by Elle Keaton
There was little finesse with the rest of the encounter. Owen parted his ass cheeks and pushed into him, gently enough at first, but his groans killed Miguel and he pushed back against Owen, needing him inside. Owen moaned and cursed. He grabbed Miguel’s hips, yanking them against his own, and began to pound into him in earnest. His balls—Miguel hadn’t seen them, but they must be damn big—slapped against the back of Miguel’s ass, sending a tingle shooting up his spine.
He lay there, face in the mattress, and took it. Because that’s what he craved: to be taken, to be completely gone from himself. Owen muttered and cursed; he swept his hands up and down Miguel’s back before grabbing his shoulders, pulling him upright, and ramming his cock in as far as he could. It was heaven. Miguel wanted it all. Wanted more. Wanted. Owen grunted and shook. He held Miguel down hard on his pulsing cock before sighing and letting him sink back onto the bed.
When Miguel woke, he was alone in the room and Joey James-Swanfeldt was standing at the side of the bed, hands on his hips, an undefinable expression on his face. At least the covers had been pulled over him. Because if he felt like a loser most of the time, right then he felt like nothing but a fuck.
END.
Don’t fret; Miguel will get his HEA. Maybe with Owen, maybe not… <3
Coming Spring-ish 2018.
