss, his breath unsteady. “Your turn.” His fingers fumbled with Andrew’s belt, his movements clumsy with aftershocks. Andrew didn’t stop him. He stood there, his body tense, his hazel eyes dark with need as Sam worked his jeans open. The moment his cock sprang free, Sam wrapped his fingers around it, stroking the thick length, his palm slick with the pre-cum already beading at the tip.
Andrew hissed, his head falling back, his dreads brushing Sam’s knuckles. “Sam—” His voice was strained, his hips already rolling into the touch. Sam tightened his grip, his thumb swiping over the crown, spreading the wetness. He dropped to his knees without warning, the damp grass cool against his skin, and took Andrew into his mouth.
Andrew’s curse was sharp, his fingers tangling in Sam’s hair immediately, not guiding, just holding, like he needed the anchor. Sam hollowed his cheeks, taking him deep, his tongue swirling around the head before pulling back with a wet pop. “Fuck, your mouth—” Andrew’s voice was rough, his thighs trembling. Sam grinned around him, his lips stretching obscenely, before taking him again, this time letting the tip hit the back of his throat.
Andrew’s grip tightened, his hips twitching forward, but he didn’t thrust, didn’t force. He let Sam set the pace, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. “Shit—Sam—gonna come—” His warning was a growl, his cock swelling, and Sam didn’t pull away. He took him deeper, his throat opening, his fingers digging into Andrew’s thighs as hot cum spilled down his throat. Andrew’s curse was raw, his body jerking with the force of it, his fingers tangled tight in Sam’s hair.
Sam swallowed around him, milking the last pulses with his lips, before pulling back with a slow, wet sound. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at Andrew through his lashes. Andrew’s chest heaved, his cock still half-hard, glistening in the dim light. He reached down, pulling Sam up by his arm, and kissed him again, messy and desperate, their cum-slick lips moving together like they couldn’t get enough.
When they finally broke apart, Andrew rested his forehead against Sam’s, his breath still unsteady. “We’re gonna do that again,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Soon.”
Sam laughed, breathless, his body still humming. “Yeah?”
Andrew’s smile was slow, wicked. “Yeah. And next time, I’m gonna fuck you against this tree.” His hand slid down, gripping Sam’s ass through his khakis, squeezing just hard enough to make his point. “Gonna hear you scream my name while you take my cock.”
Sam’s entire body reacted, his spent cock twitching with interest despite the oversensitivity. “Fuck,” he breathed, his fingers tightening on Andrew’s shirt. “We should probably get out of here before we get arrested.”
Andrew chuckled, pressing one last kiss to Sam’s lips before stepping back, tucking himself away with a wince. “Yeah, probably.” He reached for Sam’s hand, lacing their fingers together as they turned toward the park gate. The night air was cooler now, the scent of rain stronger, but neither of them moved to let go. “My place isn’t far,” Andrew said, his thumb tracing circles over Sam’s knuckles. “We could… continue this.”
Sam looked at him, his dark eyes reflecting the golden haze of the streetlamp. He didn’t hesitate. “Lead the way.”
Chapter Four: Wet Heat
The air in Andrew’s apartment clung to them like a second skin—thick with the scent of sandalwood and something darker, muskier, the lingering evidence of what they’d done in the park. Sam’s pulse still thrummed in his throat, his cock twitching with every step as Andrew guided him inside, the door shutting behind them with a finality that sent another jolt of heat through his veins. The fairy lights strung along the walls cast a golden haze over everything, turning the space into something intimate, something theirs.
Andrew’s hand didn’t leave Sam’s body—not for a second. It slid from his fingers to the small of his back, then lower, palming the curve of his ass through his khakis with a possessiveness that made Sam’s breath hitch. “You good?” Andrew’s voice was rough, his hazel eyes dark with something that wasn’t just desire—it was hunger, the kind that promised to devour.
Sam swallowed, his throat dry. “Yeah. Just—” He laughed, breathless, his skin prickling with anticipation. “Still processing that you just had me bent over a park bench like some kind of fucking animal.”
Andrew’s smirk was slow, dangerous. “And you loved it.” His fingers tightened on Sam’s waist, pulling him flush against his body. The hard ridge of his cock pressed against Sam’s hip, unmistakable even through the layers of fabric between them. “Still got your cum on my tongue.”
A shudder ran through Sam, his cock thickening in response. “Fuck, Andrew—”
“Exactly.” Andrew’s mouth crashed onto his, hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping in to claim Sam’s with a filthy, wet stroke. Sam moaned into it, his hands flying to Andrew’s shoulders, gripping the damp fabric of his shirt. The kiss was all teeth and hunger, Andrew biting at his lower lip before soothing the sting with his tongue. “Shower. Now. I want you clean so I can get you dirty all over again.”
Sam’s knees nearly buckled. He nodded, his voice lost somewhere between a gasp and a whimper as Andrew stripped him with efficient, hungry movements. His shirt went first, torn over his head, the cool air raising goosebumps along his dark skin. Andrew’s gaze raked over him, lingering on the trail of hair leading down from his navel, the way his cock already strained against his boxers. “Fucking perfect,” Andrew growled, his own shirt hitting the floor next, revealing the lean planes of his chest, the dark nipples already tight with arousal.
Sam’s hands itched to touch, but Andrew caught his wrists, pinning them to his sides as he dropped to his knees in front of him. “Not yet.” His breath was hot against the bulge in Sam’s boxers, his teeth grazing the fabric before he hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged them down.
Sam’s cock sprang free, already heavy and flushed, the head glistening with pre-cum. Andrew’s tongue flicked out, catching the bead of moisture before it could drip, his groan vibrating against Sam’s skin. “Been thinking about this all night,” he murmured, his lips brushing the underside of Sam’s cock. “About how you taste. How you sound when you come.”
Sam’s fingers tangled in Andrew’s dreads, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. “Andrew, please—”
Andrew stood abruptly, his mouth crashing onto Sam’s again, his tongue forcing its way past Sam’s lips, letting him taste himself on Andrew’s tongue. Sam moaned, his body arching into the kiss, his cock aching with need. Andrew’s hands were everywhere—palming his ass, squeezing his thighs, his fingers teasing the crack of his ass through the damp fabric of his boxers before shoving them the rest of the way down.
Naked now, Sam stood trembling under Andrew’s gaze, his skin flushed, his cock leaking. Andrew stripped the rest of the way, his jeans and briefs hitting the floor, his cock thick and dark, the vein along the underside pulsing. Sam’s mouth watered. He reached for him, but Andrew caught his wrist again, shaking his head.
“Shower,” he repeated, his voice rough. “I want you wet.”
The bathroom was already steaming, the mirror fogging as Andrew turned the knob, the water pounding against the tiles. He stepped in first, the spray sluicing over his skin, beading in the tight curls of his chest hair. Sam followed, his breath catching as the hot water hit his shoulders, washing away the stickiness of cum and sweat from the park. Andrew pulled him close, their bodies aligning, chest to chest, the water slick between them.
Sam gasped as Andrew’s hands slid over his ass, his fingers teasing the crack, pressing in just enough to make Sam’s cock jerk. “Fuck—”
“You like that?” Andrew’s lips found his neck, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin before soothing the sting with his tongue. “Like when I touch you here?”
“Yes—god, yes—” Sam’s head fell back against the tiles, his fingers digging into Andrew’s shoulders. The water ran rivers down his body, his skin hypersensitive, every touch electric.
Andrew’s mouth trailed lower, his tongue swirling over Sam’s nipple before he sucked it between his lips, hard. Sam cried out, his back arching, his cock throbbing. Andrew chuckled darkly, the vibration sending another jolt straight to Sam’s balls. “You’re so responsive.” His hand slid down, his fingers wrapping around Sam’s cock, stroking him slow and firm. “Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name.”
Sam’s breath hitched, his hips jerking into Andrew’s touch. “Andrew—please—”
“Not yet.” Andrew’s grip tightened, his thumb swiping over the slick head of Sam’s cock before he released him, dropping to his knees in front of him. The water cascaded over his shoulders, his dreads sticking to his temples as he looked up at Sam, his eyes dark with promise. “Gonna taste you first.”
Sam’s fingers twisted in Andrew’s hair as Andrew’s tongue flicked out, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock. “Oh fuck—”
Andrew didn’t tease. He took Sam into his mouth, deep and sure, his throat opening around the head. Sam’s knees nearly gave out, his cry echoing off the tiles as Andrew’s lips sealed around the base of his cock, his tongue working the underside with slow, deliberate strokes. The wet heat was obscene, the water running over Andrew’s face, his dreads clinging to his skin as he hollowed his cheeks, taking Sam to the back of his throat.
“Andrew—fuck—I’m gonna—”
Andrew pulled off with a wet pop, his hand replacing his mouth, stroking him fast. “Not yet,” he repeated, his voice rough with command. “You come when I say.”
Sam whimpered, his cock aching, his balls drawn tight. “I can’t—please—”
Andrew stood, his body pressing Sam back against the tiles, his cock heavy and hot against Sam’s hip. “Turn around.”
Sam obeyed without thought, his palms flattening against the wet wall, his ass pressing back against Andrew’s thighs. Andrew’s hands slid over his hips, his fingers digging into the flesh, spreading him. “Fuck, look at you,” Andrew groaned, his cock nudging between Sam’s cheeks. “All mine.”
Sam shuddered, his forehead pressing against the tiles. “Yours. Please—”
Andrew’s fingers teased his entrance, slick with water, pressing in slow, stretching him. Sam gasped, his body clenching around the intrusion, his cock leaking against the wall. “You take me so good,” Andrew murmured, his lips against Sam’s ear. “Gonna fuck you just like this. Gonna make you scream.”
“Yes—yes—” Sam’s voice was a broken plea, his body trembling with need.
Andrew’s fingers withdrew. The blunt head of his cock replaced them, pressing in slow, relentless. Sam’s breath stuttered as Andrew filled him, inch by inch, the stretch burning in the best way, his body opening around him. Andrew’s hands gripped his hips, holding him steady as he bottomed out, his thighs flush with Sam’s ass. “Andrew—”
“Shh.” Andrew’s breath was hot against his neck, his voice a rough growl. “Just feel me.”
Sam did. He felt everything—the thick length of Andrew inside him, the water running over their bodies, Andrew’s breath hot against his neck as he began to move. Slow at first, his hips rolling in deep, deliberate strokes, his cock dragging over Sam’s prostate with every thrust.
“Oh god—” Sam’s fingers clawed at the tiles, his body tightening around Andrew. “More—harder—”
Andrew groaned, his grip bruising as he snapped his hips forward, his cock pounding into Sam with a wet, slapping sound. The water cascaded over them, their skin slick, their breaths ragged in the steam-filled air. Andrew’s hand snaked around Sam’s hip, his fingers wrapping around Sam’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.
“Come for me,” Andrew demanded, his voice rough. “Now, Sam. Now—”
Sam shattered. His orgasm ripped through him, his cock pulsing in Andrew’s grip, cum spilling over his fingers as his body clenched around Andrew’s cock. Andrew groaned, his thrusts turning erratic, his own release following with a deep, guttural cry, his cum filling Sam as he buried himself to the hilt.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the water still pouring over them, their bodies pressed together. Andrew’s arms wrapped around Sam’s chest, holding him upright, his lips pressing to the back of Sam’s neck. “Fuck,” Sam breathed, his voice raw.
Andrew chuckled, low and satisfied. “Yeah.”
They stayed like that, the water washing over them, their skin cooling, their hearts slowly steadying. Andrew’s fingers traced idle patterns over Sam’s stomach, his cock still half-hard inside him. Sam turned his head, catching Andrew’s mouth in a slow, deep kiss, their tongues moving lazily against each other.
Andrew pulled back just enough to murmur against his lips, “We should clean up.”
Sam smirked, rolling his hips back against Andrew’s cock, feeling it twitch inside him. “Later.”
Andrew’s hands tightened on his waist, his cock thickening in response. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”
Sam moaned as Andrew’s hips rocked forward, his cock sliding deeper. “Only for you.”
Andrew groaned, his mouth crashing onto Sam’s again, his tongue sweeping in to claim him. The water pounded around them, the steam thickening the air as Andrew’s hands gripped Sam’s hips, pulling him back onto his cock with a slow, deliberate thrust. “Then take what you want,” he growled against Sam’s lips. “Ride me.”
Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He turned, pressing his back against the tiles as Andrew sat on the built-in bench, his cock thick and flushed, the head already glistening. Sam straddled him, his hands on Andrew’s shoulders as he sank down, taking him inch by inch, his breath hitching as Andrew filled him completely.
“Fuck—” Andrew’s hands gripped Sam’s waist, his thumbs digging into the flesh as Sam began to move, rolling his hips in slow, deep circles. The water ran between them, slick and hot, their skin sliding together with every movement.
“You feel so good,” Sam gasped, his cock thickening between them, the head rubbing against Andrew’s abs with every thrust. “So deep—”
Andrew’s mouth found his nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak before he sucked it between his lips, hard. Sam cried out, his back arching, his fingers twisting in Andrew’s dreads. “Andrew—fuck—”
Andrew’s hands slid to Sam’s ass, his fingers spreading him as he thrust up, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside Sam with every snap of his hips. “Come on, baby,” he growled, his voice rough. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Make yourself come.”
Sam obeyed, his movements growing faster, more desperate, his cock leaking between them. Andrew’s hand wrapped around it, stroking him in time with his thrusts, his thumb swiping over the slick head.
“Gonna come—Andrew—”
“Do it,” Andrew demanded, his voice a dark command. “Come all over me.”
Sam’s orgasm crashed over him, his cock pulsing in Andrew’s grip, cum spilling over his fingers, his abs, his thighs. His body clenched around Andrew’s cock, milking him as Andrew groaned, his own release following with a deep, guttural cry, his cum filling Sam as he buried himself to the hilt.
They stayed like that, their bodies trembling, their breaths ragged. Andrew’s arms wrapped around Sam, holding him close, his lips pressing to his shoulder. “Fuck,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Sam laughed breathlessly, his forehead resting against Andrew’s. “Worth it?”
Andrew’s smirk was slow, filthy. “Every fucking time.”
Chapter Five: Heat in the Shower
The steam had thinned to a ghostly haze, clinging to the curves of their shoulders and the damp coils of Andrew’s dreads, but the air between them was anything but cool. It was thick, charged, the kind of heat that made Sam’s skin prickle and his pulse thrum in his throat. Andrew’s body was a furnace against his back, every inch of him pressed flush—chest to shoulder blades, hips to ass, the heavy weight of his cock nestled in the cleft of Sam’s cheeks, twitching with every breath Sam took. The water had long since gone lukewarm, dripping lazily from the showerhead, but neither of them moved to turn it off. Why would they? The real heat was between them, a slow burn that had been stoked to a blaze.
Andrew’s lips found the curve of Sam’s ear again, his breath hot and damp, sending a shiver down Sam’s spine. “Still thinkin’ you can walk away from me?” His voice was a rough murmur, the kind that slid under Sam’s skin and settled in his bones. The tip of his tongue traced the whorl of Sam’s ear, wet and teasing, before his teeth closed around the lobe with just enough pressure to make Sam gasp. His hands, those calloused, clever hands, slid down Sam’s sides, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his boxers—soaked through, clinging to his skin—before dragging them down in one sharp tug. The fabric hit the floor with a wet slap, and Sam’s cock, already half-hard from the sheer presence of Andrew, bobbed free, heavy and flushed.
Sam’s breath hitched as Andrew’s palms mapped the dip of his waist, the flare of his hips, the rough pads of his fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. “Didn’t ask if I wanted to walk away,” Sam managed, his voice rough, but the words lacked any real bite. His hands pressed harder against the tiles, the cool porcelain a stark contrast to the heat of Andrew’s body behind him. He could feel the smirk against his neck before Andrew even spoke.
“No,” Andrew agreed, his voice a dark chuckle. “Because we both know you don’t.” His hands dipped lower, fingers splaying over Sam’s thighs before dragging through the shallow pool of water at their feet. The cool liquid clung to his skin as he painted slow, meandering lines up the inside of Sam’s legs, his touch deliberate, maddening. Sam’s breath stuttered, his cock jerking as the contrast of temperatures—cool water, hot hands, the scorching press of Andrew’s body—sent his senses into overdrive.
“Fuck,” Sam hissed, his head falling back against Andrew’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut as Andrew’s fingers traced higher, skirting the crease where thigh met hip, then gliding over the swell of his ass. The water evaporated quickly, leaving behind a ghost of chill that only made the next touch of Andrew’s hands feel like a brand. “You’re evil,” Sam groaned, but his hips rolled back, seeking more, his body already betraying him.
Andrew’s laugh was a low, dirty sound, his lips pressing to the pulse point beneath Sam’s jaw. “Ev’il?” He repeated, his accent thickening with amusement. “Nah, baby. Just thorough.” His fingers slid forward, brushing the underside of Sam’s cock, not quite touching where he ached, just teasing. “You like it when I take my time with you.”
Sam’s nails scraped against the tiles. “I like it when you fucking touch me,” he corrected, his voice tight with frustration. His cock was fully hard now, leaking, the tip glistening with precome. He could feel Andrew’s smirk against his skin, the bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
“Patience,” Andrew murmured, his breath hot against Sam’s collarbone. His hands finally—finally—cupped Sam’s ass, squeezing hard enough to make him gasp before spreading him open. The cool air hit the damp, sensitive skin, and Sam’s face burned, his hole clenching at the exposure. “Look at you,” Andrew groaned, his voice rough with want. “Already wet for me. Already begging for it, even when you don’t say the words.”
Sam’s breath hitched as Andrew’s thumb dragged through the slickness there—his own come, Andrew’s spit, the remnants of the last orgasm still clinging to his skin. “Andrew—” His voice broke, his cock throbbing, his body aching for more.
Andrew didn’t make him wait. His mouth found Sam’s shoulder, teeth sinking in just enough to sting before his tongue soothed the bite. “Turn around,” he ordered, his voice a dark command. Sam obeyed without hesitation, spinning to face him, his back pressing against the cool tiles. Andrew’s hands gripped his waist, lifting him effortlessly, and Sam’s legs wrapped around his hips on instinct, his cock sliding against Andrew’s, the friction making them both groan.
Andrew’s mouth crashed down on his, hungry and demanding, his tongue sweeping in to claim Sam’s with deep, slow strokes. Sam moaned into the kiss, his fingers tangling in the damp coils of Andrew’s dreads, pulling him closer. The taste of himself on Andrew’s tongue was filthy, intoxicating, and Sam chased it, his hips rolling, his cock dragging against Andrew’s with every movement.
“Bed,” Andrew growled against his lips, his hands gripping Sam’s ass hard enough to bruise. “Now.”
Sam didn’t argue. He didn’t want to. The shower was too small, too confining—he wanted space to move, to beg, to let Andrew fuck him into the mattress until neither of them could remember their own names. He unwound his legs, sliding down Andrew’s body, his cock dragging against the ridged muscles of his abs. Andrew’s hands stayed on him, steadying him as his feet hit the wet floor, his body still humming with need.
Andrew turned the water off with a sharp twist of his wrist, the sudden silence deafening except for the ragged sounds of their breathing. He grabbed a towel from the rack, dragging it roughly over Sam’s skin, soaking up the water before tossing it aside. His hands were back on Sam in an instant, gripping his waist, pulling him flush against his body as he walked him backward, out of the bathroom, toward the bed.
Sam’s legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he fell back with a gasp, bouncing slightly on the soft surface. Andrew followed him down, his body covering Sam’s, his mouth finding his throat, his collarbone, the peak of his nipple. Sam arched into the touch, his fingers clawing at the sheets, his cock already weeping against his stomach.
Andrew’s tongue swirled around the tight bud, his teeth grazing just enough to make Sam hiss. “You taste so fucking good,” Andrew groaned, his hand sliding down to wrap around Sam’s cock, stroking him with slow, deliberate pulls. “Gonna taste even better when you’re coming down my throat.”
Sam’s hips jerked, his breath punching out of him. “Andrew—please—”
Andrew chuckled, the sound dark and knowing. “Since you asked so nice…” He shifted down the bed, his lips trailing over Sam’s stomach, his navel, the sharp jut of his hipbones. Sam’s thighs trembled as Andrew’s breath ghosted over the head of his cock, his tongue darting out to catch the bead of precome glistening at the tip.
“Fuck—”* Sam’s hands flew to Andrew’s dreads, his fingers tightening as Andrew’s mouth sealed around the crown, his tongue swirling, teasing. The heat was obscene, the wet, tight suction making Sam’s toes curl. Andrew took him deeper, inch by inch, his throat opening around the head, his lips stretching around the girth. Sam’s breath came in sharp, broken gasps, his hips lifting off the bed, chasing the sensation.
Andrew’s free hand slid up to cup his balls, rolling them gently, his fingers pressing just behind them in a way that made Sam’s vision whiten at the edges. “Andrew—I’m—gonna—”
Andrew pulled off with a wet pop, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with promise. “Not yet,” he murmured, his thumb swiping over the slick head of Sam’s cock. “You come when I say you come.”
Sam groaned, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. “You’re killing me.”
Andrew’s grin was all teeth. “Nah, baby,” he purred, shifting up to press a filthy, open-mouthed kiss to Sam’s lips. “I’m just gettin’ started.” His hand slid down, fingers teasing the tight ring of Sam’s hole, pressing just enough to make him gasp. “You want my cock, Sam?”
“Yes—” The word was a desperate hiss, Sam’s hips lifting, seeking.
Andrew’s fingers circled his entrance, slick with spit, pressing in slow, shallow pulses that had Sam’s breath stuttering. “Say it,” Andrew demanded, his voice rough. “Tell me what you want.”
Sam’s face burned, but the words spilled out of him, raw and needy. “I want you to fuck me. Want your cock inside me, stretching me open, owning me—” His voice cracked, his body clenching around Andrew’s fingers as they pushed deeper.
Andrew’s growl was dark, possessive. “Damn right,” he muttered, his fingers scissoring, stretching Sam open. “Gonna fuck you so good you forget how to walk.” He leaned down, his lips brushing Sam’s ear. “Gonna make you beg for it.”
Sam’s laugh was breathless, desperate. “I am begging.”
Andrew’s chuckle vibrated against his skin. “Not yet,” he murmured. “But you will be.” His fingers pulled free, and Sam whimpered at the loss—until Andrew was reaching for the lube on the nightstand, his cock already slick with precome, thick and flushed and perfect.
Sam’s breath hitched as Andrew lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against his hole. “Eyes on me,” Andrew ordered, his voice a dark command. Sam obeyed, his gaze locking with Andrew’s hazel eyes, dark with lust, as he pushed inside.
The stretch burned, delicious and deep, Andrew’s cock filling him inch by inch until Sam’s breath came in sharp, broken gasps. “Fuck—Andrew—”
“Yeah,” Andrew groaned, his hips flush against Sam’s ass, his cock seated fully inside him. “Take it, baby. Take all of me.” He pulled back slowly, then snapped his hips forward, the sharp thrust making Sam cry out. “Like that?”
“Yes—harder—”* Sam’s fingers clawed at the sheets, his body arching into the movement, his cock leaking against his stomach.
Andrew didn’t need to be told twice. His hands gripped Sam’s hips, lifting him slightly, changing the angle, and the next thrust hit deep, his cock dragging over Sam’s prostate in a way that made his vision blur. “Right there—oh god—”
“I know,” Andrew growled, his voice rough with effort. “Gonna fuck you just like this, gonna make you scream—”
Sam’s moans filled the room, broken and needy, his body trembling as Andrew pounded into him, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing through his veins. “Andrew—I can’t—I’m gonna—”
“Come,” Andrew snarled, his hand wrapping around Sam’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “Come for me, now.”
Sam’s orgasm crashed over him, his cock pulsing in Andrew’s grip as he spilled over his fingers, his body locking up as pleasure wrung him out. Andrew didn’t stop, his hips snapping forward, his cock swelling inside Sam as his own release hit, his come filling him in hot, thick spurts.
Sam’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body boneless, his skin slick with sweat. Andrew collapsed beside him, pulling him close, their hearts pounding in sync. “Still think I’m done with you?” Andrew murmured, his lips pressing to Sam’s temple.
Sam’s laugh was weak, exhausted. “If you are, I’m gonna be pissed.”
Andrew’s chuckle was a dark, satisfied sound. “Don’t worry, baby,” he purred, his hand sliding down to squeeze Sam’s ass. “We’re just gettin’ started.”
Chapter Six: Musk and Mattresses
The air in Andrew’s bedroom clung to them like a second skin—thick with the musk of sweat and the sharp, salty tang of cum, the sheets beneath them twisted into damp ropes from the first round. Sam lay sprawled on his back, his chest heaving in uneven pulls, his dark skin glistening under the pale moonlight slicing through the blinds. His fingers twitched against the mattress, his body still thrumming from the way Andrew had fucked him senseless, wringing every last shuddering gasp from his lips. The faint marks of Andrew’s teeth along his collarbone and shoulder stood out like brands, dark against his skin, and the thought sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in his gut.
Andrew didn’t pull away. Instead, he propped himself up on one elbow, his own breath still ragged, his hazel eyes dark and hungry as they traced the lines of Sam’s body. His gaze lingered on the way Sam’s thighs trembled, the way his spent cock—still half-hard—twitched against his stomach, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. A slow, knowing smirk curled at the corner of Andrew’s mouth, his fingers dragging lazy patterns over Sam’s hip, possessive, like he was memorizing every inch of him all over again.
“You think we’re done?” Andrew’s voice was rough, a low rumble that vibrated through Sam’s bones. He didn’t wait for an answer. His free hand slid off the bed, groping blindly for the half-empty bottle of lube on the nightstand. The plastic squeaked as he squeezed it, the obscene sound cutting through the quiet room. Sam’s breath hitched, his body tensing in anticipation, but Andrew just chuckled, the sound dark and satisfied, like he already knew exactly how Sam would react.
“Round two,” he murmured, leaning in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Sam’s neck. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin just below his ear, and Sam gasped, his fingers curling into the sheets. “And this time, you’re gonna take it just how I like.”
Before Sam could even process the words, Andrew’s hands were on him, firm and unyielding. He rolled Sam onto his stomach with ease, then guided him up onto his knees, pressing his chest down into the mattress. The position left Sam’s ass high in the air, exposed and vulnerable, the cool air of the room kissing his heated skin. He could feel Andrew’s gaze on him, heavy and approving, and the realization of how open he was sent a flush of heat crawling up his back, his hole twitching at the thought of being filled again.
“Fuck,” Sam breathed, his voice muffled against the sheets. His cock, already stirring back to life, throbbed against the bed, leaking a fresh bead of precum onto the rumpled fabric.
Andrew’s hands slid up the backs of his thighs, his calloused palms rough against Sam’s softer skin. He squeezed, his thumbs digging into the meat of Sam’s ass, spreading him just enough to let the cool air tease at his hole. Sam shuddered, his breath coming faster. He could still feel the ghost of Andrew inside him—the stretch, the burn, the way his cock had filled him so completely—and the memory alone had his muscles clenching around nothing, desperate for more.
“Look at you,” Andrew murmured, his voice thick with approval. One hand left Sam’s hip, and a second later, the slick press of lube-damped fingers circled his entrance. Sam jerked, a broken sound escaping him. “Already greedy for more. You can’t get enough of my cock, can you?”
Sam’s face burned. He wanted to deny it, to push back against the way Andrew was reducing him to nothing but raw, aching need, but the words died in his throat. Because it was true. He was greedy. He did want more. His body ached for it, his hole fluttering around Andrew’s teasing touch, his cock thickening against the sheets, leaking another wet spot onto the bed.
Andrew didn’t wait for an answer. His fingers pushed in without warning, two at once, stretching Sam open with a slow, deliberate twist. Sam groaned, his hips rocking back instinctively, seeking more. Andrew’s free hand cracked down on his ass, the sharp sting of the slap making him yelp.
“Stay still,” Andrew commanded, his voice dropping into that dark, dominant register that made Sam’s stomach clench. “You don’t get to chase it. You take what I give you.”
Sam whimpered, forcing himself to hold still even as his body trembled with the effort. Andrew’s fingers crooked inside him, dragging over his prostate, and his vision whited out for a second, his cock leaking against the bed. “Fuck—please—”
“Please what?” Andrew’s breath was hot against the back of his neck, his lips brushing Sam’s ear. His fingers scissored, stretching him wider, and Sam keened, his nails digging into the sheets. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you need.”
“I need—” Sam’s voice broke, his face buried in the mattress, his body strung tight, his hole clenching around Andrew’s fingers. “I need your cock. Please, Andrew, fuck me.”
Andrew groaned, the sound raw and approving. His fingers slipped free, and Sam heard the slick sound of him stroking himself, lubing up his cock. The head pressed against him a second later, hot and heavy, and Sam pushed back against it without thinking. Andrew’s hand cracked down on his ass again, harder this time.
“Patience,” Andrew growled. Then, slow and relentless, he pushed in.
Sam’s breath left him in a rush, his body stretching around Andrew’s thickness. The angle was different like this—deeper, somehow, the head of Andrew’s cock dragging against his prostate with every inch that sank inside. His fingers twisted in the sheets, his cock throbbing against the bed, already leaking. Andrew bottomed out with a groan, his hips flush against Sam’s ass, his hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise.
“God, you feel good,” Andrew breathed, his voice rough. He pulled back just enough to slam back in, and Sam cried out, his body jolting forward. Andrew’s hand tangled in his hair, yanking his head back, forcing his spine to arch. “Louder. I wanna hear you.”
Sam couldn’t have stopped the sounds spilling from his lips if he tried. Every thrust drove the air from his lungs, replaced by broken moans, pleading whimpers, Andrew’s name like a prayer. Andrew set a punishing pace, his hips snapping forward, his cock pistoning in and out of Sam’s tight heat. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound lost under the wet slap of skin, the obscene squelch of lube, the ragged sounds tearing from Sam’s throat.
“You’re mine,” Andrew growled, his hand sliding around Sam’s hip to grip his cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “Say it.”
Sam’s mind was a white-hot blur of pleasure, his body coiled tight, his orgasm already building at the base of his spine. “Yours,” he gasped. “Fuck, I’m yours, Andrew, please—”
Andrew’s hand tightened in his hair, yanking his head back further, exposing the line of his throat. His teeth sank into the tendon there, just hard enough to hurt, and Sam came with a broken cry, his cock pulsing in Andrew’s grip, ropes of cum spilling over his fingers. His hole clenched down around Andrew’s cock, milking him, and Andrew groaned, his thrusts turning erratic, his own release barreling down on him.
“Sam—fuck—” Andrew’s voice was a guttural snarl, his hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt, his cock kicking deep inside Sam as he came. Sam could feel him, hot and thick, filling him up, and the sensation sent another weak pulse of pleasure through his oversensitive cock.
They collapsed together, Andrew’s weight pressing Sam into the mattress, his breath hot against the back of his neck. His cock softened slowly, slipping free with a wet sound, cum dripping down Sam’s thighs. Andrew’s hands roamed over him possessively, mapping the rise and fall of his ribs, the dip of his waist, the curve of his ass.
“Good boy,” Andrew murmured, pressing a kiss to the nape of Sam’s neck. His fingers traced the marks he’d left on Sam’s skin—teeth and nails and the faint imprint of his hand on his ass. “Such a good boy for me.”
Sam could only whimper in response, his body boneless, his mind still floating in the afterglow. Andrew’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him back against his chest, their skin sticking together with sweat and cum. The room was quiet except for their ragged breathing, the occasional drip of cum from Sam’s spent cock hitting the sheets.
Andrew’s lips brushed the shell of his ear. “We’re not done yet,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise. His hand slid down Sam’s stomach, his fingers wrapping around his softening cock, giving it a slow, possessive stroke. “But we’ll take a break. For now.”
Sam shivered, his body already responding to the threat—or the promise—of more. He turned his head just enough to press a kiss to Andrew’s wrist, his lips brushing the faint scar there. Andrew’s grip on him tightened, just for a second, before he relaxed, pulling Sam closer.
The night was far from over. And Sam couldn’t wait.
Andrew’s fingers didn’t leave Sam’s body, even as they lay there in the aftermath. His touch was lazy but possessive, tracing the lines of Sam’s waist, the curve of his hip, the dip of his spine. Every so often, his thumb would brush over the sensitive skin of Sam’s inner thigh, just close enough to his cock to make him twitch, but never quite touching where he needed it most. It was maddening. It was perfect.
Sam’s breath hitched as Andrew’s fingers finally grazed the underside of his cock, light as a feather, just enough to make him ache. “You’re still hard,” Andrew observed, his voice a low rumble against Sam’s ear. “Or getting there again.”
Sam swallowed, his face heating. “Can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Not when you’re touching me like this.”
Andrew chuckled, the sound dark and satisfied. His fingers wrapped around Sam’s cock, giving it a slow, firm stroke. “Mmm. Seems like someone’s eager for more.”
Sam moaned, his hips rocking into Andrew’s touch instinctively. “Andrew—”
“Shh.” Andrew’s grip tightened just enough to make Sam’s breath catch. “I’ve got you.” His other hand slid down, his fingers pressing against Sam’s entrance, still slick with lube and cum. “You want my cock again, don’t you?”
Sam’s answer was a broken whimper, his body trembling. Andrew’s fingers pushed in without warning, just the tips, teasing him open again. “Say it.”
“Yes,” Sam gasped. “Fuck, yes, I want it. I want you.”
Andrew groaned, his fingers pushing deeper, crooking just enough to make Sam’s toes curl. “Good boy.” His voice was rough, approving. “You’ll get it. But first—” His fingers slipped free, and Sam whined at the loss, but before he could protest, Andrew was shifting behind him, his cock already hard again, pressing against Sam’s ass. “You’re gonna take me just like this. Slow. Deep. And you’re not gonna come until I say so.”
Sam’s breath hitched, his body tightening in anticipation. Andrew’s cock pressed against him, the head slick with lube, and then he was pushing in, inch by inch, filling Sam up until he was breathless with it. The stretch burned, but it was a good burn, the kind that made his cock leak, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
Andrew’s hands gripped his hips, his thumbs digging into the flesh as he bottomed out. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he groaned, his voice strained. He pulled back slowly, then pushed in again, his cock dragging against Sam’s prostate with every thrust. “Look at you, taking every inch like you were made for it.”
Sam’s fingers twisted in the sheets, his body arching as Andrew set a slow, deliberate pace, each thrust deep and measured, like he was savoring every second. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin, the ragged sounds tearing from Sam’s throat.
“Andrew—please—” Sam’s voice was a broken whine, his cock throbbing, desperate for release. “I can’t—”
“You can,” Andrew growled, his hand sliding around Sam’s hip to grip his cock, stroking him just enough to keep him on the edge. “And you will. You’ll take what I give you, and you’ll wait until I say you can come.”
Sam whimpered, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. Andrew’s thrusts grew harder, his cock pistoning in and out of Sam’s tight heat, his balls slapping against him with every snap of his hips. The pleasure was overwhelming, his orgasm coiling tight at the base of his spine, ready to snap.
“Please,” Sam begged, his voice raw. “I need to come. Please, Andrew—”
Andrew’s grip on his cock tightened, his strokes growing faster, more insistent. “Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a dark growl. “Now.”
Sam’s body obeyed instantly, his cock pulsing in Andrew’s grip, cum spilling over his fingers as his orgasm crashed over him. His hole clenched down around Andrew’s cock, and Andrew groaned, his thrusts turning erratic as he buried himself deep, his own release following seconds later.
They collapsed together again, their bodies slick with sweat, their breath ragged. Andrew’s arms wrapped around Sam, pulling him close, his lips pressing against the back of his neck.
“Mine,” he murmured, his voice a possessive growl.
Sam could only whimper in agreement, his body boneless, his mind floating in the afterglow. The night was still young. And he knew Andrew wasn’t done with him yet.
Chapter Seven: Silk and Submission
The air in the room clung to them like a second skin, thick with the musk of sweat and the sharp, metallic tang of cum. Sam’s body was a landscape of sensation—every nerve still alight, every inch of him thrumming from the last orgasm Andrew had wrung from him. His cock lay heavy against his thigh, spent but not quite done, the faintest twitch betraying how easily he could be coaxed back to hardness. The sheets beneath him were a wreck, damp with sweat and slick with release, the fabric clinging to his skin like a lover’s lingering touch.
Andrew didn’t pull away. Instead, he traced the curve of Sam’s waist with slow, deliberate fingers, as if he were mapping territory he already owned. His hazel eyes burned with something darker than satisfaction—something that promised this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. The moonlight slicing through the blinds painted them in silver and shadow, highlighting the faint red marks Andrew’s mouth had left scattered across Sam’s shoulders, his throat, the sensitive stretch of skin just below his jaw. Sam could still feel the ghost of his teeth, the sting that had bled into pleasure, the way his body had arched into every bite like an offering.
Sam turned his head just enough to catch Andrew’s gaze, his own eyes heavy, his voice rough with the aftermath of pleasure. “You’re not done with me, are you?”
Andrew’s smile was slow, predatory. “Not even close.” His voice was a low rasp, the kind that slid under Sam’s skin and settled in his bones. He shifted closer, the heat of his body pressing against Sam’s side, his thigh sliding between Sam’s legs. His fingers wandered higher, tracing the inside of Sam’s wrist, testing the give of his pulse beneath the skin. “You like being mine, don’t you?”
The question sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in Sam’s gut. He did. More than he’d ever let himself admit. The way Andrew took control, the way he made Sam feel—like he was the only thing that mattered, like his pleasure was the axis around which Andrew’s world turned—it was intoxicating. Sam swallowed, his throat dry. “Yeah.”
Andrew’s smile deepened, his thumb pressing into the delicate skin of Sam’s wrist. “Good.” His gaze flicked to the nightstand, where a length of dark silk—one of his own scarves, Sam realized with a jolt—had been draped over the edge of the lube bottle. He hadn’t even noticed it before, too lost in the haze of Andrew’s hands, his mouth, his cock. But now, as Andrew reached for it, the fabric slipping through his fingers like liquid shadow, Sam’s breath hitched.
“You ever been tied up, baby?”
The word baby sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. He’d never been called that before, not like this—not with that dark, possessive edge that made his cock twitch despite how thoroughly he’d just been fucked. He licked his lips. “No.”
Andrew’s thumb pressed harder into his pulse, as if he could feel the way Sam’s heart stuttered at the thought. “You trust me?”
There was no hesitation. “Yes.”
Something in Andrew’s expression softened for the briefest moment—something tender, almost reverent—before the heat swallowed it whole. “Then give me your hands.”
Sam obeyed without thinking, rolling onto his back and lifting his arms. Andrew moved with deliberate slowness, wrapping the silk around one wrist, then the other, binding them together with a knot that was secure but not cruel—just enough to hold, just enough to remind Sam he was held. The fabric was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating off Andrew’s body as he leaned in, his breath warm against Sam’s ear.
“Comfortable?”
Sam tested the give of the scarf, the way it restricted but didn’t hurt. His cock, which had been softening, twitched back to life, thickening against his stomach. “Yeah.”
Andrew’s chuckle was low, approving. “Good boy.” He pressed a kiss to the pulse point beneath Sam’s ear, his lips lingering, his teeth grazing just enough to make Sam gasp. Then he was shifting, his hands sliding under Sam’s body, urging him onto his side. “On your stomach. Ass up.”
Sam’s stomach flipped. He rolled over, the silk scarf dragging against the sheets as he moved, the restraint a constant, delicious reminder of who was in control. He settled onto his stomach, then pushed up onto his knees when Andrew’s hand guided him, spreading his thighs wide. The position left him exposed, vulnerable, his bound wrists resting against the small of his back, his ass on full display.
Andrew’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into the flesh of Sam’s hips. “Fuck, look at you.” His thumbs pressed into the dip just above Sam’s ass, spreading him open. The cool air hit Sam’s hole, still slick from their last round, still loose from Andrew’s cock. He could feel himself clenching, his body remembering, craving.
Then Andrew’s mouth was there, hot and wet, his tongue dragging over Sam’s entrance in a long, slow lick that had Sam’s toes curling into the sheets. “Andrew—fuck—”
“Shhh.” Andrew’s voice was a dark murmur against his skin. “You’re gonna take it nice and slow this time.” His fingers replaced his tongue, two of them pressing in without resistance, stretching Sam open with a twist of his wrist that made Sam’s breath stutter. “Gonna feel every inch of me, aren’t you?”
Sam could only moan in response, his body already arching back, seeking more. Andrew didn’t make him wait. His fingers scissored, stretching, preparing, and then they were gone, replaced by the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing against Sam’s hole. Sam exhaled sharply as Andrew pushed in, just the tip at first, then deeper, his cock filling Sam in one long, relentless slide that had them both groaning.
Andrew’s chest pressed against Sam’s back as he bottomed out, his arms wrapping around Sam’s torso, one hand splaying over his chest, the other sliding down to grip his cock. The position was intimate, possessive—Andrew’s body curled around Sam’s like a second skin, his breath hot against Sam’s ear. “You feel that, baby? Feel how deep I am?”
Sam whimpered. He could feel everything—the stretch of Andrew’s cock inside him, the weight of Andrew’s body pinning him down, the silk scarf binding his wrists, the way Andrew’s fingers were already working his cock back to full hardness. “Yeah—yes—”
Andrew started to move, his hips rolling in slow, deep thrusts that dragged his cock against Sam’s prostate with every stroke. His voice was a dark rumble, his lips brushing the shell of Sam’s ear. “You’re mine, Sam. This tight little hole is mine.” His hand tightened on Sam’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “You gonna come for me again?”
Sam’s vision blurred. The combination of Andrew’s words, his touch, the way he was fucking him—it was too much. His cock throbbed in Andrew’s grip, his hole clenching around Andrew’s cock, his bound wrists a constant reminder that he was taken. “Please—”
“Please what?” Andrew’s teeth grazed his earlobe, his thrusts picking up speed, his cock pistoning in and out of Sam’s body with wet, obscene sounds. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you need.”
“I need—I need to come—” Sam’s voice broke, his body trembling, his cock leaking pre-cum onto Andrew’s fingers. “Please, Andrew, let me—”
Andrew’s chuckle was dark, triumphant. “Not yet.” His hand stilled on Sam’s cock, his grip tight enough to keep Sam on the edge but not let him tip over. His hips, though, didn’t stop—his thrusts grew harder, deeper, his cock slamming into Sam’s prostate with every snap of his hips. “You come when I say you come. Understand?”
Sam whined, his body strung tight, his cock aching. “Yes—yes—”
“Good boy.” Andrew’s praise sent another wave of heat through him. His hand started moving again, stroking Sam’s cock in slow, torturous pulls that matched the rhythm of his thrusts. “You take my cock so well, Sam. So fucking well.” His voice dropped to a growl. “I could stay inside you forever. Fill you up every night. Make you mine in every way.”
Sam’s breath came in ragged gasps. The words, the promise in them—it wasn’t just sex anymore. It was more. His heart pounded, his body coiling tighter, his orgasm hovering just out of reach. “Andrew—please—”
Andrew’s teeth sank into the meat of Sam’s shoulder, his thrusts turning erratic, his cock swelling inside Sam. “Come for me, baby. Now.”
The command shattered what little control Sam had left. His orgasm crashed over him, his cock pulsing in Andrew’s grip, ropes of cum spilling over his fingers, his thighs, the sheets beneath him. His hole clenched around Andrew’s cock, milking him, and with a groan, Andrew followed, his hips stuttering as he came deep inside Sam, his cum filling him, marking him.
They collapsed together, Andrew’s body still draped over Sam’s, his cock softening but not slipping free. His arms wrapped around Sam’s chest, his fingers finding the silk scarf, giving it a gentle tug. “You good?”
Sam’s laugh was breathless, dazed. “Yeah. Really good.”
Andrew pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, his voice a rumble against Sam’s skin. “Mine.”
Sam smiled, his body still humming, his wrists still bound, his heart full. “Yours.”
Andrew didn’t move to untie him. Instead, his fingers traced lazy patterns over Sam’s ribs, his touch possessive, almost absentminded, like he was memorizing the shape of him all over again. The silk scarf was a constant presence, a reminder of the control Andrew had taken—and that Sam had given. The air between them was thick with the scent of sex, the musk of their bodies, the faint metallic tang of cum. Sam could feel Andrew’s breath against his skin, warm and steady, his cock still half-hard inside him, a lingering claim.
“You like that, don’t you?” Andrew’s voice was a low murmur, his lips brushing the shell of Sam’s ear. “Being tied up. Being mine.”
Sam shivered, his body still sensitive, his hole aching in the best way. “Yeah.”
Andrew’s fingers slid lower, tracing the curve of Sam’s hip, then dipping between his legs to tease the sensitive skin behind his balls. “You ever think about what else you’d let me do to you?”
Sam’s breath hitched. The question was heavy with implication, with the weight of possibilities neither of them had voiced yet. He turned his head just enough to meet Andrew’s gaze, his own eyes dark with the aftermath of pleasure and the promise of more. “Like what?”
Andrew’s smile was slow, dangerous. “Like keeping you like this. Tied up. At my mercy.” His fingers pressed deeper, circling Sam’s hole, where his cum was still leaking out in slow, thick drips. “Like fucking you until you can’t walk. Like making you beg for it.”
Sam’s cock twitched, already stirring back to life. The idea of it—of being used, of being owned—sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in his gut. “I’d let you.”
Andrew’s breath caught, his fingers stilling for just a second before he pushed two of them back inside Sam, stretching him open again. “Yeah?”
Sam moaned, his body arching into the touch. “Yeah.”
Andrew’s chuckle was dark, satisfied. “Good.” His fingers curled, pressing against Sam’s prostate, and Sam’s cock jerked, already hard again, already aching. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Sam’s breath came in sharp gasps as Andrew’s fingers worked him open, stretching him, preparing him for another round. The silk scarf was still tight around his wrists, the fabric cool against his skin, a constant reminder of who was in control. Andrew’s cock was hardening again, pressing against Sam’s thigh, a promise of what was to come.
“You’re gonna take me again, baby,” Andrew murmured, his lips brushing Sam’s ear. “And this time, I’m gonna make you beg.”
Sam’s body trembled, his cock throbbing, his hole clenching around Andrew’s fingers. He was already lost in it—in the heat, in the need, in the way Andrew made him feel like he was the only thing that mattered.
“Please,” Sam whispered, his voice rough with desire.
Andrew’s smile was pure sin. “Since you asked so nicely.”
Chapter Eight: Steam and Surrender
The air between them was thick with the scent of sweat, cum, and the faint metallic tang of Sam’s arousal still clinging to the sheets. Andrew’s fingers traced lazy circles over the curve of Sam’s hip, his touch possessive even in stillness. The silk scarf remained wrapped around Sam’s wrists, the fabric damp with perspiration, binding him just tightly enough to remind him who was in control. Sam shivered under the ghost of Andrew’s breath against his shoulder, his body still humming from the last orgasm—one that had been wrung from him only after Andrew decided he’d earned it.
“You ever think about what else you’d let me do to you?” Andrew’s voice was a low rumble, the kind that vibrated through Sam’s bones and settled in his gut like a promise.
Sam exhaled, his breath unsteady. “I’d let you,” he admitted, the words raw and honest. There was no hesitation in him, no second-guessing—not when Andrew’s fingers slid lower, teasing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh before dipping between his legs. Sam’s hole was still loose from Andrew’s cock, the stretch of it a dull, satisfying ache. He bit his lip as Andrew’s fingertips brushed over him, slick with the remnants of lube and cum, pressing just enough to make him whimper.
“Good,” Andrew murmured, his lips skimming the shell of Sam’s ear. “Because you’re gonna take me again, baby. And this time, I’m gonna make you beg.”
Sam’s cock twitched against the sheets, already half-hard again, betraying how much he craved exactly that. Andrew chuckled darkly, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat through Sam’s body. Then, without warning, Andrew shifted, sliding off the bed in one fluid motion. The sudden loss of his weight made Sam gasp, his body arching instinctively, seeking contact. But Andrew was already moving, his steps deliberate as he crossed the room toward the en-suite bathroom.
The shower turned on with a sharp twist of the faucet, water drumming against the tile in a steady rhythm. Steam began to curl into the bedroom, tendrils of heat wrapping around Sam’s skin. He watched, bound and helpless, as Andrew reappeared in the doorway, his body a study in controlled power—muscles defined but lean, his cock already thickening again, dark and heavy between his thighs.
“Come on,” Andrew ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. He didn’t wait for Sam to move. Instead, he leaned over the bed, gripping the scarf just above Sam’s wrists and tugging him upward with enough force to make Sam gasp. The shift in position sent a jolt of sensation through his oversensitive hole, and he moaned, his cock fully hard now, leaking against his stomach.
Andrew didn’t give him time to adjust. He hauled Sam off the bed, the scarf still binding his wrists, and guided him toward the bathroom. The tile was cool under Sam’s feet, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Andrew’s body as he pressed against Sam’s back, his chest a solid wall of muscle. The steam enveloped them, the air thick and damp, the scent of Andrew’s soap—something woodsy and warm—mingling with the musk of sex.
The shower stall was spacious, the glass door already fogging. Andrew nudged Sam forward, his hands sliding over Sam’s shoulders, down his arms, before gripping his hips and turning him to face the wall. The tile was slick under Sam’s palms, the grout lines rough against his fingertips as Andrew crowded against him, his cock hot and heavy against Sam’s ass.
“Hands above your head,” Andrew commanded, his breath hot against Sam’s ear. Sam obeyed without thought, pressing his bound wrists against the tile, the scarf damp and clinging to his skin. The position arched his back, thrusting his ass out, offering himself up. Andrew groaned, his hands sliding down Sam’s sides before gripping his hips, fingers digging in possessively.
“Fuck, look at you,” Andrew growled, his voice rough with need. One hand left Sam’s hip, reaching for the shower gel. The snap of the bottle cap was loud in the enclosed space, followed by the slick sound of Andrew lathering his hands. He didn’t waste time. His soaped fingers slid between Sam’s cheeks, teasing over his hole, the suds making everything slippery, sensitized. Sam jerked, a broken sound escaping him as Andrew’s fingers circled, pressed, then breached him with two at once, scissoring just enough to make Sam’s knees tremble.
“You’re still so fucking open for me,” Andrew murmured, his lips brushing the back of Sam’s neck as his fingers worked deeper, twisting, stretching. Sam’s cock throbbed, trapped between his body and the wall, the friction maddening. He whined, his hips rocking back instinctively, trying to take more, but Andrew pulled his fingers free with a wet pop, leaving Sam empty and aching.
“Please—” Sam’s voice cracked, the word raw.
Andrew chuckled, low and dark. “Since you asked so nicely.” His cock replaced his fingers in one smooth thrust, filling Sam in a single, relentless motion. Sam cried out, his body stretching around Andrew’s thickness, the burn of it edged with pleasure. The water cascaded over them, rivulets running down Sam’s back, over the curve of his ass where Andrew’s hips met his flesh with each snap of his thrusts.
Andrew set a punishing pace from the start, his hands gripping Sam’s hips hard enough to bruise, his cock pistoning in and out with wet, obscene sounds. The shower spray hit Sam’s chest, the heat of it contrasting with the cool tile against his forehead. He could barely breathe, let alone think, his world narrowing to the slick drag of Andrew’s cock inside him, the slap of skin on skin, the way Andrew’s breath hitched every time he bottomed out.
“You feel that?” Andrew grunted, his voice strained with effort. “You feel how deep I am?” His hips rolled, grinding his cock against Sam’s prostate, and Sam’s vision whited out for a second, his cock jerking violently. “Yeah, just like that. Take it. Take all of it.”
Sam could only moan in response, his body trembling, his bound wrists slipping against the tile as Andrew fucked him harder, the water sluicing between them, making everything slicker, tighter. Andrew’s fingers dug into the meat of Sam’s ass, spreading him open, his thrusts growing erratic, his breath coming in sharp gasps.
“Gonna fill you up again,” Andrew growled, his voice a guttural promise. “Gonna breed this tight little hole until you’re dripping with me. You want that, don’t you? Want me to ruin you?”
“Yes—fuck, yes—” Sam’s voice was a desperate whine, his cock throbbing, his balls drawn up tight. He was so close, teetering on the edge, but Andrew’s hand suddenly wrapped around his throat, pulling him back against his chest, his cock still buried deep inside Sam’s ass.
“Not yet,” Andrew snarled, his teeth grazing Sam’s earlobe. “You come when I say you come.”
Sam whimpered, his body trembling with the effort of holding back, his cock leaking pre-cum in thick, desperate pulses. Andrew’s other hand snaked around his waist, gripping his cock just below the head, squeezing hard enough to make Sam hiss.
“Please, please—” Sam begged, his voice breaking. “I can’t—I need—”
Andrew’s laugh was dark, triumphant. “You’ll wait.” His hips snapped forward, his cock driving into Sam with brutal precision, each thrust hitting that spot inside him that made his vision blur. The water pounded down on them, the steam clinging to their skin, their breaths mingling in ragged, desperate gasps.
Sam’s legs shook, his muscles burning with the effort of staying upright as Andrew fucked him relentlessly, his cock swelling inside him, stretching him wider with every thrust. Andrew’s hand on his throat tightened just enough to make Sam’s pulse roar in his ears, his grip on Sam’s cock unrelenting, denying him release even as his own orgasm built inside him like a storm.
“Now,” Andrew growled, his voice a raw command. “Now you can come.”
The dam broke. Sam’s orgasm crashed over him, his cock pulsing in Andrew’s grip, cum spilling over his fingers in thick, white ropes. His ass clenched around Andrew’s cock, the sensation too much, too intense, but Andrew didn’t stop. He groaned, his thrusts turning erratic as his own release tore through him, his cum flooding Sam’s hole in hot, deep pulses.
Sam sagged against the wall, his body boneless, his breath coming in ragged gasps as Andrew’s cock twitched inside him, emptying the last of his cum. Andrew’s hands slid up Sam’s chest, his fingers splaying over his collarbone, his lips pressing against the nape of Sam’s neck.
“Good boy,” Andrew murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. His cock slipped free, cum dripping from Sam’s stretched hole, mixing with the water streaming down his thighs. Andrew turned Sam in his arms, pressing him back against the tile, his hands cradling his face as he kissed him deeply, his tongue sweeping into Sam’s mouth with slow, possessive strokes.
Sam melted into him, his bound wrists resting against Andrew’s shoulders, his body still trembling with aftershocks. The water washed over them, cleansing but not erasing—the marks Andrew had left on him, the way his hole ached, the cum still leaking from him. Andrew’s hands roamed over his body, his touch gentler now, almost reverent, as if memorizing every inch of him.
“You’re mine,” Andrew whispered against his lips, his voice a vow. “Every fucking part of you.”
Sam could only nod, his throat too tight to speak. He was. He was. And as Andrew’s hands slid down to untie the scarf from his wrists, his fingers lingering on the faint red marks left behind, Sam knew there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
Chapter Nine: Bound in the Bathroom
The steam still clung to their skin, the bathroom air thick with the musk of sex and the faint, woodsy scent of Andrew’s soap. Sam’s legs trembled beneath him, his muscles weak from the relentless pleasure Andrew had wrung from his body. His wrists, still bound by the damp silk scarf, rested against his thighs, the fabric clinging to his skin. He exhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself, but the aftershocks of his orgasm still pulsed through him, his hole twitching with the memory of Andrew’s cock stretching him open.
Andrew didn’t miss a thing. His hazel eyes darkened as they traced the way Sam’s knees quivered, the way his thighs pressed together as if trying to contain the sensitivity still thrumming through him. A slow, possessive smirk curved his lips. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Can’t even stand on your own, can you?” His calloused fingers wrapped around Sam’s waist, steadying him for just a moment before he acted.
Before Sam could respond—before he could even draw another breath—Andrew’s hands were on him, lifting him effortlessly. The cool edge of the bathroom counter pressed against Sam’s bare ass as Andrew set him down, his legs dangling over the side, his bound wrists resting against the slick surface. The position left him exposed, vulnerable, his softening cock still glistening with cum, his hole flushed and slightly gaping from Andrew’s earlier use. Sam gasped as the cool tile sent a shiver up his spine, his body still overheated from the shower, from the way Andrew had fucked him against the wall, from the way he’d been reduced to nothing but need and submission.
Andrew stepped back just enough to admire his work. His own cock, still thick and half-hard, twitched as he took in the sight of Sam spread out for him—his dark skin marked with faint red imprints from Andrew’s teeth, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, his thighs still trembling. “Fuck, you’re perfect like this,” Andrew growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Sam’s bones. He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of Sam, the movement fluid, deliberate.
Sam’s breath hitched as Andrew’s hands slid up his inner thighs, pushing them apart just enough to give him better access. The first touch of Andrew’s tongue was hot, wet, and unexpected—dragging up the inside of Sam’s thigh, lapping at the cum that had dripped there during their shower. Sam jerked, a broken sound escaping him as Andrew’s mouth worked over his skin, cleaning him with slow, deliberate strokes. “A-Andrew—” His voice cracked, his fingers curling against the counter, the silk scarf tugging slightly at his wrists.
“Shhh.” Andrew’s breath ghosted over Sam’s skin before his tongue dipped lower, swiping over the sensitive flesh near his hip bone. “Just let me take care of you.” The words were a filthy contrast to the act itself—Andrew wasn’t just taking care of him. He was owning him. Claiming every inch of Sam’s body with his mouth, his hands, his presence. His tongue traced the trail of cum leading down from Sam’s stomach, following the path like a man starving. When he reached the base of Sam’s cock, he paused, nuzzling against the soft, spent flesh before pulling back just enough to speak. “You made such a mess, baby. All over yourself. All over me.” His fingers tightened on Sam’s thighs, spreading them wider, exposing him completely. “Gonna clean you up proper.”
Sam whimpered as Andrew’s mouth descended again, this time focusing on his stomach. The flat of Andrew’s tongue pressed against his skin, dragging up the faint ridges of his abs, collecting the drying cum with slow, thorough strokes. Sam’s cock twitched weakly, his body betraying him even as his mind spun with the degradation of it—being licked clean like some prized possession, like Andrew’s personal toy. “Fuck—” He arched his back, his bound wrists sliding against the counter as he tried to ground himself, but there was no escape. Not from Andrew’s mouth, not from the way his breath hitched every time Andrew’s tongue swirled over a particularly sensitive spot.
Andrew hummed in approval, the vibration sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through Sam’s nerves. His hands slid higher, gripping Sam’s waist as he leaned in, his lips pressing against the dip of Sam’s navel before his tongue delved inside, swirling, tasting. “Mmm. Salty. Mine.” His voice was a dark purr, his breath hot against Sam’s skin. He pulled back just enough to meet Sam’s gaze, his own eyes burning with possession. “You taste like me, baby. Like us.”
Sam’s face flushed darker, his chest heaving as he tried to form words, but all that came out was a needy, broken sound. Andrew chuckled, low and knowing, before his mouth moved lower, his tongue dragging over the crease where Sam’s thigh met his groin. He nipped at the tender skin there, just hard enough to make Sam gasp, before soothing the spot with a slow lick. “Gonna taste every fucking inch of you,” he murmured, his fingers digging into the flesh of Sam’s ass, lifting him slightly off the counter. “Starting with this pretty little hole.”
Sam’s entire body tensed. His hole clenched instinctively, still sensitive from the way Andrew had stretched him open in the shower, the way he’d fucked him raw and deep against the tile. “Andrew, I—I can’t—” He squirmed, but Andrew’s grip was unyielding, his strength overwhelming.
“You can,” Andrew countered, his voice a dark command. “And you will.” His thumbs spread Sam’s cheeks apart, exposing him completely. The first touch of his tongue was a shock—hot, wet, and filthy—dragging over Sam’s puckered entrance with no warning. Sam cried out, his back arching off the counter, his bound wrists scraping against the tile as he tried to escape the overwhelming sensation. But Andrew held him in place, his tongue swirling, pressing, fucking into him with shallow, teasing strokes.
“Oh god—” Sam’s voice broke, his thighs trembling violently now, his cock twitching back to life despite the sensitivity. Andrew’s tongue was relentless, lapping at him like he was the finest delicacy, like he couldn’t get enough. The wet sounds filled the bathroom, obscene and lewd, mixing with Sam’s ragged breathing and the occasional broken moan. Andrew’s fingers dug into Sam’s ass, spreading him wider, his tongue delving deeper, fucking into him with slow, deliberate strokes.
“You taste so fucking good,” Andrew groaned against him, his breath hot, his voice vibrating against Sam’s most intimate place. “Like you’ve been used. Like you’re mine.” His tongue swirled around Sam’s entrance before pressing inside again, this time with more force, more intent. Sam’s legs shook, his toes curling as he tried to ground himself, but there was nothing to hold onto—nothing but the counter beneath him and Andrew’s unyielding strength.
“P-please—” Sam begged, his voice raw. He didn’t even know what he was asking for—relief, more, something—but Andrew just chuckled darkly, his tongue flicking over Sam’s hole before he pulled back just enough to speak.
“Please what, baby?” Andrew’s voice was a rough tease, his fingers still spreading Sam open, his thumb pressing against the sensitive skin just beside his entrance. “You want me to stop?” He dragged his tongue over Sam again, slow and deliberate, making him whimper. “Or do you want me to keep going until you’re begging me to fuck you again?”
Sam’s cock jerked, a fresh bead of pre-cum welling at the tip. His hole clenched around nothing, aching, needing. “I—I don’t know—” He gasped as Andrew’s tongue pressed inside him again, swirling, teasing. “Fuck, Andrew—”
Andrew pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his own eyes dark with lust, with ownership. “That’s what I thought.” His mouth descended again, his tongue working Sam’s hole with slow, deep strokes, fucking into him like he was made for it. Sam’s moans grew louder, more desperate, his hips twitching as he tried to ride Andrew’s face, but Andrew’s grip kept him in place, kept him trapped.
The combination of the degradation and the devotion was intoxicating—Andrew worshipping him with his mouth, treating him like something precious even as he reduced him to nothing but a trembling, needy mess. Sam’s cock was fully hard now, leaking steadily, his balls drawing up tight as pleasure coiled low in his gut. “I—I can’t—” He panted, his voice breaking. “I’m gonna—”
Andrew pulled back just enough to growl against his skin. “You’re not.” His tongue swirled over Sam’s entrance one last time before he pressed a kiss to the sensitive flesh, his lips lingering. “Not until I say so.” He stood abruptly, his cock thick and heavy between his legs, the tip glistening with pre-cum. His hands slid up Sam’s chest, pushing him back against the counter, his fingers tangling in the silk scarf still binding Sam’s wrists. “You come when I tell you to come. Understood?”
Sam nodded frantically, his body strung tight, his cock throbbing with the need for release. Andrew’s free hand wrapped around his throat, not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind him who was in control. “Good boy.” His lips crashed against Sam’s, his tongue invading his mouth with the same filthy intensity he’d just used on his hole. Sam could taste himself on Andrew’s lips, the musk of cum and sweat, the tang of their shared arousal. It was obscene. It was perfect.
Andrew broke the kiss with a dark chuckle, his thumb brushing over Sam’s bottom lip. “Now,” he murmured, his voice a rough caress. “Let’s see how long you can last.” His hand slid down Sam’s chest, his fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking him with slow, deliberate movements. Sam’s hips jerked, a broken sound tearing from his throat as pleasure arced through him, sharp and relentless.
Andrew’s other hand still gripped the scarf, his fingers tightening just enough to remind Sam of his bondage, of his submission. “You’re mine,” he growled, his cock pressing against Sam’s thigh, hot and heavy. “Every fucking inch of you. And I’m gonna make sure you never forget it.” His strokes grew faster, his thumb swiping over the slick head of Sam’s cock, spreading the pre-cum in slow, teasing circles. “Now be a good boy and beg.”
Chapter Ten: Cold Fire, Hot Surrender
The moment hung thick with steam and the scent of sex, Sam’s body still trembling from the edge Andrew had pushed him to—again and again—without letting him fall. His wrists burned where the silk scarf bit into his skin, the damp fabric clinging to his pulse points like a second set of fingers. Andrew’s breath ghosted over the back of his neck, warm and possessive, his calloused palms still mapped to Sam’s hips, holding him steady on the counter’s edge. The cool tile beneath Sam’s thighs did nothing to temper the heat pooling in his gut, his cock aching, swollen, the tip already weeping with denied release.
Andrew’s lips curled against the shell of Sam’s ear, his voice a rough purr. “You’re still so fucking hard for me, baby.” His free hand slid down Sam’s stomach, fingers tracing the damp trail of pre-cum before circling the base of Sam’s shaft, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. “Even after all that, you’re begging for more, aren’t you?”
Sam’s breath hitched, his body arching into the touch before he could stop himself. “Y-yes—” The word broke on a whimper as Andrew’s thumb pressed into the sensitive underside of his cockhead, swirling slow, deliberate. “Please, I—I can’t—”
“You can,” Andrew murmured, his teeth grazing the curve of Sam’s shoulder. “And you will.” Then, without warning, he shifted, his strong arms lifting Sam off the counter as if he weighed nothing. Sam yelped, his bound wrists flailing for balance, but Andrew’s grip was unyielding—one arm banded around his waist, the other hooking under his thighs. “Shower. Now.”
The command sent a fresh wave of heat through Sam’s veins, his hole clenching at nothing, still slick and gaping from Andrew’s earlier attention. He could feel the cool air kiss his exposed skin as Andrew carried him the few steps to the glass enclosure, the scarf’s damp silk dragging against his wrists with every movement. The shower door slid open with a quiet hiss, and then—
Ice.
The first spray of cold water hit Sam’s back like a slap, his entire body seizing, a choked cry tearing from his throat. “Fuck—!” His skin prickled, nipples hardening into tight peaks, his cock twitching despite the shock. Andrew didn’t flinch. He stepped them both under the stream, his broad chest shielding Sam from the worst of it, but the water still needled against his sides, his ass, the backs of his thighs. The contrast was obscene—the heat of Andrew’s body pressed against him, the frigid bite of the water, the way his oversensitive skin lit up like live wire.
“Cold, isn’t it?” Andrew’s voice was a dark chuckle in his ear, his free hand sliding up Sam’s chest to palm his throat, tilting his head back against his shoulder. “Good. You’ll feel everything now.”
Sam shivered violently, his teeth chattering, but his cock—traitorous, desperate thing—stayed hard, throbbing between them. “A-Andrew, p-please—”
“Please what?” Andrew’s fingers tightened just enough to make Sam’s pulse stutter, his thumb brushing over the fluttering vein in his neck. “Use your words, baby. Tell me exactly what you want.”
The cold made it harder to think, harder to form coherent thoughts, but the demand in Andrew’s voice cut through the haze. Sam swallowed, his throat working under Andrew’s grip. “I want you to—fuck, I want you to touch me. Fuck me. I don’t care how, just—” His hips jerked, seeking friction, his cock dragging against the ridged muscles of Andrew’s abdomen. “I need it.”
Andrew groaned, low and approving, his own hardness pressing into the cleft of Sam’s ass. “Such a good boy, asking so pretty.” His hand left Sam’s throat, trailing down his chest, over his abs, before wrapping around his cock with a firm, possessive grip. “But you don’t get to come yet.” He stroked once, twice—slow, maddening pulls that had Sam’s toes curling against the slick tile. “Not until I say so.”
Sam whined, his bound hands clenching into fists. “You’re killing me.”
“No, baby,” Andrew murmured, his lips brushing the whorl of Sam’s ear. “I’m owning you.” His other hand slid lower, fingers teasing over Sam’s taut balls before dipping further, tracing the puckered entrance of his hole. “And you’re gonna take every fucking thing I give you, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” The word was a broken sob, Sam’s body trembling not just from the cold now, but from the way Andrew’s fingertip pressed inside him, just the first knuckle, stretching him open with deliberate slowness. “Yes, please—”
Andrew hummed, satisfied, his finger sinking deeper. “Such a greedy little hole.” He crooked it, just slightly, and Sam’s knees nearly buckled, a keening sound tearing from his throat. The cold water did nothing to dull the sensation—if anything, it made him hyperaware of every ridge of Andrew’s fingerprint, every shift of muscle as he worked him open. “You’re dripping for me already. Fucking leaking.” His thumb joined his finger, scissoring them, stretching Sam wider. “You like that, don’t you? Being used like this. Being mine.”
“Yours,” Sam gasped, his cock jerking in Andrew’s grip, pre-cum smearing between them. “Always yours—”
Andrew growled, the sound vibrating against Sam’s spine, and then his fingers were gone, leaving Sam empty, aching. “Turn around.”
The order was a whipcrack, and Sam obeyed instantly, twisting in Andrew’s hold until his back hit the cold tile. The water pounded against his chest now, his nipples pebbled tight, his skin flushed despite the chill. Andrew loomed over him, hazel eyes dark with hunger, his dreadlocks damp and clinging to his forehead. He was beautiful—all sharp angles and controlled power, his cock thick and heavy between his legs, the tip already glistening.
Sam’s mouth watered.
Andrew noticed. His lips quirked, wicked. “You want a taste, baby?”
Sam nodded frantically, his bound wrists pressing against his stomach. “Let me—please, let me suck you—”
Andrew’s hand shot out, gripping Sam’s jaw, his thumb pressing against his lower lip. “Open.”
No hesitation. Sam parted his lips, his tongue already curling, eager, as Andrew guided his cock forward. The first touch of the broad head against his tongue sent a jolt through him, his own cock twitching, desperate. He hollowed his cheeks the second Andrew pushed in, taking him deep, the salty-sweet taste of pre-cum flooding his senses. The cold water sluiced over his shoulders, his back, but his mouth was burning, his throat opening as Andrew hit the back of it with a groan.
“Fuck, just like that—” Andrew’s voice was rough, his hips rolling forward, feeding Sam another inch. “Take it. All of it.”
Sam moaned around the thick length, his nose brushing the crisp curls at the base, his lips stretched obscenely wide. He loved this—the weight of Andrew on his tongue, the way his breath hitched when Sam swallowed around him, the way his fingers tangled in Sam’s hair, guiding him deeper. His own cock ached, neglected, but the denial only made the pleasure sharper, his hole clenching on nothing, needing.
Andrew pulled back just enough to let Sam breathe, his cock glistening, before pushing in again. “You look so fucking perfect like this. On your knees for me.” His free hand slid down Sam’s chest, his fingers finding his nipple and pinching, hard. “My good boy.”
Sam whimpered, the pain-pulse of pleasure shooting straight to his cock. He tried to rock his hips, to chase some kind of friction, but Andrew’s grip on his hair tightened, holding him still. “No. You don’t get to come until I’m inside you.” He thrust deeper, his cock hitting the back of Sam’s throat, and Sam took it, tears pricking his eyes, his gag reflex struggling—and losing. “You’re gonna take my cock in that tight little hole, and you’re gonna beg me to fill you up. Understand?”
Sam nodded as best he could, his mouth stuffed full, his body trembling with need. The cold water did nothing to dull the fire inside him—if anything, it made the heat worse, his skin oversensitive, his nerve endings alight. When Andrew finally pulled free with a wet pop, Sam gasped, his lips swollen, his chin dripping.
Andrew didn’t give him time to recover. He spun Sam around again, pressing him face-first against the tile, the cold surface a shock against his overheated skin. “Hands above your head.”
Sam obeyed, stretching his bound wrists up, the scarf pulling tight. Andrew’s body covered his, his chest pressing against Sam’s back, his cock nestled between his ass cheeks, thick and hot. “You’re mine,” Andrew growled, his teeth sinking into the meat of Sam’s shoulder, marking him. “Say it.”
“Yours,” Sam sobbed, his hole clenching, empty and aching. “Only yours—”
Andrew’s hand slid between them, his fingers finding Sam’s entrance again, this time with two, stretching him wider, scissoring him open with rough, possessive strokes. “You’re gonna take me so good, aren’t you? Gonna let me fuck this pretty hole until you can’t walk.”
“Yes—!Fuck, yes—” Sam’s voice broke, his body trembling as Andrew’s fingers twisted inside him, hitting that spot that made his vision white out. “Please, please—”
Andrew didn’t make him wait. His fingers withdrew, and then the blunt head of his cock was there, pressing against Sam’s entrance, demanding entry. “Breathe, baby.”
Sam exhaled sharply as Andrew pushed in, the stretch burning, his body resisting for only a second before giving way, his hole swallowing Andrew inch by inch. The cold water made every sensation sharper—the heat of Andrew’s cock, the drag of his skin, the way his balls pressed against Sam’s ass as he bottomed out with a groan.
“Fuck—” Andrew’s voice was a ragged breath against Sam’s ear. “You’re so tight. So fucking perfect.”
Sam could only whimper, his body stretched to the limit, his cock trapped between his stomach and the tile, leaking, aching. Andrew gave him no time to adjust. He pulled back and snapped his hips forward, his cock pistoning into Sam with deep, punishing strokes, the slap of skin echoing off the shower walls.
“Andrew—!Ah—!Fuck—!” Sam’s voice was a broken litany, his bound wrists scraping against the tile as he tried to find purchase, to ground himself in the storm of sensation. The cold water, the heat of Andrew’s body, the way his cock owned him, filling him over and over—it was too much, it wasn’t enough.
Andrew’s hand snaked around his hip, gripping his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Take me.” His other hand slid up Sam’s spine, his fingers tangling in his hair, yanking his head back. “You’re mine, Sam. Say it.”
“Yours!” Sam screamed, his body tightening, his orgasm coiling low in his gut, so close—“Only yours, always—!”
Andrew’s strokes turned erratic, his thrusts losing their rhythm, his cock swelling inside Sam. “Come for me,” he growled, his voice raw. “Now.”
The command shattered him.
Sam’s orgasm hit like a freight train, his cock pulsing in Andrew’s grip, ropes of cum painting the tile, his hole clenching viciously around Andrew’s cock. “Andrew—!I—I—!” His vision whited out, his body trembling, his wrists burning where the scarf cut into his skin.
Andrew groaned, his hips stuttering, his cock buried deep as he came, his cum flooding Sam’s ass, marking him. “Sam—fuck—” His teeth sank into Sam’s shoulder again, his body shuddering with the force of his release, his breath hot against Sam’s skin.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the water, the ragged gasps of their breathing, the way Andrew’s cock twitched inside him, still half-hard. Then, slowly, he pulled out, his cum dripping down Sam’s thighs, mixing with the water at their feet.
Sam sagged against the tile, his legs trembling, his body spent. Andrew turned him gently, his hands framing his face, his hazel eyes dark with something deeper than lust. “You okay?”
Sam managed a shaky nod, his lips curling into a sated, lazy smile. “More than okay.”
Andrew’s thumb brushed over his lower lip, his touch tender now, possessive in a different way. “Good.” He reached up, untying the scarf with slow, deliberate movements, freeing Sam’s wrists. The silk fell to the shower floor with a wet plop, forgotten.
Sam flexed his fingers, his wrists stinging, but he didn’t care. He leaned into Andrew’s touch, his body still humming, his hole loose and well-used. “What now?” he murmured, his voice rough.
Andrew’s lips quirked. He turned off the water, the sudden silence deafening. Then he cupped Sam’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “Now,” he said, his voice low, “we do it all over again.”
And Sam—fuck—Sam couldn’t wait.